Stepping Backwards Read online

yellowish-grey hair,and a pair of faded eyes peering through clumsy spectacles.

  "Son, indeed!" she said, her lips quivering. "You wait till you comehome, my lord!"

  Mr. Simpson, with some forebodings, returned home an hour later. To aman who loved peace and quietness the report of the indignant Mr. Millswas not of a reassuring nature. He hesitated on the doorstep for a fewseconds while he fumbled for his key, and then, humming unconcernedly,hung his hat in the passage and walked into the parlour.

  The astonished scream of his wife warned him that Mr. Mills had by nomeans exaggerated. She rose from her seat and, crouching by thefireplace, regarded him with a mixture of anger and dismay.

  "It--it's all right, Milly," said Mr. Simpson, with a smile thatrevealed a dazzling set of teeth.

  "Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Simpson. "How dare you call me by myChristian name. It's a good job for you my husband is not here."

  "He wouldn't hurt me," said Mr. Simpson, with an attempt atfacetiousness. "He's the best friend I ever had. Why, we slept in thesame cradle."

  "I don't want any of your nonsense," said Mrs. Simpson. "You get out ofmy house before I send for the police. How dare you come into arespectable woman's house in this fashion? Be off with you."

  "Now, look here, Milly----" began Mr. Simpson.

  His wife drew herself up to her full height of four feet eleven.

  "I've had a hair-cut and a shave," pursued her husband; "also I've hadmy hair restored to its natural colour. But I'm the same man, and youknow it."

  "I know nothing of the kind," said his wife, doggedly. "I don't knowyou from Adam. I've never seen you before, and I don't want to see youagain. You go away."

  "I'm your husband, and my place is at home," replied Mr. Simpson. "Aman can have a shave if he likes, can't he? Where's my supper?"

  "Go on," said his wife. "Keep it up. But be careful my husband don'tcome in and catch you, that's all."

  Mr. Simpson gazed at her fixedly, and then, with an impatientexclamation, walked into the small kitchen and began to set the supper.A joint of cold beef, a jar of pickles, bread, butter, and cheese madean appetizing display. Then he took a jug from the dresser anddescended to the cellar.

  A musical trickling fell on the ear of Mrs. Simpson as she stood at theparlour door, and drew her stealthily to the cellar. The key was in thelock, and, with a sudden movement, she closed the door and locked it. Asharp cry from Mr. Simpson testified to his discomfiture.

  "Now I'm off for the police," cried his wife.

  "Don't be a fool," shouted Mr. Simpson, tugging wildly at the door-handle. "Open the door."

  Mrs. Simpson remained silent, and her husband resumed his efforts untilthe door-knob, unused to such treatment, came off in his hand. A suddenscrambling noise on the cellar stairs satisfied the listener that he hadnot pulled it off intentionally.

  She stood for a few moments, considering. It was a stout door andopened inwards. She took her bonnet from its nail in the kitchen and,walking softly to the street-door, set off to lay the case before abrother who lived a few doors away.

  "Poor old Bill," said Mr. Cooper, when she had finished. "Still, itmight be worse; he's got the barrel o' beer with him."

  "It's not Bill," said Mrs. Simpson.

  Mr. Cooper scratched his whiskers and looked at his wife.

  "She ought to know," said the latter. "We'll come and have a look athim," said Mr. Cooper.

  Mrs. Simpson pondered, and eyed him dubiously.

  "Come in and have a bit of supper," she said at last. "There's a nicepiece of beef and pickles."

  "And Bill--I mean the stranger--sitting on the beer-barrel," said Mr.Cooper, gloomily.

  "You can bring your beer with you," said his sister, sharply. "Comealong."

  Mr. Cooper grinned, and, placing a couple of bottles in his coatpockets, followed the two ladies to the house. Seated at the kitchentable, he grinned again, as a persistent drumming took place on thecellar door. His wife smiled, and a faint, sour attempt in the samedirection appeared on the face of Mrs. Simpson.

  "Open the door!" bellowed an indignant voice. "Open the door!"

