Produced by David Widger
CAPTAINS ALL
By W.W. Jacobs
THE CONSTABLE'S MOVE
"The Constable's Move."]
Mr. Bob Grummit sat in the kitchen with his corduroy-clad legs stretchedon the fender. His wife's half-eaten dinner was getting cold on thetable; Mr. Grummit, who was badly in need of cheering up, emptied herhalf-empty glass of beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
"Come away, I tell you," he called. "D'ye hear? Come away. You'll belocked up if you don't."
He gave a little laugh at the sarcasm, and sticking his short pipe in hismouth lurched slowly to the front-room door and scowled at his wife asshe lurked at the back of the window watching intently the furniturewhich was being carried in next door.
"Come away or else you'll be locked up," repeated Mr. Grummit. "Youmustn't look at policemen's furniture; it's agin the law."
Mrs. Grummit made no reply, but, throwing appearances to the winds,stepped to the window until her nose touched, as a walnut sideboard withbevelled glass back was tenderly borne inside under the personalsupervision of Police-Constable Evans.
"They'll be 'aving a pianner next," said the indignant Mr. Grummit,peering from the depths of the room.
"They've got one," responded his wife; "there's the end if it stickin' upin the van."
Mr. Grummit advanced and regarded the end fixedly. "Did you throw allthem tin cans and things into their yard wot I told you to?" he demanded.
"He picked up three of 'em while I was upstairs," replied his wife. "I'eard 'im tell her that they'd come in handy for paint and things."
"That's 'ow coppers get on and buy pianners," said the incensed Mr.Grummit, "sneaking other people's property. I didn't tell you to throwgood 'uns over, did I? Wot d'ye mean by it?"
Mrs. Grummit made no reply, but watched with bated breath the triumphalentrance of the piano. The carman set it tenderly on the narrowfootpath, while P. C. Evans, stooping low, examined it at all points, andMrs. Evans, raising the lid, struck a few careless chords.
"Showing off," explained Mrs. Grummit, with a half turn; "and she's gotfingers like carrots."
"It's a disgrace to Mulberry Gardens to 'ave a copper come and live init," said the indignant Grummit; "and to come and live next to me!--that's what I can't get over. To come and live next door to a man wothas been fined twice, and both times wrong. Why, for two pins I'd go inand smash 'is pianner first and 'im after it. He won't live 'ere long,you take my word for it."
"Why not?" inquired his wife.
"Why?" repeated Mr. Grummit. "Why? Why, becos I'll make the place too'ot to hold him. Ain't there enough houses in Tunwich without 'ima-coming and living next door to me?"
For a whole week the brain concealed in Mr. Grummit's bullet-shaped headworked in vain, and his temper got correspondingly bad. The day afterthe Evans' arrival he had found his yard littered with tins which herecognized as old acquaintances, and since that time they had travelledbackwards and forwards with monotonous regularity. They sometimes madeas many as three journeys a day, and on one occasion the heavens openedto drop a battered tin bucket on the back of Mr. Grummit as he was tyinghis bootlace. Five minutes later he spoke of the outrage to Mr. Evans,who had come out to admire the sunset.
"I heard something fall," said the constable, eyeing the pail curiously.
"You threw it," said Mr. Grummit, breathing furiously.
"Me? Nonsense," said the other, easily. "I was having tea in theparlour with my wife and my mother-in-law, and my brother Joe and hisyoung lady."
"Any more of 'em?" demanded the hapless Mr. Grummit, aghast at this listof witnesses for an alibi.
"It ain't a bad pail, if you look at it properly," said the constable."I should keep it if I was you; unless the owner offers a reward for it.It'll hold enough water for your wants."
Mr. Grummit flung indoors and, after wasting some time concoctingimpossible measures of retaliation with his sympathetic partner, went offto discuss affairs with his intimates at the _Bricklayers' Arms_. Thecompany, although unanimously agreeing that Mr. Evans ought to be boiled,were miserably deficient in ideas as to the means by which such adesirable end was to be attained.
