KEEPING WATCH by W.W. JACOBS

Marketing is hard, but I'll tell you a little secret. It doesn't have to be. Let me point something out. You're listening to a podcast right now and it's great. You love the host, you seek it out and download it. You listen to it on the train, working out, cooking, even going to the loo. Podcasts are a pretty close companion and this is a podcast ad. Did I get your attention? You can reach great listeners like yourself with podcast advertising from Lipsin Ads. Choose from hundreds of top podcasts offering host endorsements or run a pre-produced ad like this one. Across thousands of shows to reach your target audience in their favorite podcasts with Lipsin Ads. Go to LipsinAds.com today. That's L-I-B-S-Y-N-Ads.com. LipsinAds.com. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Welcome back everyone. The 1001 Classic Short Stories and Tales. This is your host, John Hagridorn. Today's story, Keeping Watch by WWJacobs. Visits that time war in Battlefield where watchful parents attempt to keep young lovers apart. Though Jacobs is famous for his horror story, The Monkey's Paw, much of his work is quite humorous and rich in comedy. Keeping Watch is a rather representative sample of Jacobs' writing and it features common elements that appear again and again in his writing. It's set on the sea front. It's peopled by seafaring folks and it's written in the vernacular of sailors and dock workers. Enjoy this funny story where young love outweighs a watchful father and the two old goats he hires to keep watch on his daughter. "'Human nature,' said the night watchman, gazing fixedly at a pretty girl and a passing waterman's skiff. "'Human nature.' He sighed and, striking a match, applied it to his pipe and sat smoking thoughtfully. "'That young fellow's pretending that his arm is at the back of her by accident,' he continued, and she's pretending not to know that it's there. When he's allowed to put it round her waist whenever he wishes, he won't want to do it. She's artful enough to know that and that's why they also stand offish until the thing is settled. I bet she'll move forward half an inch presently and half a minute afterwards she'll lean back again without thinking. She's a nice-looking gal and what she can see in a tailor's dummy like that, I can't think.' He leaned back on his box and, folding his arms, emitted a cloud of smoke. "'Yep, human nature's a funny thing. I've seen a lot of it in my time and if I was to have my life all over again, I expect I should be just as silly as them two in the skiff. I've known the time when I would spend money as free over a gal as I would over myself. I only wished I got all the money now that I've spent on peppermint lozages. That gal on the boat reminds me of one I used to know a few years ago, just the same innocent baby look, a look as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth and an artful disposition that made me sorry for her sex. She used to come up to this work once a week in a schooner called the Bell. Her father, Captain Butt, was a widow man and he used to bring her with him, partly for company and partly because he could keep his eye on her. Nasty-eyed was too when he happened to be out of temper. I'd often took a bit of notice of the gal, just giving her a kind smile now and then as she sat on the deck and sometimes when her father wasn't looking, she'd smile back. Once when he was down below, she laughed right out. She was afraid of him and by and by I noticed that she dared even get up the ship and walk up and down the wharf without asking him. When she went out, he was with her and from one or two nasty little snacks I happened to overhear when the skipper thought I was too far away. I began to see that something was up. It all came out one evening and it only came out because the skipper wanted my help. I was standing leaning on my broom to get my breath back after a bit of sweeping when he came up to me and I knew it once by the nice way he spoke that he wanted me to do something for him. Come over here and have a pint Bill, he says. I put my broom against the wall and we walked round to the bull's head like a couple of brothers. We had two pints of peace and then he put his hand on my shoulder and talked man to man. I'm in a little difficulty about that gal of mine. He says, passing me his tobacco. Six months ago, she dropped a letter out of her pocket and I'm blessed if it wasn't from a young man. You surprised me, I says, meaning to be sarcastic. I surprised her, he says, looking very fierce. I went to her box and I found a pile of them. A pile of them tied up with a piece of pink ribbon and a photograph of my lord. And of all the narrow chested, weak-eyed, slack-backed, spindly-legged sons of a gun you ever saw in your life, he is the worst. If only I get my hands on him, I'll choke him with his own feet. He washed his mouth out with a drop of beer