Produced by David Widger
ODD CRAFT
By W.W. Jacobs
ODD CHARGES
Seated at his ease in the warm tap-room of the Cauliflower, the strangerhad been eating and drinking for some time, apparently unconscious of thepresence of the withered ancient who, huddled up in that corner of thesettle which was nearer to the fire, fidgeted restlessly with an emptymug and blew with pathetic insistence through a churchwarden pipe whichhad long been cold. The stranger finished his meal with a sigh ofcontent and then, rising from his chair, crossed over to the settle and,placing his mug on the time-worn table before him, began to fill hispipe.
"Seated at his ease in the warm tap-room of theCauliflower."]
The old man took a spill from the table and, holding it with tremblingfingers to the blaze, gave him a light. The other thanked him, and then,leaning back in his corner of the settle, watched the smoke of his pipethrough half-closed eyes, and assented drowsily to the old man's remarksupon the weather.
"Bad time o' the year for going about," said the latter, "though I s'poseif you can eat and drink as much as you want it don't matter. I s'poseyou mightn't be a conjurer from London, sir?"
The traveller shook his head.
"I was 'oping you might be," said the old man. The other manifested nocuriosity.
"If you 'ad been," said the old man, with a sigh, "I should ha' asked youto ha' done something useful. Gin'rally speaking, conjurers do thingsthat are no use to anyone; wot I should like to see a conjurer do wouldbe to make this 'ere empty mug full o' beer and this empty pipe full o'shag tobacco. That's wot I should ha' made bold to ask you to do ifyou'd been one."
The traveller sighed, and, taking his short briar pipe from his mouth bythe bowl, rapped three times upon the table with it. In a very shorttime a mug of ale and a paper cylinder of shag appeared on the tablebefore the old man.
"Wot put me in mind o' your being a conjurer," said the latter, fillinghis pipe after a satisfying draught from the mug, "is that you'reuncommon like one that come to Claybury some time back and give aperformance in this very room where we're now a-sitting. So far aslooks go, you might be his brother."
The traveller said that he never had a brother.
We didn't know 'e was a conjurer at fust, said the old man. He 'ad comedown for Wickham Fair and, being a day or two before 'and, 'e was goingto different villages round about to give performances. He came into thebar 'ere and ordered a mug o' beer, and while 'e was a-drinking of itstood talking about the weather. Then 'e asked Bill Chambers to excuse'im for taking the liberty, and, putting his 'and to Bill's mug, took outa live frog. Bill was a very partikler man about wot 'e drunk, and Ithought he'd ha' had a fit. He went on at Smith, the landlord, somethingshocking, and at last, for the sake o' peace and quietness, Smith gave'im another pint to make up for it.
"Putting his 'and to Bill's mug, he took out a livefrog."]
"It must ha' been asleep in the mug," he ses.
Bill said that 'e thought 'e knew who must ha' been asleep, and was justgoing to take a drink, when the conjurer asked 'im to excuse 'im agin.Bill put down the mug in a 'urry, and the conjurer put his 'and to themug and took out a dead mouse. It would ha' been a 'ard thing to saywhich was the most upset, Bill Chambers or Smith, the landlord, and Bill,who was in a terrible state, asked why it was everything seemed to getinto his mug.
"P'r'aps you're fond o' dumb animals, sir," ses the conjurer. "Do you'appen to notice your coat-pocket is all of a wriggle?"
He put his 'and to Bill's pocket and took out a little green snake; thenhe put his 'and to Bill's trouser-pocket and took out a frog, while poreBill's eyes looked as if they was corning out o' their sockets.
"Keep still," ses the conjurer; "there's a lot more to come yet."
Bill Chambers gave a 'owl that was dreadful to listen to, and then 'epushed the conjurer away and started undressing 'imself as fast as hecould move 'is fingers. I believe he'd ha' taken off 'is shirt if it 'ad'ad pockets in it, and then 'e stuck 'is feet close together and 'e keptjumping into the air, and coming down on to 'is own clothes in hishobnailed boots.