"Make 'im a laughing-stock, that's the best thing," said an elderlylabourer. "The police don't like being laughed at."
"'Ow?" demanded Mr. Grummit, with some asperity.
"There's plenty o' ways," said the old man.
"I should find 'em out fast enough if I 'ad a bucket dropped on my back,I know."
Mr. Grummit made a retort the feebleness of which was somewhat balancedby its ferocity, and subsided into glum silence. His back still ached,but, despite that aid to intellectual effort, the only ways he couldimagine of making the constable look foolish contained an almost certainrisk of hard labour for himself.
He pondered the question for a week, and meanwhile the tins--to thesecret disappointment of Mr. Evans--remained untouched in his yard. Forthe whole of the time he went about looking, as Mrs. Grummit expressedit, as though his dinner had disagreed with him.
"I've been talking to old Bill Smith," he said, suddenly, as he came inone night.
Mrs. Grummit looked up, and noticed with wifely pleasure that he waslooking almost cheerful.
"He's given me a tip," said Mr. Grummit, with a faint smile; "a coppermustn't come into a free-born Englishman's 'ouse unless he's invited."
"Wot of it?" inquired his wife. "You wasn't think of asking him in, wasyou?"
Mr. Grummit regarded her almost play-fully. "If a copper comes inwithout being told to," he continued, "he gets into trouble for it. Nowd'ye see?"
"But he won't come," said the puzzled Mrs. Grummit.
Mr. Grummit winked. "Yes 'e will if you scream loud enough," heretorted. "Where's the copper-stick?"
"Have you gone mad?" demanded his wife, "or do you think I 'ave?"
"You go up into the bedroom," said Mr. Grummit, emphasizing his remarkswith his forefinger. "I come up and beat the bed black and blue with thecopper-stick; you scream for mercy and call out 'Help!' 'Murder!' andthings like that. Don't call out 'Police!' cos Bill ain't sure aboutthat part. Evans comes bursting in to save your life--I'll leave thedoor on the latch--and there you are. He's sure to get into trouble forit. Bill said so. He's made a study o' that sort o' thing."
Mrs. Grummit pondered this simple plan so long that her husband began tolose patience. At last, against her better sense, she rose and fetchedthe weapon in question.
"And you be careful what you're hitting," she said, as they went upstairsto bed. "We'd better have 'igh words first, I s'pose?"
"You pitch into me with your tongue," said Mr. Grummit, amiably.
Mrs. Grummit, first listening to make sure that the constable and hiswife were in the bedroom the other side of the flimsy wall, complied, andin a voice that rose gradually to a piercing falsetto told Mr. Grummitthings that had been rankling in her mind for some months. She raked upmisdemeanours that he had long since forgotten, and, not content withthat, had a fling at the entire Grummit family, beginning with hermother-in-law and ending with Mr. Grummit's youngest sister. The handthat held the copper-stick itched.
"Any more to say?" demanded Mr. Grummit advancing upon her.
Mrs. Grummit emitted a genuine shriek, and Mr. Grummit, suddenlyremembering himself, stopped short and attacked the bed withextraordinary fury. The room resounded with the blows, and the effortsof Mrs. Grummit were a revelation even to her husband.
"Mr. Grummit, suddenly remembering himself, stopped shortand attacked the bed with extraordinary fury."]
"I can hear 'im moving," whispered Mr. Grummit, pausing to take breath.
"Mur--der!" wailed his wife.
"Help! Help!"
Mr. Grummit, changing the stick into his left hand, renewed the attack;Mrs. Grummit, whose voice was becoming exhausted, sought a temporaryrelief in moans.
"Is--he----deaf?" panted the wife-beater, "or wot?"
He knocked over a chair, and Mrs. Grummit contrived another frenziedscream. A loud