Dialstone Lane, Part 3. by W.W. Jacobs
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W.W. Jacobs >> Dialstone Lane, Part 3.
DIALSTONE LANE
By W.W. Jacobs
Part III.
CHAPTER IX
The church bells were ringing for morning service as Mr. Vickers, who had
been for a stroll with Mr. William Russell and a couple of ferrets,
returned home to breakfast. Contrary to custom, the small front room and
the kitchen were both empty, and breakfast, with the exception of a cold
herring and the bitter remains of a pot of tea, had been cleared away.
[Illustration: "Mr. Vickers had been for a stroll with Mr. William
Russell."]
"I've known men afore now," murmured Mr. Vickers, eyeing the herring
disdainfully, "as would take it by the tail and smack'em acrost the face
with it."
He cut himself a slice of bread, and, pouring out a cup of cold tea,
began his meal, ever and anon stopping to listen, with a puzzled face, to
a continuous squeaking overhead. It sounded like several pairs of new
boots all squeaking at once, but Mr. Vickers, who was a reasonable man
and past the age of self-deception, sought for a more probable cause.
A particularly aggressive squeak detached itself from the others and
sounded on the stairs. The resemblance to the noise made by new boots
was stronger than ever. It was new boots. The door opened, and Mr.
Vickers, with a slice of bread arrested half-way to his mouth, sat gazing
in astonishment at Charles Vickers, clad for the first time in his life
in new raiment from top to toe. Ere he could voice inquiries, an
avalanche of squeaks descended the stairs, and the rest of the children,
all smartly clad, with Selina bringing up the rear, burst into the room.
"What is it?" demanded Mr. Vickers, in a voice husky with astonishment;
"a bean-feast?"
Miss Vickers, who was doing up a glove which possessed more buttons than
his own waistcoat, looked up and eyed him calmly. "New clothes--and not
before they wanted'em," she replied, tartly.
"New clothes?" repeated her father, in a scandalized voice. "Where'd
they get'em?"
"Shop," said his daughter, briefly.
Mr. Vickers rose and, approaching his offspring, inspected them with the
same interest that he would have bestowed upon a wax-works. A certain
stiffness of pose combined with the glassy stare which met his gaze
helped to favour the illusion.
"For once in their lives they're respectable," said Selina, regarding
them with moist eyes. "Soap and water they've always had, bless'em, but
you've never seen'em dressed like this before."
Before Mr. Vickers could frame a reply a squeaking which put all the
others in the shade sounded from above. It crossed the floor on hurried
excursions to different parts of the room, and then, hesitating for a
moment at the head of the stairs, came slowly and ponderously down until
Mrs. Vickers, looking somewhat nervous, stood revealed before her
expectant husband. In scornful surprise he gazed at a blue cloth dress,
a black velvet cape trimmed with bugles, and a bonnet so aggressively new
that it had not yet accommodated itself to Mrs. Vickers's style of
hair-dressing.
"Go on!" he breathed. "Go on! Don't mind me. What, you--you--you're
not going to church?"
Mrs. Vickers glanced at the books in her hand--also new--and trembled.
"And why not?" demanded Selina. "Why shouldn't we?"
Mr. Vickers took another amazed glance round and his brow darkened.
"Where did you get the money?" he inquired.
"Saved it," said his daughter, reddening despite herself.
"Saved it?" repeated the justly-astonished Mr. Vickers. "Saved it? Ah!
out of my money; out of the money I toil and moil for--out of the money
that ought to be spent on food. No wonder you're always complaining that
it ain't enough. I won't 'ave it, d'ye hear? I'll have my rights;
I'll----"
"Don't make so much noise," said his daughter, who was stooping down to
ease one of Mrs. Vickers's boots. "You would have fours, mother, and I
told you what it would be."
"He said that I ought to wear threes by rights," said Mrs. Vickers;
"I used to."