instead of scowling at the floor. And then after I've choked him, I'll twist his neck. If he'd only put his address on his letters, I'd go round and do it now. And my daughter, my only daughter, won't tell me where he lives. She ought to know better, I says. I'm a nurse, that's what I am. He says, very savage, just a nursemaid. I can't move hand or foot without that girl. How'd you like it yourself, Bill? It must be very awkward for you, I says, very awkward indeed. Barkered, he says, it's no name for it, Bill. I might as well be a Sunday school teacher and have done with it. I never had such a dull time in all my life, never. And the worst of it is, it's spiling my temper. And all because of that narrow-eyed, red-chested, do you know what I mean? He took another mouthful of beer and then he took all of my arm. Bill, he says, very earnest, I want you to do me a favor. Go ahead, says I. I get to meet a pal at Turing Cross at half past seven, he says, and we're gonna make a night of it. I've left Winnie in charge of the cook and I've told him plain that if she ain't there when I come back, I'll skin him alive. Now, I want you to watch her too. Keep the gate locked and don't let anybody in you don't know, especially that monkey-faced imitation of a man. Here he is, this is his likeness. He pulled a photograph out of his coat pocket and handed it to me. That's him, he says. Fancy a gal getting love letters from a thing like that. She was only 20 last birthday. Keep your eye on her, Bill, and don't let her out of your sight. You're worth two of the cook. He finished his beer and cuddled my arm, stepped back to the wharf. Miss Butt was sitting on the cabin skylight reading a book and old Joe, the cook, was standing near her pretending to swab the decks with a mop. I got to go out for a little while on business, said the skipper. I don't suppose I shall be long, but while I'm away, Bill and the cook will look after you. Miss Butt wringled up her shoulders at that point. The gate will be locked and you're not to leave the wharf. Dear, the gal wriggled her shoulders again and went on reading, but she gave the cook a look out of her innocent baby eyes that nearly made him drop the mop. Them's my orders, says the skipper. Swelling his chest and looking round to everybody. You know what'll happen to you, Joe. If things ain't right when I come back. Come along, Bill. I locked the gate after me and mine for your own sake. Don't let anything happen to that gal while I'm away. What time you be back, I says, as I stepped through the wicket. Not before 12 and perhaps a good bit later, he says, smiling all over with happiness. But young slab chest don't know I'm out and Winnie thinks I'm just going up for half an hour so it'll be all right. So long. We'll return with our story, Keeping Watch by WWJCBS right after these sponsor messages. I watched him up the road and I must say, I began to wish I hadn't taken the job on. After all, I'd only had two pints and a bit of flattery and I knew what'd happen if anything did go wrong. Built like a bull he was and found a use in his strength. I locked the wicket carefully and put in the key in my pocket, began to walk up and down the wharf. For about 10 minutes, the gal went on reading and didn't look up once. Then as I passed, she gave me a nice smile and shook her little fist to the cook who had got us back towards her. I smiled back, of course, and by and by she put her book down and climbed onto the side of the ship and held out her hand for me to help her shore. I'm so tired of the ship, she says, in a soft voice. It's like a prison. Don't you get tired of the wharf? Sometimes, I says, but it's my duty. Yes, she says, yes, of course, but you're a big, strong man and you can put up with things better. She gave her little sigh and we walked up and down for a time without saying anything. And it's all father's foolishness, she says, at last. That's what makes it so tiresome. I can't help a pack of silly young men writing to me, can I? No, I suppose not, I says. Thank you, she says, putting her little hand on my arm. I knew that you were sensible. I've often watched you when I've been sitting alone on the schooner, longing for somebody to speak to, and I'm a good judge of character. I can read you like a book. She turned and looked up at me. Beautiful blue eyes she'd got with long, curly lashes and teeth-like pearls. Father, so silly, she says, shaking her head and looking down, and it's so unreasonable because, as a matter of fact, I don't like young men. Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean that. I didn't mean to be rude. Rude, I says, staring at her. Of course, it was a rude thing for me to say, she says, smiling, because you are still a young man yourself. I shook my head. Youngish, I says. Young, she says, stamping her little foot. She gave me another look, and this time her blue eyes seemed large and solemn. She walked along like one in a dream, and twice she tripped over the planks and would've fallen if I hadn't caught her around the waist. Thank you, she says. I'm very clumsy. How strong your arm is. We walked up and down again, and every time we went near the edge of the jetty, she held onto my arm for fear of stumbling again. And there was that silly cook standing about on the schooner on tiptoe and twisting his silly old neck till I wonder if it didn't twist off. What a beautiful evening it is, she says. I'd last in a low voice. I hope Father isn't coming back early. Do you know what time he's coming home? About 12, I says, but don't tell him I told you so. Of course not, she says, squeezing my arm. Poor Father, I hope he's enjoying himself as much as I am. We walked down to the jetty again after that, and sat side by side, looking across the river. And she began to talk about life, and what a strange thing it was, and how the river would go on flowing down to the sea, thousands and thousands of years after we were both dead and forgotten. And if it hadn't been for her little head leaning against my shoulder, I would've had the creeps. Let's go down to the cabin, she says, at last, with a little shiver. It makes me melancholy sitting here and thinking of the might of bins. I got up first and helped her up, and after both staring hard at the cook, who didn't seem to know his place, we went down into the cabin. It was a comfortable little place, and after she'd poured me out a glass of her father's whiskey and filled my pipe for me, I wouldn't have changed places with a king, even when the pipe wouldn't draw, I didn't mind. May I write a letter? She says, at last. Certainly, says I. She got out her pen and ink and paper and wrote, I shan't be long, she says, looking up and nibbling her pen. It's a letter to my dressmaker. She promised my dress by six o'clock this afternoon, and I'm just writing to tell her that if I don't have it by 10 in the morning, she can keep it. Quite right, I says, it's the only way to get things done. It's my way, she says, sticking the letter in an envelope and licking it down. Nice name, isn't it? She passed it over to me and I read the name and address. Miss Minnie Miller, 17 John Street, Mile End Road. That'll wake her up, she says, smiling. Will you ask Joe to take it for me? He's on guard, I says, smiling back at her and shaking my head. I know, she says, in a low voice, but I don't want any guard, only you. I don't like guards that peep down skylights. I looked up, just in time to see Joe's head disappear. Then I nipped up, and after I told him, and after I told him part of what I thought about him, I gave him the letter and told him to shear off. The skipper told me to stay here, he says, looking obstinate. You do as you're told, I says, I'm in charge, and I take full responsibility. I shall lock the gate after you. What are you worrying about? And here's a shilling, Joe, for a bus fare, says the girl, smiling, you can keep the change. Joe took off his cap and scratched his silly bald head. Come on, I says, it's a letter to a dressmaker, a letter that must go tonight. Else it's no use, says the gal. You don't know how important it is. All right, says Joe, have it your own way. So long as you don't tell the skipper, I don't mind. If anything happens, you'll catch it, Bill. He climbed ashore, and I followed into the gate and unlocked it. He was screwing up his eye ready for a wink, but I gave him such a look that he thought better of it. And after rubbing his eye with his finger, as though he'd got a bit of dust in it, he went off. I locked the gate and went back to the cabin, and for some time we sat talking about fathers and the foolish ideas they got into their heads, and things of that sort. So far as I remember, I had two more go's whiskey and one of the skipper's cigars, and I was just thinking what a beautiful thing it was to be alive and healthy and in good spirits, talking to a nice gal that understood what you said almost before you said it, when I heard three blows on a whistle. What's that? I says, starting up. Police whistle? I don't think so, says Miss Butt, putting her hand on my shoulder. Sit down and stay where you are. I don't want you to get hurt. If it is, let somebody I don't like go. I sat down again and listened, but there was no more whistling. A boy in the street, I expect, says the gal, going into the stateroom. Oh, I've got something to show you. Wait a minute. I heard her moving about, and then she comes back into the cabin. I can't find the key in my box, she says, and it's in there. I wonder whether you've got a key that would open it. It's a padlock. I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out my keys. Shall I come and try? I says. No, thank you, she says, taking the keys. This looks about the size. What key is it? It's the key of the gate, I says, but I don't suppose it'll fit. She