Deep Waters, the Entire Collection

“You know the way there all right,” ses Sam, very bitter.

“And we don’t want none o’ your back-answers,” ses Ginger. “Are you going shares or not?”

“Wot about the money I paid for it?” ses Sam, “and my trouble?”

Ginger and Peter sat down on the bed to talk it over, and at last, arter calling themselves a lot o’ bad names for being too kind-’earted, they offered ‘im five pounds each for their share in the locket.

“And that means you’ve got your share for next to nothing, Sam,” ses Ginger.

“Some people wouldn’t ‘ave given you any-thing,” ses Peter.

Sam gave way at last, and then ‘e stood by making nasty remarks while Ginger wrote out a paper for them all to sign, because he said he had known Sam such a long time.

It was a’most daylight afore they got to sleep, and the fust thing Ginger did when he woke was to wake Sam up, and offer to shake ‘ands with him. The noise woke Peter up, and, as Sam wouldn’t shake ‘ands with ‘im either, they both patted him on the back instead.

They made him take ‘em to the little pub, arter breakfast, to read the bill about the reward. Sam didn’t mind going, as it ‘appened, as he ‘oped to meet ‘is new pal there and tell ‘im his troubles, but, though they stayed there some time, ‘e didn’t turn up. He wasn’t at the coffee-shop for dinner, neither.

Peter and Ginger was in ‘igh spirits, and, though Sam told ‘em plain that he would sooner walk about with a couple of real pickpockets, they wouldn’t leave ‘im an inch.

“Anybody could steal it off of you, Sam,” ses Ginger, patting ‘im on the weskit to make sure the locket was still there. “It’s a good job you’ve got us to look arter you.”

“We must buy ‘im a money-belt with a pocket in it,” ses Peter.

Ginger nodded at ‘im. “Yes,” he ses, “that would be safer. And he’d better wear it next to ‘is skin, with everything over it. I should feel more comfortable then.”

“And wot about me?” says Sam, turning on ‘im.

“Well, we’ll take it in turns,” ses Ginger. “You one day, and then me, and then Peter.”

Sam gave way at last, as arter all he could see it was the safest thing to do, but he ‘ad so much to say about it that they got fair sick of the sound of ‘is voice. They ‘ad to go ‘ome for ‘im to put the belt on; and then at seven o’clock in the evening, arter Sam had ‘ad two or three pints, they had to go ‘ome agin, ‘cos he was complaining of tight-lacing.

Ginger had it on next day and he went ‘ome five times. The other two went with ‘im in case he lost ‘imself, and stood there making nasty remarks while he messed ‘imself up with a penn’orth of cold cream. It was a cheap belt, and pore Ginger said that, when they ‘ad done with it, it would come in handy for sand-paper.

Peter didn’t like it any better than the other two did, and twice they ‘ad to speak to ‘im about stopping in the street and trying to make ‘imself more comfortable by wriggling. Sam said people misunderstood it.

Arter that they agreed to wear it outside their shirt, and even then Ginger said it scratched ‘im. And every day they got more and more worried about wot was the best thing to do with the locket, and whether it would be safe to try and sell it. The idea o’ walking about with a fortune in their pockets that they couldn’t spend a’most drove ‘em crazy.

“The longer we keep it, the safer it’ll be,” ses Sam, as they was walking down Hounds-ditch one day.

“We’ll sell it when I’m sixty,” ses Ginger, nasty-like.

“Then old Sam won’t be ‘ere to have ‘is share,” ses Peter.

Sam was just going to answer ‘em back, when he stopped and began to smile instead. Straight in front of ‘im was the gentleman he ‘ad met in the coffee-shop, coming along with another man, and he just ‘ad time to see that it was the docker who ‘ad sold him the locket, when they both saw ‘im. They turned like a flash, and, afore Sam could get ‘is breath, bolted up a little alley and disappeared.

“Wot’s the row?” ses Ginger, staring.

Sam didn’t answer ‘im. He stood there struck all of a heap.

“Do you know ‘em?” ses Peter.

Sam couldn’t answer ‘im for a time. He was doing a bit of ‘ard thinking.

“Chap I ‘ad a row with the other night,” he ses, at last.