"And I s'pose," said Mr. Vickers, who had been listening to these remarks
with considerable impatience--"I s'pose there's a bran' new suit o'
clothes, and a pair o' boots, and 'arf-a-dozen shirts, and a new hat hid
upstairs for me?"
"Yes, they're hid all right," retorted the dutiful Miss Vickers. "You go
upstairs and amuse yourself looking for'em. Go and have a game of 'hot
boiled beans' all by yourself."
"Why, you must have been stinting me for years," continued Mr. Vickers,
examining the various costumes in detail. "This is what comes o' keeping
quiet and trusting you--not but what I've 'ad my suspicions. My own kids
taking the bread out o' my mouth and buying boots with it; my own wife
going about in a bonnet that's took me weeks and weeks to earn."
[Illustration:"'Why, you must have been stinting me for years,' continued
Mr. Vickers."]
His words fell on deaf ears. No adjutant getting his regiment ready for
a march-past could have taken more trouble than Miss Vickers was taking
at this moment over her small company. Caps were set straight and
sleeves pulled down. Her face shone with pride and her eyes glistened as
the small fry, discoursing in excited whispers, filed stiffly out.
A sudden cessation of gossip in neighbouring doorways testified to the
impression made by their appearance. Past little startled groups the
procession picked its way in squeaking pride, with Mrs. Vickers and
Selina bringing up the rear. The children went by with little set,
important faces; but Miss Vickers's little bows and pleased smiles of
recognition to acquaintances were so lady-like that several untidy
matrons retired inside their houses to wrestle grimly with feelings too
strong for outside display.
"Pack o' prancing peacocks," said the unnatural Mr. Vickers, as the
procession wound round the corner.
He stood looking vacantly up the street until the gathering excitement of
his neighbours aroused new feelings. Vanity stirred within him, and
leaning casually against the door-post he yawned and looked at the
chimney-pots opposite. A neighbour in a pair of corduroy trousers,
supported by one brace worn diagonally, shambled across the road.
"What's up?" he inquired, with a jerk of the thumb in the direction of
Mr. Vickers's vanished family.
"Up?" repeated Mr. Vickers, with an air of languid surprise.
"Somebody died and left you a fortin?" inquired the other.
"Not as I knows of," replied Mr. Vickers, staring. "Why?"
"Why?" exclaimed the other. "Why, new clothes all over. I never see
such a turn-out."
Mr. Vickers regarded him with an air of lofty disdain. "Kids must 'ave
new clothes sometimes, I s'pose?" he said, slowly. "You wouldn't 'ave'em
going about of a Sunday in a ragged shirt and a pair of trowsis, would
you?"
The shaft passed harmlessly. "Why not?" said the other. "They gin'rally
do."
Mr. Vickers's denial died away on his lips. In twos and threes his
neighbours had drawn gradually near and now stood by listening
expectantly. The idea of a fortune was common to all of them, and
they were anxious for particulars.
[Illustration: "They were anxious for particulars."]
"Some people have all the luck," said a stout matron. "I've 'ad thirteen
and buried seven, and never 'ad so much as a chiney tea-pot left me. One
thing is, I never could make up to people for the sake of what I could
get out of them. I couldn't not if I tried. I must speak my mind free
and independent."
"Ah! that's how you get yourself disliked," said another lady, shaking
her head sympathetically.
"Disliked?" said the stout matron, turning on her fiercely. "What d'ye
mean? You don't know what you're talking about. Who's getting
themselves disliked?"
"A lot o' good a chiney tea-pot would be to you," said the other, with a
ready change of front, "or any other kind o' tea-pot."
Surprise and indignation deprived the stout matron of utterance.
"Or a milk-jug either," pursued her opponent, following up her advantage.
"Or a coffee-pot, or--"
The stout matron advanced upon her, and her mien was so terrible that the
other, retreating to her house, slammed the door behind her and continued
the discussion from a first-floor window. Mint Street, with the
conviction that Mr. Vickers's tidings could wait, swarmed across the road
to listen.