  Mrs. Simpson, commanding silence with an uplifted finger, proceeded tocarve the beef. A rattle of knives and forks succeeded.

  "O-pen-the-door!" said the voice again.

  "Not so much noise," commanded Mr. Cooper. "I can't hear myself eat."

  "Bob!" said the voice, in relieved accents, "Bob! Come and let meout."

  Mr. Cooper, putting a huge hand over his mouth, struggled nobly with hisfeelings.

  "Who are you calling 'Bob'?" he demanded, in an unsteady voice. "Youkeep yourself to yourself. I've heard all about you. You've got tostay there till my brother-in-law comes home."

  "It's me, Bob," said Mr. Simpson--"Bill."

  "Yes, I dare say," said Mr. Cooper; "but if you're Bill, why haven't yougot Bill's voice?"

  "Let me out and look at me," said Mr. Simpson.

  There was a faint scream from both ladies, followed by protests.

  "Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Cooper, reassuringly. "I wasn't bornyesterday. I don't want to get a crack over the head."

  "It's all a mistake, Bob," said the prisoner, appealingly. "I just hada shave and a haircut and--and a little hair-dye. If you open the dooryou'll know me at once."

  "How would it be," said Mr. Cooper, turning to his sister, and speakingwith unusual distinctness--"how would it be if you opened the door, andjust as he put his head out I hit it a crack with the poker?"

  "You try it on," said the voice behind the door, hotly. "You know who Iam well enough, Bob Cooper. I don't want any more of your nonsense.Milly has put you up to this!"

  "If your wife don't know you, how do you think I can?" said Mr. Cooper."Now, look here; you keep quiet till my brother-in-law comes home. Ifhe don't come home perhaps we shall be more likely to think you're him.If he's not home by to-morrow morning we--Hsh! Hsh! Don't you knowthere's ladies present?"

  "That settles it," said Mrs. Cooper, speaking for the first time. "Mybrother-in-law would never talk like that."

  "I should never forgive him if he did," said her husband, piously.

  He poured himself out another glass of beer and resumed his supper withrelish. Conversation turned on the weather, and from that to the priceof potatoes. Frantic efforts on the part of the prisoner to join in theconversation and give it a more personal turn were disregarded. Finallyhe began to kick with monotonous persistency on the door.

  "Stop it!" shouted Mr. Cooper.

  "I won't," said Mr. Simpson.

  The noise became unendurable. Mr. Cooper, who had just lit his pipe,laid it on the table and looked round at his companions.

  "He'll have the door down soon," he said, rising. "Halloa, there!"

  "Halloa!" said the other.

  "You say you're Bill Simpson," said Mr. Cooper, holding up a forefingerat Mrs. Simpson, who was about to interrupt. "If you are, tell ussomething you know that only you could know; something we know, so as toidentify you. Things about your past."

  A strange noise sounded behind the door.

  "Sounds as though he is smacking his lips," said Mrs. Cooper to hersister-in-law, who was eyeing Mr. Cooper restlessly.

  "Very good," said Mr. Simpson; "I agree. Who is there?"

  "Me and my wife and Mrs. Simpson," said Mr. Cooper.

  "He is smacking his lips," whispered Mrs. Cooper. "Having a go at thebeer, perhaps."

  "Let's go back fifteen years," said Mr. Simpson in meditative tones."Do you remember that girl with copper-coloured hair that used to livein John Street?"

  "No!" said Mr. Cooper, loudly and suddenly.

  "Do you remember coming to me one day--two days after Valentine Day, itwas--white as chalk and shaking like a leaf, and--"

  "NO!" roared Mr. Cooper.

  "Very well, I must try something else, then," said Mr. Simpson,philosophically. "Carry your mind back ten years, Bob Cooper--"<
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  "Look here!" said Mr. Cooper, turning round with a ghastly smile."We'd better get off home, Mary. I don't like interfering in otherpeople's concerns. Never did."

  "You stay where you are," said his wife.

  "Ten years," repeated the voice behind the door.