The Convert Read online

  Produced by David Widger

  DEEP WATERS

  By W.W. JACOBS

  THE CONVERT

  Mr. Purnip took the arm of the new recruit and hung over him almosttenderly as they walked along; Mr. Billing, with a look of consciousvirtue on his jolly face, listened with much satisfaction to his friend'scompliments.

  "It's such an example," said the latter. "Now we've got you the otherswill follow like sheep. You will be a bright lamp in the darkness."

  "Wot's good enough for me ought to be good enough for them," said Mr.Billing, modestly. "They'd better not let me catch--"

  "H'sh! H'sh!" breathed Mr. Purnip, tilting his hat and wiping his bald,benevolent head.

  "I forgot," said the other, with something like a sigh. "No morefighting; but suppose somebody hits me?"

  "Turn the other cheek," replied Mr. Purnip.

  "They won't hit that; and when they see you standing there smiling atthem--"

  "After being hit?" interrupted Mr. Billing.

  "After being hit," assented the other, "they'll be ashamed of themselves,and it'll hurt them more than if you struck them."

  "Let's 'ope so," said the convert; "but it don't sound reasonable. I canhit a man pretty 'ard. Not that I'm bad-tempered, mind you; a bit quick,p'r'aps. And, after all, a good smack in the jaw saves any amount ofargufying."

  Mr. Purnip smiled, and, as they walked along, painted a glowing pictureof the influence to be wielded by a first-class fighting-man who refusedto fight. It was a rough neighbourhood, and he recognized with sorrowthat more respect was paid to a heavy fist than to a noble intellect or aloving heart.

  "And you combine them all," he said, patting his companion's arm.

  Mr. Billing smiled. "You ought to know best," he said, modestly.

  "You'll be surprised to find how easy it is," continued Mr. Purnip. "Youwill go from strength to strength. Old habits will disappear, and youwill hardly know you have lost them. In a few months' time you willprobably be wondering what you could ever have seen in beer, forexample."

  "I thought you said you didn't want me to give up beer?" said the other.

  "We don't," said Mr. Purnip. "I mean that as you grow in stature youwill simply lose the taste for it."

  Mr. Billing came to a sudden full stop. "D'ye mean I shall lose myliking for a drop o' beer without being able to help myself?" hedemanded, in an anxious voice.

  "Of course, it doesn't happen in every case," he said, hastily.

  Mr. Billing's features relaxed. "Well, let's 'ope I shall be one of thefortunate ones," he said, simply. "I can put up with a good deal, butwhen it comes to beer----"

  "We shall see," said the other, smiling.

  "We don't want to interfere with anybody's comfort; we want to make themhappier, that's all. A little more kindness between man and man; alittle more consideration for each other; a little more brightness indull lives."

  He paused at the corner of the street, and, with a hearty handshake, wentoff. Mr. Billing, a prey to somewhat mixed emotions, continued on hisway home. The little knot of earnest men and women who had settled inthe district to spread light and culture had been angling for him forsome time. He wondered, as he walked, what particular bait it was thathad done the mischief.

  "They've got me at last," he remarked, as he opened the house-door andwalked into his small kitchen. "I couldn't say 'no' to Mr. Purnip."

  "Wish 'em joy," said Mrs. Billing, briefly. "Did you wipe your boots?"

  Her husband turned without a word, and, retreating to the mat, executed aprolonged double-shuffle.

  "You needn't wear it out," said the surprised Mrs. Billing.

  "We've got to make people 'appier," said her husband, seriously; "bekinder to 'em, and brighten up their dull lives a bit. That's wot Mr.Purnip says."

  "You'll brighten 'em up all right," declared Mrs. Billing, with a sniff."I sha'n't forget last Tuesday week--no, not if I live to be a hundred.You'd ha' brightened up the police-station if I 'adn't got you home justin the nick of time."

