Bill’s Lapse

"Bill’s Lapse" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous short story that revolves around the character of Bill, whose carefree and often careless attitude leads to a series of comedic misadventures. Set in a quaint English seaside village, the narrative explores themes of personal responsibility and the unpredictable consequences of one's actions. Jacobs's distinctive wit and keen observations of human nature shine through, making this tale both entertaining and thought-provoking. Through a blend of light-hearted mischief and insightful character portrayal, the story captures the charm of everyday life, infused with a touch of absurdity.

• Humour
• Short story

								
Strength and good-nature—said the night-watchman, musingly, as he felt
his biceps—strength and good-nature always go together. Sometimes you
find a strong man who is not good-natured, but then, as everybody he
comes in contack with is, it comes to the same thing.

The strongest and kindest-’earted man I ever come across was a man o’
the name of Bill Burton, a ship-mate of Ginger Dick’s. For that matter
’e was a shipmate o’ Peter Russet’s and old Sam Small’s too. Not over
and above tall; just about my height, his arms was like another man’s
legs for size, and ’is chest and his back and shoulders might ha’ been
made for a giant. And with all that he’d got a soft blue eye like a
gal’s (blue’s my favourite colour for gals’ eyes), and a nice, soft,
curly brown beard. He was an A.B., too, and that showed ’ow
good-natured he was, to pick up with firemen.

He got so fond of ’em that when they was all paid off from the Ocean
King he asked to be allowed to join them in taking a room ashore. It
pleased everybody, four coming cheaper than three, and Bill being that
good-tempered that ’e’d put up with anything, and when any of the three
quarrelled he used to act the part of peacemaker.

The only thing about ’im that they didn’t like was that ’e was a
teetotaler. He’d go into public-’ouses with ’em, but he wouldn’t drink;
leastways, that is to say, he wouldn’t drink beer, and Ginger used to
say that it made ’im feel uncomfortable to see Bill put away a bottle
o’ lemonade every time they ’ad a drink. One night arter ’e had ’ad
seventeen bottles he could ’ardly got home, and Peter Russet, who knew
a lot about pills and such-like, pointed out to ’im ’ow bad it was for
his constitushon. He proved that the lemonade would eat away the coats
o’ Bill’s stomach, and that if ’e kept on ’e might drop down dead at
any moment.

That frightened Bill a bit, and the next night, instead of ’aving
lemonade, ’e had five bottles o’ stone ginger-beer, six of different
kinds of teetotal beer, three of soda-water, and two cups of coffee.
I’m not counting the drink he ’ad at the chemist’s shop arterward,
because he took that as medicine, but he was so queer in ’is inside
next morning that ’e began to be afraid he’d ’ave to give up drink
altogether.

He went without the next night, but ’e was such a generous man that ’e
would pay every fourth time, and there was no pleasure to the other
chaps to see ’im pay and ’ave nothing out of it. It spoilt their
evening, and owing to ’aving only about ’arf wot they was accustomed to
they all got up very disagreeable next morning.

“Why not take just a little beer, Bill?” asks Ginger.

Bill ’ung his ’ead and looked a bit silly. “I’d rather not, mate,” he
ses, at last. “I’ve been teetotal for eleven months now.”

“Think of your ’ealth, Bill,” ses Peter Russet; “your ’ealth is more
important than the pledge. Wot made you take it?”

Bill coughed. “I ’ad reasons,” he ses, slowly. “A mate o’ mine wished
me to.”

“He ought to ha’ known better,” ses Sam. “He ’ad ’is reasons,” ses
Bill.

“Well, all I can say is, Bill,” ses Ginger, “all I can say is, it’s
very disobligin’ of you.”

“Disobligin’?” ses Bill, with a start; “don’t say that, mate.”

“I must say it,” ses Ginger, speaking very firm.

“You needn’t take a lot, Bill,” ses Sam; “nobody wants you to do that.
Just drink in moderation, same as wot we do.”

“It gets into my ’ead,” ses Bill, at last.

“Well, and wot of it?” ses Ginger; “it gets into everybody’s ’ead
occasionally. Why, one night old Sam ’ere went up behind a policeman
and tickled ’im under the arms; didn’t you, Sam?”

“I did nothing o’ the kind,” ses Sam, firing up.

“Well, you was fined ten bob for it next morning, that’s all I know,”
ses Ginger.

“I was fined ten bob for punching ’im,” ses old Sam, very wild. “I
never tickled a policeman in my life. I never thought o’ such a thing.
I’d no more tickle a policeman than I’d fly. Anybody that ses I did is
a liar. Why should I? Where does the sense come in? Wot should I want
to do it for?”

“All right, Sam,” ses Ginger, sticking ’is fingers in ’is ears, “you
didn’t, then.”

“No, I didn’t,” ses Sam, “and don’t you forget it. This ain’t the fust
time you’ve told that lie about me. I can take a joke with any man; but
anybody that goes and ses I tickled—”

“All right,” ses Ginger and Peter Russet together. “You’ll ’ave tickled
policeman on the brain if you ain’t careful, Sam,” ses Peter.

Old Sam sat down growling, and Ginger Dick turned to Bill agin. “It
gets into everybody’s ’ead at times,” he ses, “and where’s the ’arm?
It’s wot it was meant for.”

Bill shook his ’ead, but when Ginger called ’im disobligin’ agin he
gave way and he broke the pledge that very evening with a pint o’ six
’arf.

Ginger was surprised to see the way ’e took his liquor. Arter three or
four pints he’d expected to see ’im turn a bit silly, or sing, or do
something o’ the kind, but Bill kept on as if ’e was drinking water.

“Think of the ’armless pleasure you’ve been losing all these months,
Bill,” ses Ginger, smiling at him.

Bill said it wouldn’t bear thinking of, and, the next place they came
to he said some rather ’ard things of the man who’d persuaded ’im to
take the pledge. He ’ad two or three more there, and then they began to
see that it was beginning to have an effect on ’im. The first one that
noticed it was Ginger Dick. Bill ’ad just lit ’is pipe, and as he threw
the match down he ses: “I don’t like these ’ere safety matches,” he
ses.

“Don’t you, Bill?” ses Ginger. “I do, rather.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” ses Bill, turning on ’im like lightning; “well,
take that for contradictin’,” he ses, an’ he gave Ginger a smack that
nearly knocked his ’ead off.

It was so sudden that old Sam and Peter put their beer down and stared
at each other as if they couldn’t believe their eyes. Then they stooped
down and helped pore Ginger on to ’is legs agin and began to brush ’im
down.

“Never mind about ’im, mates,” ses Bill, looking at Ginger very wicked.
“P’r’aps he won’t be so ready to give me ’is lip next time. Let’s come
to another pub and enjoy ourselves.”

Sam and Peter followed ’im out like lambs, ’ardly daring to look over
their shoulder at Ginger, who was staggering arter them some distance
behind a ’olding a handerchief to ’is face.

“It’s your turn to pay, Sam,” ses Bill, when they’d got inside the next
place. “Wot’s it to be? Give it a name.”

“Three ’arf pints o’ four ale, miss,” ses Sam, not because ’e was mean,
but because it wasn’t ’is turn. “Three wot?” ses Bill, turning on ’im.

“Three pots o’ six ale, miss,” ses Sam, in a hurry.

“That wasn’t wot you said afore,” ses Bill. “Take that,” he ses, giving
pore old Sam a wipe in the mouth and knocking ’im over a stool; “take
that for your sauce.”

Peter Russet stood staring at Sam and wondering wot Bill ud be like
when he’d ’ad a little more. Sam picked hisself up arter a time and

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