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Family Cares Deep Waters, Part 7. By: W. W. Jacobs (1863-1943) |
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By W.W. JACOBS FAMILY CARES Mr. Jernshaw, who was taking the opportunity of a lull in business to
weigh out pound packets of sugar, knocked his hands together and stood
waiting for the order of the tall bronzed man who had just entered the
shop a well built man of about forty who was regarding him with blue
eyes set in quizzical wrinkles. "What, Harry!" exclaimed Mr. Jernshaw, in response to the wrinkles.
"Harry Barrett!" "That's me," said the other, extending his hand. "The rolling stone come
home covered with moss." Mr. Jernshaw, somewhat excited, shook hands, and led the way into the
little parlour behind the shop. "Fifteen years," said Mr. Barrett, sinking into a chair, "and the old
place hasn't altered a bit." "Smithson told me he had let that house in Webb Street to a Barrett,"
said the grocer, regarding him, "but I never thought of you. I suppose
you've done well, then?" Mr. Barrett nodded. "Can't grumble," he said modestly. "I've got enough
to live on. Melbourne's all right, but I thought I'd come home for the
evening of my life." "Evening!" repeated his friend. "Forty three," said Mr. Barrett,
gravely. "I'm getting on." "You haven't changed much," said the grocer, passing his hand through his
spare grey whiskers. "Wait till you have a wife and seven youngsters.
Why, boots alone " Mr. Barrett uttered a groan intended for sympathy. "Perhaps you could
help me with the furnishing," he said, slowly. "I've never had a place
of my own before, and I don't know much about it." "Anything I can do," said his friend. "Better not get much yet; you
might marry, and my taste mightn't be hers." Mr. Barrett laughed. "I'm not marrying," he said, with conviction. "Seen anything of Miss Prentice yet?" inquired Mr. Jernshaw. "No," said the other, with a slight flush. "Why?" "She's still single," said the grocer. "What of it?" demanded Mr. Barrett, with warmth. "What of it?" "Nothing," said Mr. Jernshaw, slowly. "Nothing; only I " "Well?" said the other, as he paused. "I there was an idea that you went to Australia to to better your
condition," murmured the grocer. "That that you were not in a position
to marry that " "Boy and girl nonsense," said Mr. Barrett, sharply. "Why, it's fifteen
years ago. I don't suppose I should know her if I saw her. Is her
mother alive?" "Rather!" said Mr. Jernshaw, with emphasis. "Louisa is something like
what her mother was when you went away." Mr. Barrett shivered. "But you'll see for yourself," continued the other. "You'll have to go
and see them. They'll wonder you haven't been before." "Let 'em wonder," said the embarrassed Mr. Barrett. "I shall go and see
all my old friends in their turn; casual like. You might let 'em hear
that I've been to see you before seeing them, and then, if they're
thinking any nonsense, it'll be a hint. I'm stopping in town while the
house is being decorated; next time I come down I'll call and see
somebody else." "That'll be another hint," assented Mr. Jernshaw. "Not that hints are
much good to Mrs. Prentice." "We'll see," said Mr. Barrett. In accordance with his plan his return to his native town was heralded by
a few short visits at respectable intervals. A sort of human butterfly,
he streaked rapidly across one or two streets, alighted for half an hour
to resume an old friendship, and then disappeared again. Having given at
least half a dozen hints of this kind, he made a final return to Ramsbury
and entered into occupation of his new house. "It does you credit, Jernshaw," he said, gratefully. "I should have made
a rare mess of it without your help." "It looks very nice," admitted his friend. "Too nice." "That's all nonsense," said the owner, irritably. "All right," said Mr. Jernshaw. "I don't know the sex, then, that's all.
If you think that you're going to keep a nice house like this all to
yourself, you're mistaken. It's a home; and where there's a home a woman
comes in, somehow... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Humor |
Literature |
Sea stories |
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