  Her husband, who was by this time busy under the scullery-tap, made noreply. He came from it spluttering, and, seizing a small towel, stood inthe door-way burnishing his face and regarding his wife with a smilewhich Mr. Purnip himself could not have surpassed. He sat down tosupper, and between bites explained in some detail the lines on which hisfuture life was to be run. As an earnest of good faith, he consented,after a short struggle, to a slip of oil-cloth for the passage; a pair ofvases for the front room; and a new and somewhat expensive corn-cure forMrs. Billing.

  "And let's 'ope you go on as you've begun," said that gratified lady."There's something in old Purnip after all. I've been worrying you formonths for that oilcloth. Are you going to help me wash up? Mr. Purnipwould."

  Mr. Billing appeared not to hear, and, taking up his cap, strolled slowlyin the direction of the Blue Lion. It was a beautiful summer evening,and his bosom swelled as he thought of the improvements that a littlebrotherliness might effect in Elk Street. Engrossed in such ideas, italmost hurt him to find that, as he entered one door of the Blue Lion,two gentlemen, forgetting all about their beer, disappeared through theother.

  "Wot 'ave they run away like that for?" he demanded, looking round."I wouldn't hurt 'em."

  "Depends on wot you call hurting, Joe," said a friend.

  Mr. Billing shook his head. "They've no call to be afraid of me," hesaid, gravely. "I wouldn't hurt a fly; I've got a new 'art."

  "A new wot?" inquired his friend, staring.

  "A new 'art," repeated the other. "I've given up fighting and swearing,and drinking too much. I'm going to lead a new life and do all the goodI can; I'm going--"

  "Glory! Glory!" ejaculated a long, thin youth, and, making a dash forthe door, disappeared.

  "He'll know me better in time," said Mr. Billing. "Why, I wouldn't hurta fly. I want to do good to people; not to hurt 'em. I'll have a pint,"he added, turning to the bar.

  "Not here you won't," said the landlord, eyeing him coldly.

  "Why not?" demanded the astonished Mr. Billing.

  "You've had all you ought to have already," was the reply. "And there'sone thing I'll swear to--you ain't had it 'ere."

  "I haven't 'ad a drop pass my lips began the outraged Mr. Billing.

  "Yes, I know," said the other, wearily, as he shifted one or two glassesand wiped the counter; "I've heard it all before, over and over again.Mind you, I've been in this business thirty years, and if I don't knowwhen a man's had his whack, and a drop more, nobody does. You get off'ome and ask your missis to make you a nice cup o' good strong tea, andthen get up to bed and sleep it off."

  "I dare say," said Mr. Billing, with cold dignity, as he paused at thedoor--"I dare say I may give up beer altogether."

  He stood outside pondering over the unforeseen difficulties attendantupon his new career, moving a few inches to one side as Mr. Ricketts, afoe of long standing, came towards the public-house, and, halting a yardor two away, eyed him warily.

  "Come along," said Mr. Billing, speaking somewhat loudly, for the benefitof the men in the bar; "I sha'n't hurt you; my fighting days are over."

  "Yes, I dessay," replied the other, edging away.

  "It's all right, Bill," said a mutual friend, through the half-open door;"he's got a new 'art."

  Mr. Ricketts looked perplexed. "'Art disease, d'ye mean?" he inquired,hopefully. "Can't he fight no more?"

  "A new 'art," said Mr. Billing. "It's as strong as ever it was, but it'schanged--brother."

  "If you call me 'brother' agin I'll give you something for yourself, andchance it," said Mr. Ricketts, ferociously. "I'm a pore man, but I'vegot my pride."

  Mr. Billing, with a smile charged with brotherly love, lean
ed his leftcheek towards him. "Hit it," he said, gently.

  "Give it a smack and run, Bill," said the voice of a well-wisher inside.

  "There'd be no need for 'im to run," said Mr. Billing. "I wouldn't hit'im back for anything. I should turn the other cheek."

  "Whaffor?" inquired the amazed Mr. Ricketts.

