Breaking a Spell Page #3

"Breaking a Spell" by W. W. Jacobs is a captivating short story that blends elements of humor and the supernatural. It follows a group of characters who become embroiled in a series of comedic and unexpected events when they encounter a spell that disrupts their ordinary lives. Jacobs, known for his wit and storytelling skills, explores themes of magic, human nature, and the often unforeseen consequences of meddling with forces beyond comprehension. The narrative is rich with humor and character-driven charm, making it a delightful read for fans of classic literature.

• Humour
• Short story

								


Joe Barlcomb was very tired, but he walked on to Jasper Potts’s ’ouse,
trying ’ard as he walked to decide which o’ the fust two ’ad made the
most fuss. Arter he ’ad left Jasper Potts ’e got more puzzled than
ever, Jasper being just as bad as the other two, and Joe leaving ’im at
last in the middle of loading ’is gun.

By the time he’d made ’is last call—at Sam Martin’s—it was past three
o’clock, and he could no more tell Mrs. Prince which ’ad made the most
fuss than ’e could fly. There didn’t seem to be a pin to choose between
’em, and, ’arf worried out of ’is life, he went straight on to Mrs.
Prince and knocked ’er up to tell ’er. She thought the ’ouse was afire
at fust, and came screaming out o’ the front door in ’er bedgown, and
when she found out who it was she was worse to deal with than the men
’ad been.

She ’ad quieted down by the time Joe went round to see ’er the next
evening, and asked ’im to describe exactly wot the six men ’ad done and
said. She sat listening quite quiet at fust, but arter a time she
scared Joe by making a odd, croupy sort o’ noise in ’er throat, and at
last she got up and walked into the back-place. She was there a long
time making funny noises, and at last Joe walked toward the door on
tip-toe and peeped through the crack and saw ’er in a sort o’ fit,
sitting in a chair with ’er arms folded acrost her bodice and rocking
’erself up and down and moaning. Joe stood as if ’e’d been frozen
a’most, and then ’e crept back to ’is seat and waited, and when she
came into the room agin she said as the trouble ’ad all been caused by
Bill Jones. She sat still for nearly ’arf an hour, thinking ’ard, and
then she turned to Joe and ses:

“Can you read?” she ses.

“No,” ses Joe, wondering wot was coming next.

“That’s all right, then,” she ses, “because if you could I couldn’t do
wot I’m going to do.”

“That shows the ’arm of eddication,” ses Joe. “I never did believe in
it.”

Mrs. Prince nodded, and then she went and got a bottle with something
in it which looked to Joe like gin, and arter getting out ’er pen and
ink and printing some words on a piece o’ paper she stuck it on the
bottle, and sat looking at Joe and thinking.

“Take this up to the Cauliflower,” she ses, “make friends with Bill
Jones, and give him as much beer as he’ll drink, and give ’im a little
o’ this gin in each mug. If he drinks it the spell will be broken, and
you’ll be luckier than you ’ave ever been in your life afore. When ’e’s
drunk some, and not before, leave the bottle standing on the table.”

Joe Barlcomb thanked ’er, and with the bottle in ’is pocket went off to
the Cauliflower, whistling. Bill Jones was there, and Peter Lamb, and
two or three more of ’em, and at fust they said some pretty ’ard things
to him about being woke up in the night.

“Don’t bear malice, Bill,” ses Joe Barlcomb; “’ave a pint with me.”

He ordered two pints, and then sat down along-side o’ Bill, and in five
minutes they was like brothers.

“’Ave a drop o’ gin in it, Bill,” he ses, taking the bottle out of ’is
pocket.

Bill thanked ’im and had a drop, and then, thoughtful-like, he wanted
Joe to ’ave some in his too, but Joe said no, he’d got a touch o’
toothache, and it was bad for it.

“I don’t mind ’aving a drop in my beer, Joe,” ses Peter Lamb.

“Not to-night, mate,” ses Joe; “it’s all for Bill. I bought it on
purpose for ’im.”

Bill shook ’ands with him, and when Joe called for another pint and put
some more gin in it he said that ’e was the noblest-’arted man that
ever lived.

“You wasn’t saying so ’arf an hour ago,” ses Peter Lamb.

“’Cos I didn’t know ’im so well then,” ses Bill Jones.

“You soon change your mind, don’t you?” ses Peter.

Bill didn’t answer ’im. He was leaning back on the bench and staring at
the bottle as if ’e couldn’t believe his eyesight. His face was all
white and shining, and ’is hair as wet as if it ’ad just been dipped in
a bucket o’ water.

“See a ghost, Bill?” ses Peter, looking at ’im.

Bill made a ’orrible noise in his throat, and kept on staring at the
bottle till they thought ’e’d gone crazy. Then Jasper Potts bent his
’ead down and began to read out loud wot was on the bottle.
“P-o-i—POISON FOR BILL JONES,” he ses, in a voice as if ’e couldn’t
believe it.

You might ’ave heard a pin drop. Everybody turned and looked at Bill
Jones, as he sat there trembling all over. Then those that could read
took up the bottle and read it out loud all over agin.

“Pore Bill,” ses Peter Lamb. “I ’ad a feeling come over me that
something was wrong.”

“You’re a murderer,” ses Sam Martin, catching ’old of Joe Barlcomb.
“You’ll be ’ung for this. Look at pore Bill, cut off in ’is prime.”

“Run for the doctor,” ses someone.

Two of ’em ran off as ’ard as they could go, and then the landlord came
round the bar and asked Bill to go and die outside, because ’e didn’t
want to be brought into it. Jasper Potts told ’im to clear off, and
then he bent down and asked Bill where the pain was.

“I don’t think he’ll ’ave much pain,” ses Peter Lamb, who always
pretended to know a lot more than other people. “It’ll soon be over,
Bill.”

“We’ve all got to go some day,” ses Sam Martin. “Better to die young
than live to be a trouble to yourself,” ses Bob Harris.

To ’ear them talk everybody seemed to think that Bill Jones was in
luck; everybody but Bill Jones ’imself, that is.

“I ain’t fit to die,” he ses, shivering. “You don’t know ’ow bad I’ve
been.”

“Wot ’ave you done, Bill?” ses Peter Lamb, in a soft voice. “If it’ll
ease your feelings afore you go to make a clean breast of it, we’re all
friends here.”

Bill groaned.

“And it’s too late for you to be punished for anything,” ses Peter,
arter a moment.

Bill Jones groaned agin, and then, shaking ’is ’ead, began to w’isper
’is wrong-doings. When the doctor came in ’arf an hour arterward all
the men was as quiet as mice, and pore Bill was still w’ispering as
’ard as he could w’isper.

The doctor pushed ’em out of the way in a moment, and then ’e bent over
Bill and felt ’is pulse and looked at ’is tongue. Then he listened to
his ’art, and in a puzzled way smelt at the bottle, which Jasper Potts
was a-minding of, and wetted ’is finger and tasted it.

“Somebody’s been making a fool of you and me too,” he ses, in a angry
voice. “It’s only gin, and very good gin at that. Get up and go home.”

It all came out next morning, and Joe Barlcomb was the laughing-stock
of the place. Most people said that Mrs. Prince ’ad done quite right,
and they ’oped that it ud be a lesson to him, but nobody ever talked
much of witchcraft in Claybury agin. One thing was that Bill Jones
wouldn’t ’ave the word used in ’is hearing.
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