Produced by David Widger
THE LADY OF THE BARGE
AND OTHER STORIES
By W. W. Jacobs
BILL'S PAPER CHASE
Sailormen 'ave their faults, said the night watchman, frankly. I'm notdenying of it. I used to 'ave myself when I was at sea, but being closewith their money is a fault as can seldom be brought ag'in 'em.
I saved some money once--two golden sovereigns, owing to a 'ole in mypocket. Before I got another ship I slept two nights on a doorstep and'ad nothing to eat, and I found them two sovereigns in the lining o' mycoat when I was over two thousand miles away from the nearest pub.
I on'y knew one miser all the years I was at sea. Thomas Geary 'is namewas, and we was shipmates aboard the barque _Grenada,_ homeward bound fromSydney to London.
Thomas was a man that was getting into years; sixty, I think 'e was, andold enough to know better. 'E'd been saving 'ard for over forty years,and as near as we could make out 'e was worth a matter o' six 'underedpounds. He used to be fond o' talking about it, and letting us know howmuch better off 'e was than any of the rest of us.
We was about a month out from Sydney when old Thomas took sick. BillHicks said that it was owing to a ha'penny he couldn't account for; butWalter Jones, whose family was always ill, and thought 'e knew a lotabout it, said that 'e knew wot it was, but 'e couldn't remember the nameof it, and that when we got to London and Thomas saw a doctor, we shouldsee as 'ow 'e was right.
Whatever it was the old man got worse and worse. The skipper came downand gave 'im some physic and looked at 'is tongue, and then 'e looked atour tongues to see wot the difference was. Then 'e left the cook incharge of 'im and went off.
The next day Thomas was worse, and it was soon clear to everybody but 'imthat 'e was slipping 'is cable. He wouldn't believe it at first, thoughthe cook told 'im, Bill Hicks told him, and Walter Jones 'ad agrandfather that went off in just the same way.
"I'm not going to die," says Thomas "How can I die and leave all thatmoney?"
"It'll be good for your relations, Thomas," says Walter Jones.
"I ain't got any," says the old man.
"Well, your friends, then, Thomas," says Walter, soft-like.
"Ain't got any," says the old man ag'in.
"Yes, you 'ave, Thomas," says Walter, with a kind smile; "I could tellyou one you've got."
Thomas shut his eyes at 'im and began to talk pitiful about 'is money andthe 'ard work 'e'd 'ad saving of it. And by-and-by 'e got worse, anddidn't reckernise us, but thought we was a pack o' greedy, drunkensailormen. He thought Walter Jones was a shark, and told 'im so, and,try all 'e could, Walter couldn't persuade 'im different.
He died the day arter. In the morning 'e was whimpering about 'is moneyag'in, and angry with Bill when 'e reminded 'im that 'e couldn't take itwith 'im, and 'e made Bill promise that 'e should be buried just as 'ewas. Bill tucked him up arter that, and when 'e felt a canvas belt tiedround the old man's waist 'e began to see wot 'e was driving at.
The weather was dirty that day and there was a bit o' sea running,consequently all 'ands was on deck, and a boy about sixteen wot used to'elp the steward down aft was lookin' arter Thomas. Me and Bill just rundown to give a look at the old man in time.
"I am going to take it with me, Bill," says the old man.
"That's right," says Bill.
"My mind's--easy now," says Thomas. "I gave it to Jimmy--to--to--throwoverboard for me."
"Wot?" says Bill, staring.
"That's right, Bill," says the boy. "He told me to. It was a littlepacket o' banknotes. He gave me tuppence for doing it."
Old Thomas seemed to be listening. 'Is eyes was open, and 'e lookedartful at Bill to think what a clever thing 'e'd done.
"Nobody's goin'-to spend-my money," 'e says. "Nobody's"
We drew back from 'is bunk and stood staring at 'im. Then Bill turned tothe boy.
