



Produced by David Widger




SHIP'S COMPANY

By W.W. Jacobs



FOR BETTER OR WORSE


Mr. George Wotton, gently pushing the swing doors of the public bar of
the "King's Head" an inch apart, applied an eye to the aperture, in the
hope of discovering a moneyed friend.  His gaze fell on the only man in
the bar a greybeard of sixty whose weather-beaten face and rough clothing
spoke of the sea.  With a faint sigh he widened the opening and passed
through.

"Mornin', Ben," he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness.

"Have a drop with me," said the other, heartily.  "Got any money about
you?"

Mr. Wotton shook his head and his face fell, clearing somewhat as the
other handed him his mug.  "Drink it all up, George," he said.

His friend complied.  A more tactful man might have taken longer over the
job, but Mr. Benjamin Davis, who appeared to be labouring under some
strong excitement, took no notice.

"I've had a shock, George," he said, regarding the other steadily.  "I've
heard news of my old woman."

"Didn't know you 'ad one," said Mr. Wotton calmly.  "Wot's she done?"

"She left me," said Mr. Davis, solemnly--"she left me thirty-five years
ago.  I went off to sea one fine morning, and that was the last I ever
see of er.

"Why, did she bolt?"  inquired Mr. Wotton, with mild interest.

"No," said his friend, "but I did.  We'd been married three years--three
long years--and I had 'ad enough of it.  Awful temper she had.  The last
words I ever heard 'er say was: 'Take that!'"

Mr. Wotton took up the mug and, after satisfying himself as to the
absence of contents, put it down again and yawned.

"I shouldn't worry about it if I was you," he remarked.  "She's hardly
likely to find you now.  And if she does she won't get much."

Mr. Davis gave vent to a contemptuous laugh.  "Get much!"  he repeated.
"It's her what's got it.  I met a old shipmate of mine this morning what
I 'adn't seen for ten years, and he told me he run acrost 'er only a
month ago.  After she left me--"

"But you said you left her!"  exclaimed his listening friend.

"Same thing," said Mr. Davis, impatiently.  "After she left me to work
myself to death at sea, running here and there at the orders of a pack
o'lazy scuts aft, she went into service and stayed in one place for
fifteen years.  Then 'er missis died and left her all 'er money.  For
twenty years, while I've been working myself to skin and bone, she's been
living in comfort and idleness."

"'Ard lines," said Mr. Wotton, shaking his head.  "It don't bear thinking
of."

"Why didn't she advertise for me?"  said Mr. Davis, raising his voice.
"That's what I want to know.  Advertisements is cheap enough; why didn't
she advertise?  I should 'ave come at once if she'd said anything about
money."

Mr. Wotton shook his head again.  "P'r'aps she didn't want you," he said,
slowly.

"What's that got to do with it?"  demanded the other.  "It was 'er dooty.
She'd got money, and I ought to have 'ad my 'arf of it.  Nothing can make
up for that wasted twenty years--nothing."

"P'r'aps she'll take you back," said Mr. Wotton.

"Take me back?"  repeated Mr. Davis.  "O' course she'll take me back.
She'll have to.  There's a law in the land, ain't there?  What I'm
thinking of is: Can I get back my share what I ought to have 'ad for the
last twenty years?"

"Get 'er to take you back first," counselled his friend.  "Thirty-five
years is along time, and p'r'aps she has lost 'er love for you.  Was you
good-looking in those days?"

"Yes," snapped Mr. Davis; "I ain't altered much--.  'Sides, what about
her?"

"That ain't the question," said the other.  "She's got a home and money.
It don't matter about looks; and, wot's more, she ain't bound to keep
you.  If you take my advice, you won't dream of letting her know you run
away from her.  Say you was cast away at sea