Homeward Bound

  Produced by David Widger

  SAILORS' KNOTS

  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. Hatchardfrom her besetting sin of extravagance. On other occasions the treatmenthad, for short periods, proved successful, but it was quite evident thathis wife's constitution was becoming inured to this physic and required achange of treatment. The evidence stared at him from the mantelpiece inthe shape of a pair of huge pink vases, which had certainly not beenthere when he left in the morning. He looked at them and breathedheavily.

  "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 thinkyou'd got three hundred a year, instead o' thirty. Your money ought tobe spent in useful things, same as what mine is. Why should I spend mymoney keeping you, while you waste yours on pink vases and having friendsin to tea?"

  Mrs. Hatchard's still comely face took on a deeper tinge.

  "Keeping me?" she said, sharply. "You'd better stop before you sayanything you might be sorry for, Alfred."

  "I should have to talk a long time before I said that," retorted theother.

  "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 nogood."

  "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 themantelpiece, dashed it to pieces on the fender. Example is contagious,and two seconds later he was in his chair again, softly feeling a rapidlygrowing bump on his head, and gazing goggle-eyed at his wife.

  Taking one of the vases from the mantelpiece, he dashed itto pieces on the fender.]

  "And I'd do it again," said that lady, breathlessly, "if there wasanother vase."

  Mr. Hatchard opened his mouth, but speech failed him. He got up and leftthe room without a word, and, making his way to the scullery, turned onthe tap and held his head beneath it. A sharp intake of the breathannounced that a tributary stream was looking for the bump down the neckof his shirt.

  He was away a long time--so long that the half-penitent Mrs. Hatchard wasbeginning to think of giving first aid to the wounded. Then she heardhim coming slowly back along the passage. He entered the room, dryinghis 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. "Thenwhat would you have done?"

  "Swept up the pieces, and said you came home injured and died in myarms," said Mrs. Hatchard, glibly. "I don't want to be unfeeling, butyou'd try the temper of a saint. I'm sure I wonder I haven't done itbefore. 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'swhat 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. "I don't want you."

  "Don't talk nonsense," said the other.

  "It ain't nonsense," said Mrs. Hatchard. "If you want to go, go.I don't want to keep you."

  "I only wish I could," said her husband, wistfully.

  "There's the door," said Mrs. Hatchard, pointing. "What's to preventyou?"

  "And have you going to the magistrate?" observed Mr. Hatchard.

  "Not me," was the reply.

  "Or coming up, full of complaints, to the ware-house?"

  "Not me," said his wife again.

  "It makes my mouth water to think of it," said Mr. Hatchard. "Four yearsago I hadn't a care in the world."

  "Me neither," said Mrs. Hatchard; "but then I never thought I shouldmarry you. I remember the first time I saw you I had to stuff myhandkerchief in my mouth."

  "What for?" inquired Mr. Hatchard.

  "Keep from laughing," was the reply.

  "You took care not to let me see you laugh," said Mr. Hatchard, grimly."You were polite enough in them days. I only wish I could have my timeover again; that's all."

  "You can go, as I said before," said his wife.

  "I'd go this minute," said Mr. Hatchard, "but I know what it 'ud be: inthree or four days you'd be coming and begging me to take you backagain."

  "You try me," said Mrs. Hatchard, with a hard laugh. "I can keep myself.You leave me the furniture--most of it is mine--and I sha'n't worry youagain."

  "Mind!" said Mr. Hatchard, raising his hand with great solemnity. "If Igo, I never come back again."

  "I'll take care of that," said his wife, equably. "You are far morelikely to ask to come back than I am."

  Mr. Hatchard stood for some time in deep thought, and then, spurred on bya short, contemptuous laugh from his wife, went to the small passage and,putting on his overcoat and hat, stood in the parlor doorway regardingher.

  "I've a good mind to take you at your word," he said, at last.

  "Good-night," said his wife, briskly. "If you send me your address, I'llsend your things on to you. There's no need for you to call about them."

  Hardly realizing the seriousness of the step, Mr. Hatchard closed thefront door behind him with a bang, and then discovered that it wasraining. Too proud to return for his umbrella, he turned up hiscoat-collar and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, walked slowly downthe desolate little street. By the time he had walked a dozen yards hebegan to think that he might as well have waited until the morning;before he had walked fifty he was certain of it.

  He passed the night at a coffee-house, and rose so early in the morningthat the proprietor took it as a personal affront, and advised him to gethis breakfast elsewhere. It was the longest day in Mr. Hatchard'sexperience, and, securing modest lodgings that evening, he overslepthimself and was late at the warehouse next morning for the first time inten years.

  His personal effects arrived next day, but no letter came from his wife,and one which he wrote concerning a pair of missing garments received noreply. He wrote again, referring to them in laudatory terms, and got abrief reply to the effect that they had been exchanged in part payment ona pair of valuable pink vases, the pieces of which he could have bypaying the carriage.

  In six weeks Mr. Hatchard changed his lodgings twice. A lack of thosehome comforts which he had taken as a matter of course during his marriedlife was a source of much tribulation, and it was clear that his weeklybills were compiled by a clever writer of fiction. It was his firstexperience of lodgings, and the difficulty of saying unpleasant things toa woman other than his wife was not the least of his troubles. Hechanged his lodgings for a third time, and, much surprised at his wife'scontinued
silence, sought out a cousin of hers named Joe Pett, and pouredhis troubles into that gentleman's reluctant ear.

  "If she was to ask me to take her back," he concluded, "I'm not sure,mind you, that I wouldn't do so."

  "It does you credit," said Mr. Pett. "Well, ta-ta; I must be off."

  "And I expect she'd be very much obliged to anybody that told her so,"said Mr. Hatchard, clutching