BOOK 3
ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM DRAWINGS BY WILL OWEN
"Why was wimmen made? Wot good are they?" |
GOOD INTENTIONS
"Jealousy; that's wot it is," said the night-watchman, trying to sneer—"pure jealousy." He had left his broom for a hurried half-pint at the"Bull's Head"—left it leaning in a negligent attitude against thewarehouse-wall; now, lashed to the top of the crane at the jetty end, itpointed its soiled bristles towards the evening sky and defied capture.
"And I know who it is, and why 'e's done it," he continued. "Fust andlast, I don't suppose I was talking to the gal for more than ten minutes,and 'arf of that was about the weather.
"I don't suppose anybody 'as suffered more from jealousy than wot I 'ave:Other people's jealousy, I mean. Ever since I was married the missis hasbeen setting traps for me, and asking people to keep an eye on me. Iblacked one of the eyes once—like a fool—and the chap it belonged tomade up a tale about me that I ain't lived down yet.
"Years ago, when I was out with the missis one evening, I saved a gal'slife for her. She slipped as she was getting off a bus, and I caught 'erjust in time. Fine strapping gal she was, and afore I could get mybalance we 'ad danced round and round 'arfway acrost the road with ourarms round each other's necks, and my missis watching us from thepavement. When we were safe, she said the gal 'adn't slipped at all;and, as soon as the gal 'ad got 'er breath, I'm blest if she didn't sayso too.
"You can't argufy with jealous people, and you can't shame 'em. When Itold my missis once that I should never dream of being jealous of her,instead of up and thanking me for it, she spoilt the best frying-pan weever had. When the widder-woman next-door but two and me 'ad rheumaticsat the same time, she went and asked the doctor whether it was catching.
"The worse trouble o' that kind I ever got into was all through trying todo somebody else a kindness. I went out o' my way to do it; I wasted thewhole evening for the sake of other people, and got into such troubleover it that even now it gives me the cold shivers to think of.
"Cap'n Tarbell was the man I tried to do a good turn to; a man what usedto be master of a ketch called the Lizzie and Annie, trading between'ere and Shoremouth. 'Artful Jack' he used to be called, and if ever aman deserved the name, he did. A widder-man of about fifty, and as sillyas a boy of fifteen. He 'ad been talking of ge