Mr. Vickers himself listened for a little while to such fragments as came
his way, and then, going indoors, sat down amid the remains of his
breakfast to endeavour to solve the mystery of the new clothes.
He took a short clay pipe from his pocket, and, igniting a little piece
of tobacco which remained in the bowl, endeavoured to form an estimate of
the cost of each person's wardrobe. The sum soon becoming too large to
work in his head, he had recourse to pencil and paper, and after five
minutes' hard labour sat gazing at a total which made his brain reel.
The fact that immediately afterwards he was unable to find even a few
grains of tobacco at the bottom of his box furnished a contrast which
almost made him maudlin.
He sat sucking at his cold pipe and indulging in hopeless conjectures as
to the source of so much wealth, and, with a sudden quickening of the
pulse, wondered whether it had all been spent. His mind wandered from
Selina to Mr. Joseph Tasker, and almost imperceptibly the absurdities of
which young men in love could be capable occurred to him. He remembered
the extravagances of his own youth, and bethinking himself of the sums he
had squandered on the future Mrs. Vickers--sums which increased with the
compound interest of repetition--came to the conclusion that Mr. Tasker
had been more foolish still.
It seemed the only possible explanation. His eye brightened, and,
knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he crossed to the tap and washed his
face.
"If he can't lend a trifle to the man what's going to be his
father-in-law," he said, cheerfully, as he polished his face on a
roller-towel, "I shall tell 'im he can't have Selina, that's all. I'll
go and see 'im afore she gets any more out of him."
He walked blithely up the road, and, after shaking off one or two
inquirers whose curiosity was almost proof against insult, made his way
to Dialstone Lane. In an unobtrusive fashion he glided round to the
back, and, opening the kitchen door, bestowed a beaming smile upon the
startled Joseph.
"Busy, my lad?" he inquired.
"What d'ye want?" asked Mr. Tasker, whose face was flushed with cooking.
Mr. Vickers opened the door a little wider, and, stepping inside, closed
it softly behind him and dropped into a chair.
"Don't be alarmed, my lad," he said, benevolently. "Selina's all right."
"What d'ye want?" repeated Mr. Tasker. "Who told you to come round
here?"
Mr. Vickers looked at him in reproachful surprise.
"I suppose a father can come round to see his future son-in-law?" he
said, with some dignity. "I don't want to do no interrupting of your
work, Joseph, but I couldn't 'elp just stepping round to tell you how
nice they all looked. Where you got the money from I can't think."
"Have you gone dotty, or what?" demanded Mr. Tasker, who was busy wiping
out a saucepan. "Who looked nice?"
Mr. Vickers shook his head at him and smiled waggishly.
"Ah! who?" he said, with much enjoyment. "I tell you it did my
father's 'art good to see 'em all dressed up like that; and when I
thought of its all being owing to you, sit down at home in comfort with a
pipe instead of coming to thank you for it I could not. Not if you was
to have paid me I couldn't."
"Look 'ere," said Mr. Tasker, putting the saucepan down with a bang, "if
you can't talk plain, common English you'd better get out. I don't want
you 'ere at all as a matter o' fact, but to have you sitting there
shaking your silly 'ead and talking a pack o' nonsense is more than I can
stand."
Mr. Vickers gazed at him in perplexity. "Do you mean to tell me you
haven't been giving my Selina money to buy new clothes for the
young'uns?" he demanded, sharply. "Do you mean to tell me that Selina
didn't get money out of you to buy herself and 'er mother and all of 'em--
except me--a new rig-out from top to toe?"
"D'ye think I've gone mad, or what?" inquired the amazed Mr. Tasker.
"What d'ye think I should want to buy clothes for your young'uns for?
That's your duty. And Selina, too; I haven't given 'er anything except a
ring, and she lent me the money for that. D'ye think I'm made o' money?"
