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Homeward Bound Sailor's Knots, Part 2. By: W. W. Jacobs (1863-1943) |
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By W.W. Jacobs
1909 HOMEWARD BOUND
Mr. Hatchard's conversation for nearly a week had been confined to fault
finding and grunts, a system of treatment designed to wean Mrs. Hatchard
from her besetting sin of extravagance. On other occasions the treatment
had, for short periods, proved successful, but it was quite evident that
his wife's constitution was becoming inured to this physic and required a
change of treatment. The evidence stared at him from the mantelpiece in
the shape of a pair of huge pink vases, which had certainly not been
there when he left in the morning. He looked at them and breathed
heavily. "Pretty, ain't they?" said his wife, nodding at them. "Who gave 'em to you?" inquired Mr. Hatchard, sternly. His wife shook her head. "You don't get vases like that given to you,"
she said, slowly. "Leastways, I don't." "Do you mean to say you bought 'em?" demanded her husband. Mrs. Hatchard nodded. "After all I said to you about wasting my money?" persisted Mr. Hatchard,
in amazed accents. Mrs. Hatchard nodded, more brightly than before. "There has got to be an end to this!" said her husband, desperately.
"I won't have it! D'ye hear? I won't have it!" "I bought 'em with my own money," said his wife, tossing her head. "Your money?" said Mr. Hatchard. "To hear you talk anybody 'ud think
you'd got three hundred a year, instead o' thirty. Your money ought to
be spent in useful things, same as what mine is. Why should I spend my
money keeping you, while you waste yours on pink vases and having friends
in to tea?" Mrs. Hatchard's still comely face took on a deeper tinge. "Keeping me?" she said, sharply. "You'd better stop before you say
anything you might be sorry for, Alfred." "I should have to talk a long time before I said that," retorted the
other. "I'm not so sure," said his wife. "I'm beginning to be tired of it." "I've reasoned with you," continued Mr. Hatchard, "I've argued with you,
and I've pointed out the error of your ways to you, and it's all no
good." "Oh, be quiet, and don't talk nonsense," said his wife. "Talking," continued Mr. Hatchard, "as I said before, is no good. Deeds,
not words, is what is wanted." He rose suddenly from his chair and, taking one of the vases from the
mantelpiece, dashed it to pieces on the fender. Example is contagious,
and two seconds later he was in his chair again, softly feeling a rapidly
growing bump on his head, and gazing goggle eyed at his wife. [Illustration: Taking one of the vases from the mantelpiece, he dashed it
to pieces on the fender.] "And I'd do it again," said that lady, breathlessly, "if there was
another vase." Mr. Hatchard opened his mouth, but speech failed him. He got up and left
the room without a word, and, making his way to the scullery, turned on
the tap and held his head beneath it. A sharp intake of the breath
announced that a tributary stream was looking for the bump down the neck
of his shirt. He was away a long time so long that the half penitent Mrs. Hatchard was
beginning to think of giving first aid to the wounded. Then she heard
him coming slowly back along the passage. He entered the room, drying
his wet hair on a hand kerchief. "I I hope I didn't hurt you much?" said his wife. Mr. Hatchard drew himself up and regarded her with lofty indignation. "You might have killed me," he said at last, in thrilling tones. "Then
what would you have done?" "Swept up the pieces, and said you came home injured and died in my
arms," said Mrs. Hatchard, glibly. "I don't want to be unfeeling, but
you'd try the temper of a saint. I'm sure I wonder I haven't done it
before. Why I married a stingy man I don't know." "Why I married at all I don't know," said her husband, in a deep voice. "We were both fools," said Mrs. Hatchard, in a resigned voice; "that's
what it was. However, it can't be helped now." "Some men would go and leave you," said Mr. Hatchard. "Well, go," said his wife, bridling... Continue reading book >>
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Humor |
Literature |
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