



Produced by David Widger




SAILORS' KNOTS

By W.W. Jacobs


1909



"MATRIMONIAL OPENINGS"


Mr. Dowson sat by the kitchen fire smoking and turning a docile and well-
trained ear to the heated words which fell from his wife's lips.

"She'll go and do the same as her sister Jenny done," said Mrs. Dowson,
with a side glance at her daughter Flora; "marry a man and then 'ave to
work and slave herself to skin and bone to keep him."

"I see Jenny yesterday," said her husband, nodding.  "Getting quite fat,
she is."

"That's right," said Mrs. Dowson, violently, "that's right!  The moment I
say something you go and try and upset it."

"Un'ealthy fat, p'r'aps," said Mr. Dowson, hurriedly; "don't get enough
exercise, I s'pose."

"Anybody who didn't know you, Joe Dowson," said his wife, fiercely,
"would think you was doing it a purpose."

"Doing wot?"  inquired Mr. Dowson, removing his pipe and regarding her
open-mouthed.  "I only said----"

"I know what you said," retorted his wife.  "Here I do my best from
morning to night to make everybody 'appy and comfortable; and what
happens?"

"Nothing," said the sympathetic Mr. Dowson, shaking his head.  "Nothing."

"Anyway, Jenny ain't married a fool," said Mrs. Dowson, hotly; "she's got
that consolation."

"That's right, mother," said the innocent Mr. Dowson, "look on the bright
side o' things a bit.  If Jenny 'ad married a better chap I don't suppose
we should see half as much of her as wot we do."

"I'm talking of Flora," said his wife, restraining herself by an effort.
"One unfortunate marriage in the family is enough; and here, instead o'
walking out with young Ben Lippet, who'll be 'is own master when his
father dies, she's gadding about with that good-for-nothing Charlie
Foss."

Mr. Dowson shook his head.  "He's so good-looking, is Charlie," he said,
slowly; "that's the worst of it.  Wot with 'is dark eyes and his curly
'air----"

"Go on!" said his wife, passionately, "go on!"

Mr. Dowson, dimly conscious that something was wrong, stopped and puffed
hard at his pipe.  Through the cover of the smoke he bestowed a
sympathetic wink upon his daughter.

"You needn't go on too fast," said the latter, turning to her mother.  "I
haven't made up my mind yet.  Charlie's looks are all right, but he ain't
over and above steady, and Ben is steady, but he ain't much to look at."

"What does your 'art say?" inquired the sentimental Mr. Dowson.

Neither lady took the slightest notice.

"Charlie Foss is too larky," said Mrs. Dowson, solemnly; "it's easy come
and easy go with 'im.  He's just such another as your father's cousin
Bill--and look what 'appened to him!"

Miss Dowson shrugged her shoulders and subsiding in her chair, went on
with her book, until a loud knock at the door and a cheerful, but
peculiarly shrill, whistle sounded outside.

[Illustration: "Miss Dowson, subsiding in her chair, went on with her
book."]

"There is my lord," exclaimed Mrs. Dowson, waspishly; "anybody might
think the 'ouse belonged to him.  And now he's dancing on my clean
doorstep."

"Might be only knocking the mud off afore coming in," said Mr. Dowson, as
he rose to open the door.  "I've noticed he's very careful."

"I just came in to tell you a joke," said Mr. Foss, as he followed his
host into the kitchen and gazed tenderly at Miss Dowson--"best joke I
ever had in my life; I've 'ad my fortune told--guess what it was!  I've
been laughing to myself ever since."

"Who told it?" inquired Mrs. Dowson, after a somewhat awkward silence.

"Old gypsy woman in Peter Street," replied Mr. Foss.  "I gave 'er a wrong
name and address, just in case she might ha' heard about me, and she did
make a mess of it; upon my word she did."

"Wot did she say?" inquired Mr. Dowson.