He walked on very thoughtful, and the more ‘e thought, the less ‘e liked it. He was so pale that Ginger thought ‘e was ill and advised ‘im to ‘ave a drop o’ brandy. Peter recommended rum, so to please ‘em he ‘ad both. It brought ‘is colour back, but not ‘is cheerfulness.

He gave ‘em both the slip next morning; which was easy, as Ginger was wearing the locket, and, arter fust ‘aving a long ride for nothing owing to getting in the wrong train, he got to Barnet.

It was a big place; big enough to ‘ave a dozen Orange Villas, but pore Sam couldn’t find one. It wasn’t for want of trying neither.

He asked at over twenty shops, and the post-office, and even went to the police-station. He must ha’ walked six or seven miles looking for it, and at last, ‘arf ready to drop, ‘e took the train back.

He ‘ad some sausages and mashed potatoes with a pint o’ stout at a place in Bishopsgate, and then ‘e started to walk ‘ome. The only comfort he ‘ad was the thought of the ten pounds Ginger and Peter ‘ad paid ‘im; and when he remembered that he began to cheer up and even smile. By the time he got ‘ome ‘e was beaming all over ‘is face.

“Where’ve you been?” ses Ginger.

“Enjoying myself by myself,” ses Sam.

“Please yourself,” ses Peter, very severe, “but where’d you ha’ been if we ‘ad sold the locket and skipped, eh?”

“You wouldn’t ‘ave enjoyed yourself by yourself then,” ses Ginger. “Yes, you may laugh!”

Sam didn’t answer ‘im, but he sat down on ‘is bed and ‘is shoulders shook till Ginger lost his temper and gave him a couple o’ thumps on the back that pretty near broke it.

“All right,” ses Sam, very firm. “Now you ‘ave done for yourselves. I ‘ad a’most made up my mind to go shares; now you sha’n’t ‘ave a ha’penny.”

Ginger laughed then. “Ho!” he ses, “and ‘ow are you going to prevent it?”

“We’ve got the locket, Sam,” ses Peter, smiling and shaking his ‘ead at ‘im.

“And we’ll mind it till it’s sold,” ses Ginger.

Sam laughed agin, short and nasty. Then he undressed ‘imself very slow and got into bed. At twelve o’clock, just as Ginger was dropping off, he began to laugh agin, and ‘e only stopped when ‘e heard Ginger getting out of bed to ‘im.

He stayed in bed next morning, ‘cos he said ‘is sides was aching, but ‘e laughed agin as they was going out, and when they came back he ‘ad gorn.

We never know ‘ow much we’ like anything till we lose it. A week arterwards, as Ginger was being ‘elped out of a pawnshop by Peter, he said ‘e would give all he ‘adn’t got for the locket to be near enough to Sam to hear ‘im laugh agin.

PAYING OFF

My biggest fault, said the night-watchman, gloomily, has been good nature. I’ve spent the best part of my life trying to do my fellow-creeturs a good turn. And what do I get for it? If all the people I’ve helped was to come ‘ere now there wouldn’t be standing room for them on this wharf. ‘Arf of them would be pushed overboard—and a good place for ‘em, too.

I’ve been like it all my life. I was good-natured enough to go to sea as a boy because a skipper took a fancy to me and wanted my ‘elp, and when I got older I was good-natured enough to get married. All my life I’ve given ‘elp and advice free, and only a day or two ago one of ‘em wot I ‘ad given it to came round here with her ‘usband and ‘er two brothers and ‘er mother and two or three people from the same street, to see her give me “wot for.”

Another fault o’ mine has been being sharp. Most people make mistakes, and they can’t bear to see anybody as don’t. Over and over agin I have showed people ‘ow silly they ‘ave been to do certain things, and told ‘em wot I should ha’ done in their place, but I can’t remember one that ever gave me a “thank you” for it.

There was a man ‘ere ‘arf an hour ago that reminded me of both of these faults. He came in a-purpose to remind me, and ‘e brought a couple o’ grinning, brass-faced monkeys with ‘im to see ‘im do it. I was sitting on that barrel when he came, and arter two minutes I felt as if I was sitting on red-’ot cinders. He purtended he ‘ad come in for the sake of old times and to ask arter my ‘ealth, and all the time he was doing ‘is best to upset me to amuse them two pore objecks ‘e ‘ad brought with ‘im.