"All right, Joseph," said Mr. Vickers, secretly incensed at this
unforeseen display of caution on Mr. Tasker's part. "I s'pose the
fairies come and put'em on while they was asleep. But it's dry work
walking; 'ave you got such a thing as a glass o' water you could give
me?"
The other took a glass from the dresser and, ignoring the eye of his
prospective father-in-law, which was glued to a comfortable-looking
barrel in the corner, filled it to the brim with fair water and handed it
to him. Mr. Vickers, giving him a surly nod, took a couple of dainty
sips and placed it on the table.
"It's very nice water," he said, sarcastically.
"Is it?" said Mr. Tasker. "We don't drink it ourselves, except in tea or
coffee; the cap'n says it ain't safe."
Mr. Vickers brought his eye from the barrel and glared at him.
"I s'pose, Joseph," he said, after a long pause, during which Mr. Tasker
was busy making up the fire--"I s'pose Selina didn't tell you you wasn't
to tell me about the money?"
"I don't know what you're driving at," said the other, confronting him
angrily. "I haven't got no money."
Mr. Vickers coughed. "Don't say that, Joseph," he urged, softly; "don't
say that, my lad. As a matter o' fact, I come round to you, interrupting
of you in your work, and I'm sorry for it--knowing how fond of it you
are--to see whether I couldn't borrow a trifle for a day or two."
"Ho, did you?" commented Mr. Tasker, who had opened the oven door and was
using his hand as a thermometer.
His visitor hesitated. It was no use asking for too much; on the other
hand, to ask for less than he could get would be unpardonable folly.
"If I could lay my hand on a couple o' quid," he said, in a mysterious
whisper, "I could make it five in a week."
"Well, why don't you?" inquired Mr. Tasker, who was tenderly sucking the
bulb of the thermometer after contact with the side of the oven.
"It's the two quid that's the trouble, Joseph," replied Mr. Vickers,
keeping his temper with difficulty. "A little thing like that wouldn't
be much trouble to you, I know, but to a pore man with a large family
like me it's a'most impossible."
Mr. Tasker went outside to the larder, and returning with a small joint
knelt down and thrust it carefully into the oven.
"A'most impossible," repeated Mr. Vickers, with a sigh.
"What is?" inquired the other, who had not been listening.
The half-choking Mr. Vickers explained.
"Yes, o' course it is," assented Mr. Tasker.
"People what's got money," said the offended Mr. Vickers, regarding him
fiercely, "stick to it like leeches. Now, suppose I was a young man
keeping company with a gal and her father wanted to borrow a couple o'
quid--a paltry couple o' thick'uns--what d'ye think I should do?"
"If you was a young man--keeping company with a gal--and 'er father
wanted--to borrow a couple of quid off o' you--what would you do?"
repeated Mr. Tasker, mechanically, as he bustled to and fro.
Mr. Vickers nodded and smiled. "What should I do?" he inquired again,
hopefully.
"I don't know, I'm sure," said the other, opening the oven door and
peering in. "How should I?"
At the imminent risk of something inside giving way under the strain, Mr.
Vickers restrained himself. He breathed hard, and glancing out of window
sought to regain his equilibrium by becoming interested in a blackbird
outside.
"What I mean to say is," he said at length, in a trembling voice--"what I
mean to say is, without no round-aboutedness, will you lend a 'ard-working
man, what's going to be your future father-in-law, a couple o' pounds?"
Mr. Tasker laughed. It was not a loud laugh, nor yet a musical one.
It was merely a laugh designed to convey to the incensed Mr. Vickers a
strong sense of the absurdity of his request.
"I asked you a question," said the latter gentleman, glaring at him.
"I haven't got a couple o' pounds," replied Mr. Tasker; "and if I 'ad,
there's nine hundred and ninety-nine things I would sooner do with it
than lend it to you."
Mr. Vickers rose and stood regarding the ignoble creature with profound
contempt. His features worked and a host of adjectives crowded to his
lips.
[Illustration: "Mr. Vickers rose and stood regarding the ignoble creature
with profound contempt."]