Mr. Foss laughed.  "Said I was a wrong 'un," he said, cheerfully, "and
would bring my mother's gray hairs to the grave with sorrow.  I'm to 'ave
bad companions and take to drink; I'm to steal money to gamble with, and
after all that I'm to 'ave five years for bigamy.  I told her I was
disappointed I wasn't to be hung, and she said it would be a
disappointment to a lot of other people too.  Laugh!  I thought I should
'ave killed myself."

"I don't see nothing to laugh at," said Mrs. Dowson, coldly.

"I shouldn't tell anybody else, Charlie," said her husband.  "Keep it a
secret, my boy."

"But you--you don't believe it?" stammered the crestfallen Mr. Foss.

Mrs. Dowson cast a stealthy glance at her daughter.  "Its wonderful 'ow
some o' those fortune-tellers can see into the future," she said, shaking
her head.

"Ah!" said her husband, with a confirmatory nod.  "Wonderful is no name
for it.  I 'ad my fortune told once when I was a boy, and she told me I
should marry the prettiest, and the nicest, and the sweetest-tempered gal
in Poplar."

Mr. Foss, with a triumphant smile, barely waited for him to finish.
"There you--" he began, and stopped suddenly.

[Illustration: "I just came in to tell you a joke."]

"What was you about to remark?" inquired Mrs. Dowson, icily.

"I was going to say," replied Mr. Foss--"I was going to say--I 'ad just
got it on the tip o' my tongue to say, 'There you--you--you 'ad all the
luck, Mr. Dowson.'"

He edged his chair a little nearer to Flora; but there was a chilliness
in the atmosphere against which his high spirits strove in vain.  Mr.
Dowson remembered other predictions which had come true, notably the case
of one man who, learning that he was to come in for a legacy, gave up a
two-pound-a-week job, and did actually come in for twenty pounds and a
bird-cage seven years afterwards.

[Illustration: "He edged his chair a little nearer to Flora."]

"It's all nonsense," protested Mr. Foss; "she only said all that because
I made fun of her.  You don't believe it, do you, Flora?"

"I don't see anything to laugh at," returned Miss Dowson.  "Fancy five
years for bigamy!  Fancy the disgrace of it!"

"But you're talking as if I was going to do it," objected Mr. Foss.  "I
wish you'd go and 'ave your fortune told.  Go and see what she says about
you.  P'r'aps you won't believe so much in fortune-telling afterwards."

Mrs. Dowson looked up quickly, and then, lowering her eyes, took her hand
out of the stocking she had been darning and, placing it beside its
companion, rolled the pair into a ball.

"You go round to-morrow night, Flora," she said, deliberately.  "It
sha'n't be said a daughter of mine was afraid to hear the truth about
herself; father'll find the money."

"And she can say what she likes about you, but I sha'n't believe it,"
said Mr. Foss, reproachfully.

"I don't suppose it'll be anything to be ashamed of," said Miss Dowson,
sharply.

Mr. Foss bade them good-night suddenly, and, finding himself accompanied
to the door by Mr. Dowson, gave way to gloom.  He stood for so long with
one foot on the step and the other on the mat that Mr. Dowson, who
disliked draughts, got impatient.

[Illustration: "Mr. Foss bade them good-night suddenly."]

"You'll catch cold, Charlie," he said at last.

"That's what I'm trying to do," said Mr. Foss; "my death o' cold.  Then I
sha'n't get five years for bigamy," he added bitterly.

"Cheer up," said Mr. Dowson; "five years ain't much out of a lifetime;
and you can't expect to 'ave your fun without--"

He watched the retreating figure of Mr. Foss as it stamped its way down
the street, and closing the door returned to the kitchen to discuss
palmistry and other sciences until bedtime.

Mrs. Dowson saw husband and daughter off to work in the morning, and
after washing up the breakfast things drew her chair up to the kitchen
fire and became absorbed in memories of the past. All the leading
incidents in Flora's career passed in review before her.  Measles,
whooping-cough, school-prizes, and other things peculiar to the age of