"Go and tell the skipper 'e's gone," 'e says, "and mind, for your ownsake, don't tell the skipper or anybody else that you've thrown all thatmoney overboard."
"Why not?" says Jimmy.
"Becos you'll be locked up for it," says Bill; "you'd no business to doit. You've been and broke the law. It ought to ha' been left tosomebody."
Jimmy looked scared, and arter 'e was gone I turned to Bill, and I looksat 'im and I says "What's the little game, Bill?"
"_Game_?" said Bill, snorting at me. "I don't want the pore boy to getinto trouble, do I? Pore little chap. You was young yourself once."
"Yes," I says; "but I'm a bit older now, Bill, and unless you tell mewhat your little game is, I shall tell the skipper myself, and the chapstoo. Pore old Thomas told 'im to do it, so where's the boy to blame?"
"Do you think Jimmy did?" says Bill, screwing up his nose at me. "Thatlittle varmint is walking about worth six 'undered quid. Now you keepyour mouth shut and I'll make it worth your while."
Then I see Bill's game. "All right, I'll keep quiet for the sake of myhalf," I says, looking at 'im.
I thought he'd ha' choked, and the langwidge 'e see fit to use was a'mostas much as I could answer.
"Very well, then," 'e says, at last, "halves it is. It ain't robberybecos it belongs to nobody, and it ain't the boy's becos 'e was told tothrow it overboard."
They buried pore old Thomas next morning, and arter it was all over Billput 'is 'and on the boy's shoulder as they walked for'ard and 'e says,"Poor old Thomas 'as gone to look for 'is money," he says; "wonderwhether 'e'll find it! Was it a big bundle, Jimmy?"
"No," says the boy, shaking 'is 'ead. "They was six 'undered pound notesand two sovereigns, and I wrapped the sovereigns up in the notes to make'em sink. Fancy throwing money away like that, Bill: seems a sin, don'tit?"
Bill didn't answer 'im, and that afternoon the other chaps below beingasleep we searched 'is bunk through and through without any luck, and atlast Bill sat down and swore 'e must ha' got it about 'im.
We waited till night, and when everybody was snoring 'ard we went over tothe boy's bunk and went all through 'is pockets and felt the linings, andthen we went back to our side and Bill said wot 'e thought about Jimmy inwhispers.
"He must ha' got it tied round 'is waist next to 'is skin, like Thomas'ad," I says.
We stood there in the dark whispering, and then Bill couldn't stand itany longer, and 'e went over on tiptoe to the bunk ag'in. He wastremblin' with excitement and I wasn't much better, when all of a suddenthe cook sat up in 'is bunk with a dreadful laughing scream and calledout that somebody was ticklin' 'im.
I got into my bunk and Bill got into 'is, and we lay there listeningwhile the cook, who was a terrible ticklish man, leaned out of 'is bunkand said wot 'e'd do if it 'appened ag'in.
"Go to sleep," says Walter Jones; "you're dreamin'. Who d'you thinkwould want to tickle you?"
"I tell you," says the cook, "somebody come over and tickled me with a'and the size of a leg o' mutton. I feel creepy all over."
Bill gave it up for that night, but the next day 'e pretended to thinkJimmy was gettin' fat an' 'e caught 'old of 'im and prodded 'im all over.He thought 'e felt something round 'is waist, but 'e couldn't be sure,and Jimmy made such a noise that the other chaps interfered and told Billto leave 'im alone. For a whole week we tried to find that money, andcouldn't, and Bill said it was a suspicious thing that Jimmy kept aft agood deal more than 'e used to, and 'e got an idea that the boy might ha''idden it somewhere there. At the end of that time, 'owever, owing toour being short-'anded, Jimmy was sent for'ard to work as ordinaryseaman, and it began to be quite noticeable the way 'e avoided Bill.
At last one day we got 'im alone down the fo'c'sle, and Bill put 'is armround 'im