"He ain't fond o' dumb animals, then," ses the conjurer. Then he put his'and on his 'art and bowed.
"Gentlemen all," he ses. "'Aving given you this specimen of wot I cando, I beg to give notice that with the landlord's kind permission I shallgive my celebrated conjuring entertainment in the tap-room this eveningat seven o'clock; ad--mission, three-pence each."
They didn't understand 'im at fust, but at last they see wot 'e meant,and arter explaining to Bill, who was still giving little jumps, they led'im up into a corner and coaxed 'im into dressing 'imself agin. He wantedto fight the conjurer, but 'e was that tired 'e could scarcely stand, andby-and-by Smith, who 'ad said 'e wouldn't 'ave anything to do with it,gave way and said he'd risk it.
The tap-room was crowded that night, but we all 'ad to pay threepenceeach--coining money, I call it. Some o' the things wot he done was veryclever, but a'most from the fust start-off there was unpleasantness.When he asked somebody to lend 'im a pocket-'andkercher to turn into awhite rabbit, Henery Walker rushed up and lent 'im 'is, but instead of awhite rabbit it turned into a black one with two white spots on it, andarter Henery Walker 'ad sat for some time puzzling over it 'e got up andwent off 'ome without saying good-night to a soul.
Then the conjurer borrowed Sam Jones's hat, and arter looking into it forsome time 'e was that surprised and astonished that Sam Jones lost 'istemper and asked 'im whether he 'adn't seen a hat afore.
"Not like this," ses the conjurer. And 'e pulled out a woman's dress andjacket and a pair o' boots. Then 'e took out a pound or two o' tatersand some crusts o' bread and other things, and at last 'e gave it back toSam Jones and shook 'is head at 'im, and told 'im if he wasn't verycareful he'd spoil the shape of it.
Then 'e asked somebody to lend 'im a watch, and, arter he 'ad promised totake the greatest care of it, Dicky Weed, the tailor, lent 'im a goldwatch wot 'ad been left 'im by 'is great-aunt when she died. Dicky Weedthought a great deal o' that watch, and when the conjurer took aflat-iron and began to smash it up into little bits it took three mento hold 'im down in 'is seat.
"This is the most difficult trick o' the lot," ses the conjurer, pickingoff a wheel wot 'ad stuck to the flat-iron. "Sometimes I can do it andsometimes I can't. Last time I tried it it was a failure, and it cost meeighteenpence and a pint o' beer afore the gentleman the watch 'adbelonged to was satisfied. I gave 'im the bits, too."
"If you don't give me my watch back safe and sound," ses Dicky Weed, in atrembling voice, "it'll cost you twenty pounds."
"'Ow much?" ses the conjurer, with a start. "Well, I wish you'd told methat afore you lent it to me. Eighteenpence is my price."
He stirred the broken bits up with 'is finger and shook his 'ead.
"I've never tried one o' these old-fashioned watches afore," he ses."'Owever, if I fail, gentle-men, it'll be the fust and only trick I'vefailed in to-night. You can't expect everything to turn out right, butif I do fail this time, gentlemen, I'll try it agin if anybody else'lllend me another watch."
Dicky Weed tried to speak but couldn't, and 'e sat there, with 'is facepale, staring at the pieces of 'is watch on the conjurer's table. Thenthe conjurer took a big pistol with a trumpet-shaped barrel out of 'isbox, and arter putting in a charge o' powder picked up the pieces o'watch and rammed them in arter it. We could hear the broken bits gratingagin the ramrod, and arter he 'ad loaded it 'e walked round and handed itto us to look at.
"It's all right," he ses to Dicky Weed; "it's going to be a success; Icould tell in the loading."
He walked back to the other end of the room and held up the pistol.
"I shall now fire this pisto
l," 'e ses, "and in so doing mend the watch.The explosion of the powder makes the bits o' glass join together agin;in flying