  "For another swipe," said Mr. Billing, radiantly.

  In the fraction of a second he got the first, and reeled back staggering.The onlookers from the bar came out hastily. Mr. Ricketts, somewhatpale, stood his ground.

  "You see, I don't hit you," said Mr. Billing, with a ghastly attempt at asmile.

  He stood rubbing his cheek gently, and, remembering Mr. Purnip'sstatements, slowly, inch by inch, turned the other in the direction ofhis adversary. The circuit was still incomplete when Mr. Ricketts,balancing himself carefully, fetched it a smash that nearly burst it.Mr. Billing, somewhat jarred by his contact with the pavement, rosepainfully and confronted him.

  "I've only got two cheeks, mind," he said, slowly.

  Mr. Ricketts sighed. "I wish you'd got a blinking dozen," he said,wistfully. "Well, so long. Be good."

  He walked into the Blue Lion absolutely free from that sense of shamewhich Mr. Purnip had predicted, and, accepting a pint from an admirer,boasted noisily of his exploit. Mr. Billing, suffering both mentally andphysically, walked slowly home to his astonished wife.

  "P'r'aps he'll be ashamed of hisself when 'e comes to think it over," hemurmured, as Mrs. Billing, rendered almost perfect by practice,administered first aid.

  "I s'pect he's crying his eyes out," she said, with a sniff. "Tell me ifthat 'urts."

  Mr. Billing told her, then, suddenly remembering himself, issued anexpurgated edition.

  "I'm sorry for the next man that 'its you," said his wife, as she drewback and regarded her handiwork.

  "'Well, you needn't be," said Mr. Billing, with dignity. "It would takemore than a couple o' props in the jaw to make me alter my mind when I'vemade it up. You ought to know that by this time. Hurry up and finish.I want you to go to the corner and fetch me a pot."

  "What, ain't you going out agin?" demanded his astonished wife.

  Mr. Billing shook his head. "Somebody else might want to give me one,"he said, resignedly, "and I've 'ad about all I want to-night."

  His face was still painful next morning, but as he sat at breakfast inthe small kitchen he was able to refer to Mr. Ricketts in terms whichwere an eloquent testimony to Mr. Purnip's teaching. Mrs. Billing,unable to contain herself, wandered off into the front room with aduster.

  "Are you nearly ready to go?" she inquired, returning after a shortinterval.

  "Five minutes," said Mr. Billing, nodding. I'll just light my pipe andthen I'm off."

  "'Cos there's two or three waiting outside for you," added his wife.

  Mr. Billing rose. "Ho, is there?" he said, grimly, as he removed hiscoat and proceeded to roll up his shirt-sleeves. "I'll learn 'em. I'llgive 'em something to wait for. I'll----"

  His voice died away as he saw the triumph in his wife's face, and,drawing down his sleeves again, he took up his coat and stood eyeing herin genuine perplexity.

  "Tell 'em I've gorn," he said, at last.

  "And what about telling lies?" demanded his wife. "What would your Mr.Purnip say to that?"

  "You do as you're told," exclaimed the harassed Mr. Billing. "I'm notgoing to tell 'em; it's you."

  Mrs. Billing returned to the parlour, and, with Mr. Billing lurking inthe background, busied herself over a china flower-pot that stood in thewindow, and turned an anxious eye upon three men waiting outside. Aftera glance or two she went to the door.

  "Did you want to see my husband?" she inquired.

  The biggest of the three nodded. "Yus," he said, shortly.

  "I'm sorry," said Mrs. Billing, "but he 'ad to go early this morning.Was it anything partikler?"

  "Gorn?" said the other, in disappointed tones. "Well, you tell 'im I'llsee 'im later on."

  He turned away, and, followed by the other two, walked slowly up theroad. Mr. Billing, after waiting till the coast was clear, went off inthe other direction.