"Is that your last word, Joseph?" he inquired, with solemn dignity.
"I'll say it all over again if you like," said the obliging Mr. Tasker.
"If you want money, go and earn it, same as I have to; don't come round
'ere cadging on me, because it's no good."
Mr. Vickers laughed; a dry, contemptuous laugh, terrible to hear.
"And that's the man that's going to marry my daughter," he said, slowly;
"that's the man that's going to marry into my family. Don't you expect
me to take you up and point you out as my son-in-law, cos I won't do it.
If there's anything I can't abide it's stinginess. And there's my gal
--my pore gal don't know your real character. Wait till I've told 'er
about this morning and opened 'er eyes! Wait till--"
He stopped abruptly as the door leading to the front room opened and
revealed the inquiring face of Captain Bowers.
"What's all this noise about, Joseph?" demanded the captain, harshly.
Mr. Tasker attempted to explain, but his explanation involving a
character for Mr. Vickers which that gentleman declined to accept on any
terms, he broke in and began to give his own version of the affair. Much
to Joseph's surprise the captain listened patiently.
"Did you buy all those things, Joseph?" he inquired, carelessly, as Mr.
Vickers paused for breath.
"Cert'nly not, sir," replied Mr. Tasker. "Where should I get the money
from?"
The captain eyed him without replying, and a sudden suspicion occurred to
him. The strange disappearance of the map, followed by the sudden
cessation of Mr. Chalk's visits, began to link themselves to this tale of
unexpected wealth. He bestowed another searching glance upon the
agitated Mr. Tasker.
"You haven't sold anything lately, have you?" he inquired, with
startling gruffness.
"I haven't 'ad nothing to sell, sir," replied the other, in astonishment.
"And I dare say Mr. Vickers here saw a new pair o' boots on one o' the
young'uns and dreamt all the rest."
Mr. Vickers intervened with passion.
"That'll do," said the captain, sharply. "How dare you make that noise
in my house? I think that the tale about the clothes is all right," he
added, turning to Joseph. "I saw them go into church looking very smart.
And you know nothing about it?"
Mr. Tasker's astonishment was too genuine to be mistaken, and the
captain, watching him closely, transferred his suspicions to a more
deserving object. Mr. Vickers caught his eye and essayed a smile.
"Dry work talking, sir," he said, gently.
Captain Bowers eyed him steadily. "Have we got any beer, Joseph?" he
inquired.
"Plenty in the cask, sir," said Mr. Tasker, reluctantly.
"Well, keep your eye on it," said the captain. "Good morning, Mr.
Vickers."
But disappointment and indignation got the better of Mr. Vickers's
politeness.
CHAPTER X
"Penny for your thoughts, uncle," said Miss Drewitt, as they sat at
dinner an hour or two after the departure of Mr. Vickers.
"_H'm?_" said the captain, with a guilty start. "You've been scowling
and smiling by turns for the last five minutes," said his niece.
"I was thinking about that man that was here this morning," said the
captain, slowly; "trying to figure it out. If I thought that that girl
Selina----"
He took a draught of ale and shook his head solemnly.
"You know my ideas about that," said Prudence.
"Your poor mother was obstinate," commented the captain, regarding her
tolerantly. "Once she got an idea into her head it stuck there, and
nothing made her more angry than proving to her that she was wrong.
Trying to prove to her, I should have said."
Miss Drewitt smiled amiably. "Well, you've earned half the sum," she
said. "Now, what were you smiling about?"
"Didn't know I was smiling," declared the captain.
With marvellous tact he turned the conversation to lighthouses, a subject
upon which he discoursed with considerable fluency until the meal was
finished. Miss Drewitt, who had a long memory and at least her fair
share of curiosity, returned to the charge as he smoked half a pipe
preparatory to accompanying her for a walk.
"You're looking very cheerful," she remarked.
The captain's face fell several points. "Am I?" he said, ruefully. "I
didn't mean to."