went back into the stateroom again and heard her fumbling at a lock. Then she came back into the cabin, breathing rather hard and stood thinking. I've just remembered, she says, pinching her chin. Yes. She stepped to the door and went up the companion ladder, and the next moment I heard a sliding noise and a key turning to lock. I jumped to the foot of the ladder and hardly able to believe my senses, saw that the hatch was closed. When I found that it was locked too, you might have knocked me down with a feather. I went down to the cabin again and standing on the locker, I pushed the skylight up with my head and tried to look out. I couldn't see the gate, but I heard voices and footsteps, and a little while afterwards, I see that gal coming along the wharf, arm in arm with the young man she had told me she didn't like and dancing for joy. They climbed onto the schooner, and then they both stooped down with their hands on their knees and looked at me. What is it? Said the young man, grinning. It's a watchman, says the gal. It's here to take charge of the wharf, you know? And see that nobody comes on. Ah, we should have brought some buns for it, says the young man. Look at it, it's open in its mouth. They both laughed fit to kill themselves, but I didn't move a muscle. You open a companion, I says, or it'll be the worst for you, do you hear? Open it up. Oh, Alfred, says the gal. He's losing his temper. Whatever shall we do? I don't want no more nonsense, I says, trying to fix her with my eye. If you don't let me out, it's gonna be the worst for you. Don't you talk to my young lady like that, says the young man. You're a young lady? I says, hmm, you should have seen her half an hour ago. The gal looked at me steady for a moment. He put his nasty fat arm around my waist, Alfred, she says. What? Says the young man, squeaking. What? He snatched up the mop that that nasty untidy cook had left, leaning against the side. And before I had any idea what he was up to, he shoved the beastly thing straight in my face. Next time, he says, I'll tear you limb from limb. I couldn't speak for a time, I was that angry. And when I could, he stopped me with the mop again. I was like a chained line being tormented by a monkey. I stepped down onto the cabin floor, and then I told him both what I thought of him. Come along, Alfred, says the gal. Else the cook will be back before we start. He's all right, said the young man. Many's looking after him. When I left, he'd got half a bottle of whiskey in front of him. Still, we may as well go, said Miss Butt. It seems a shame to keep the cab waiting. All right, he says. I just wanna give this old chump one more lick with the mop and then we'll go. He peeped down the skylight and waited, but I kept quite quiet with my back towards him. Come along, says Miss Butt. I'm coming, he says. Hi, you down there. When a cabin comes back, tell him I'm taking Miss Butt to an entomine in the country, and tell him in a week or two, he'll have the largest and nicest piece of wedding cake he's ever had in his life. So long. Goodbye, watchman, says the gal. They moved off without another word. From them, I mean. I heard the wicked slam, and then I heard a cab drive off over the stones. I couldn't believe it at first. I couldn't believe a gal with such beautiful blue eyes could be so hard-hearted, and for a long time I stood listening and hoping to hear the cab come back. Then I stepped up to the companion and tried to shift it with my shoulders. I went back to the cabin at last, and after lighting the lamp, I'd had another sup of the skipper's whiskey to clear my head, and sat down to try and think what tale I was gonna tell him. I sat for pretty near three hours without thinking of one, and then I heard the crew come onto the wharf. They was a bit startled when they saw my head at the skylight, and then they all stared at the same time, asking me what I was doing. I told them to let me out at first, and then I'd tell them. And one of them had just stepped round to the companion when the skipper come onto the wharf and stepped aboard. He stooped down and peeped at me through the skylight, as though he couldn't believe his eyes. And then, after sending the hands forward and telling them to stay there, whatever happened, he unlocked the companion and then came down. Thanks for joining us for Keeping Watch, by W. W. Jacobs. I wouldn't wanna be that nightguard. Thanks for joining us at 1001 Classic Short Stories and Tales. This is your host, John Hagedorn. We do three stories a week, one every Sunday at noon Eastern time, one every Wednesday at 4 p.m. Eastern time, and one every Friday, usually best of at four Eastern time as well. Thank you so much for joining us. If you enjoy our short stories, please do share with a friend, and send us a kind review. Until next time, take care, and we'll be back soon. ["Pomp and Circumstance"] ["Pomp and Circumstance"]