  He sought counsel of his friend and mentor that afternoon, and stoodbeaming with pride at the praise lavished upon him. Mr. Purnip'sco-workers were no less enthusiastic than their chief; and varioussuggestions were made to Mr. Billing as to his behaviour in the unlikelyevent of further attacks upon his noble person.

  He tried to remember the suggestions in the harassing days that followed;baiting Joe Billing becoming popular as a pastime from which no evilresults need be feared. It was creditable to his fellow-citizens thatmost of them refrained from violence with a man who declined to hit back,but as a butt his success was assured. The night when a gawky lad ofeighteen drank up his beer, and then invited him to step outside if hedidn't like it, dwelt long in his memory. And Elk Street thrilled oneevening at the sight of their erstwhile champion flying up the road hotlypursued by a foeman half his size. His explanation to his indignant wifethat, having turned the other cheek the night before, he was in no moodfor further punishment, was received in chilling silence.

  "They'll soon get tired of it," he said, hopefully; "and I ain't going tobe beat by a lot of chaps wot I could lick with one 'and tied behind me.They'll get to understand in time; Mr. Purnip says so. It's a pity thatyou don't try and do some good yourself."

  Mrs. Billing received the suggestion with a sniff; but the seed was sown.She thought the matter over in private, and came to the conclusion that,if her husband wished her to participate in good works, it was not forher to deny him. Hitherto her efforts in that direction had beenpromptly suppressed; Mr. Billing's idea being that if a woman lookedafter her home and her husband properly there should be neither timenor desire for anything else. His surprise on arriving home to tea onSaturday afternoon, and finding a couple of hard-working neighboursdevouring his substance, almost deprived him of speech.

  "Poor things," said his wife, after the guests had gone; "they did enjoyit. It's cheered 'em up wonderful. You and Mr. Purnip are quite right.I can see that now. You can tell him that it was you what put it into my'art."

  "Me? Why, I never dreamt o' such a thing," declared the surprised Mr.Billing. "And there's other ways of doing good besides asking a pack ofold women in to tea."

  "I know there is," said his wife. "All in good time," she added, with afar-away look in her eyes.

  Mr. Billing cleared his throat, but nothing came of it. He cleared itagain.

  "I couldn't let you do all the good," said his wife, hastily. "Itwouldn't be fair. I must help."

  Mr. Billing lit his pipe noisily, and then took it out into the back-yardand sat down to think over the situation. The ungenerous idea that hiswife was making goodness serve her own ends was the first that occurredto him.

  His suspicions increased with time. Mrs. Billing's good works seemed tobe almost entirely connected with hospitality. True, she had entertainedMr. Purnip and one of the ladies from the Settlement to tea, but thatonly riveted his bonds more firmly. Other visitors included his sister-in-law, for whom he had a great distaste, and some of the worst-behavedchildren in the street.

  "It's only high spirits," said Mrs. Billing; "all children are like that.And I do it to help the mothers."

  "And 'cos you like children," said her husband, preserving his good-humour with an effort.

  There was a touch of monotony about the new life, and the good deeds thataccompanied it, which, to a man of ardent temperament, was apt to pall.And Elk Street, instead of giving him the credit which was his due,preferred to ascribe the change in his behaviour to what they calledbeing "a bit barmy on the crumpet."

  He came home one evening somewhat dejected, brightening up as he stoodin the passage and inhaled the ravishing odours from the kitchen. Mrs.Billing, with a trace of nervousness somewhat unaccountable in view ofthe excellent quality of the repast provided, poured him out a glass ofb
eer, and passed flattering comment upon his appearance.

  "Wot's the game?" he inquired.

  "Game?" repeated his wife, in a trembling voice. "Nothing. 'Ow do youfind that steak-pudding? I thought of giving you one every Wednesday."

  Mr. Billing put down his knife and fork and sat regarding herthoughtfully. Then he pushed back his chair suddenly, and, a picture ofconsternation and wrath, held up his hand for silence.

  "W-w-wot is it?" he demanded. "A cat?"

  Mrs. Billing made no reply, and her husband sprang