"Why not?" inquired his niece.
"I mean I didn't know I was," he replied, "more than usual, I mean. I
always do look fairly cheerful--at least, I hope I do. There's nothing
to make me look the opposite."
Miss Drewitt eyed him carefully and then passed upstairs to put on her
hat. Relieved of her presence the captain walked to the small glass over
the mantelpiece and, regarding his tell-tale features with gloomy
dissatisfaction, acquired, after one or two attempts, an expression which
he flattered himself defied analysis.
He tapped the barometer which hung by the door as they went out, and,
checking a remark which rose to his lips, stole a satisfied glance at the
face by his side.
"Clark's farm by the footpaths would be a nice walk," said Miss Drewitt,
as they reached the end of the lane.
The captain started. "I was thinking of Dutton Priors," he said, slowly.
"We could go there by Hanger's Lane and home by the road."
"The footpaths would be nice to-day," urged his niece.
"You try my way," said the captain, jovially.
"Have you got any particular reason for wanting to go to Dutton Priors
this afternoon?" inquired the girl.
"Reason?" said the captain. "Good gracious, no. What reason should I
have? My leg is a trifle stiff to-day for stiles, but still--"
Miss Drewitt gave way at once, and, taking his arm, begged him to lean on
her, questioning him anxiously as to his fitness for a walk in any
direction.
"Walking'll do it good," was the reply, as they proceeded slowly down the
High Street.
He took his watch from his pocket, and, after comparing it with the town
clock, peered furtively right and left, gradually slackening his pace
until Miss Drewitt's fears for his leg became almost contagious. At the
old stone bridge, spanning the river at the bottom of the High Street, he
paused, and, resting his arms on the parapet, became intent on a derelict
punt. On the subject of sitting in a craft of that description in
mid-stream catching fish he discoursed at such length that the girl eyed
him in amazement.
[Illustration: "He became intent on a derelict punt."]
"Shall we go on?" she said, at length.
The captain turned and, merely pausing to point out the difference
between the lines of a punt and a dinghy, with a digression to sampans
which included a criticism of the Chinese as boat-builders, prepared to
depart. He cast a swift glance up the road as he did so, and Miss
Drewitt's cheek flamed with sudden wrath as she saw Mr. Edward Tredgold
hastening towards them. In a somewhat pointed manner she called her
uncle's attention to the fact.
"Lor' bless my soul," said that startled mariner, "so it is. Well!
well!"
If Mr. Tredgold had been advancing on his head he could not have
exhibited more surprise.
"I'm afraid I'm late," said Tredgold, as he came up and shook hands. "I
hope you haven't been waiting long."
The hapless captain coughed loud and long. He emerged from a large red
pocket-handkerchief to find the eye of Miss Drewitt seeking his.
"That's all right, my lad," he said, huskily. "I'd forgotten about our
arrangement. Did I say this Sunday or next?"
"This," said Mr. Tredgold, bluntly.
The captain coughed again, and with some pathos referred to the tricks
which old age plays with memory. As they walked on he regaled them with
selected instances.
"Don't forget your leg, uncle," said Miss Drewitt, softly.
Captain Bowers gazed at her suspiciously.
"Don't forget that it's stiff and put too much strain on it," explained
his niece.
The captain eyed her uneasily, but she was talking and laughing with
Edward Tredgold in a most reassuring fashion. A choice portion of his
programme, which, owing to the events of the afternoon, he had almost
resolved to omit, clamoured for production. He stole another glance at
his niece and resolved to risk it.
"Hah!" he said, suddenly, stopping short and feeling in his pockets.
"There's my memory again. Well, of all the--"
"What's the matter, uncle?" inquired Miss Drewitt.
"I've left my pipe at home," said the captain, in a desperate voice.
"I've got some cigars," suggested Tredgold.
The captain shook his head. "No, I must have my pipe," he said,
decidedly. "If you two will walk on slowly, I'll soon catch you up."