Dixon’s Return Page #2

"Dixon’s Return" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous novella centered around the eccentric character of Dixon, who returns to his hometown after a long absence. The story unfolds as Dixon's arrival stirs up memories and mischief among the local residents. Jacobs, known for his wit and keen observations of human nature, crafts a lighthearted narrative filled with quirky characters and comedic situations, ultimately exploring themes of nostalgia and the unpredictability of life. With his signature style, Jacobs invites readers to enjoy the antics and charm of a vibrant coastal community.

• Short story

								

down some bedclothes and ’ad a bed made up for ’im on the sofa. Some
men would ha’ ’ad the police in for less than that, but George Dixon
’ad got a great deal o’ pride and ’e couldn’t bear the shame of it.
Instead o’ that ’e acted like a fourteen-year-old boy and ran away to
sea.

They found ’im gone when they came down in the morning, and the
side-door on the latch. He ’ad left a letter for ’is wife on the table,
telling ’er wot he ’ad done. Short and sweet it was, and wound up with
telling ’er to be careful that her uncle and cousins didn’t eat ’er out
of house and ’ome.

She got another letter two days arterward, saying that he ’ad shipped
as ordinary seaman on an American barque called the Seabird, bound
for California, and that ’e expected to be away a year, or thereabouts.

“It’ll do ’im good,” ses old Burge, when Mrs. Dixon read the letter to
’em. “It’s a ’ard life is the sea, and he’ll appreciate his ’ome when
’e comes back to it agin. He don’t know when ’e’s well off. It’s as
comfortable a ’ome as a man could wish to ’ave.” It was surprising wot
a little difference George Dixon’s being away made to the Blue Lion.
Nobody seemed to miss ’im much, and things went on just the same as
afore he went. Mrs. Dixon was all right with most people, and ’er
relations ’ad a very good time of it; old Burge began to put on flesh
at such a rate that the sight of a ladder made ’im ill a’most, and
Charlie and Bob went about as if the place belonged to ’em.

They ’eard nothing for eight months, and then a letter came for Mrs.
Dixon from her ’usband in which he said that ’e had left the Seabird
after ’aving had a time which made ’im shiver to think of. He said that
the men was the roughest of the rough and the officers was worse, and
that he ’ad hardly ’ad a day without a blow from one or the other since
he’d been aboard. He’d been knocked down with a hand-spike by the
second mate, and had ’ad a week in his bunk with a kick given ’im by
the boatswain. He said ’e was now on the Rochester Castle, bound for
Sydney, and he ’oped for better times.

That was all they ’eard for some months, and then they got another
letter saying that the men on the Rochester Castle was, if anything,
worse than those on the Seabird, and that he’d begun to think that
running away to sea was diff’rent to wot he’d expected, and that he
supposed ’e’d done it too late in life. He sent ’is love to ’is wife
and asked ’er as a favour to send Uncle Burge and ’is boys away, as ’e
didn’t want to find them there when ’e came home, because they was the
cause of all his sufferings.

“He don’t know ’is best friends,” ses old Burge. “’E’s got a nasty
sperrit I don’t like to see.”

“I’ll ’ave a word with ’im when ’e does come home,” ses Bob. “I s’pose
he thinks ’imself safe writing letters thousands o’ miles away.”

The last letter they ’ad came from Auckland, and said that he ’ad
shipped on the Monarch, bound for the Albert Docks, and he ’oped soon
to be at ’ome and managing the Blue Lion, same as in the old happy days
afore he was fool enough to go to sea.

That was the very last letter, and some time arterward the Monarch
was in the missing list, and by-and-by it became known that she ’ad
gone down with all hands not long arter leaving New Zealand. The only
difference it made at the Blue Lion was that Mrs. Dixon ’ad two of ’er
dresses dyed black, and the others wore black neckties for a fortnight
and spoke of Dixon as pore George, and said it was a funny world, but
they supposed everything was for the best.

It must ha’ been pretty near four years since George Dixon ’ad run off
to sea when Charlie, who was sitting in the bar one arternoon reading
the paper, things being dull, saw a man’s head peep through the door
for a minute and then disappear. A’most direckly arterward it looked in
at another door and then disappeared agin. When it looked in at the
third door Charlie ’ad put down ’is paper and was ready for it.

“Who are you looking for?” he ses, rather sharp. “Wot d’ye want? Are
you ’aving a game of peepbo, or wot?”

The man coughed and smiled, and then ’e pushed the door open gently and
came in, and stood there fingering ’is beard as though ’e didn’t know
wot to say.

“I’ve come back, Charlie,” he ses at last.

“Wot, George!” ses Charlie, starting. “Why, I didn’t know you in that
beard. We all thought you was dead, years ago.”

“I was pretty nearly, Charlie,” ses Dixon, shaking his ’ead. “Ah! I’ve
’ad a terrible time since I left ’once.”

“‘You don’t seem to ha’ made your fortune,” ses Charlie, looking down
at ’is clothes. “I’d ha’ been ashamed to come ’ome like that if it ’ad
been me.”

“I’m wore out,” ses Dixon, leaning agin the bar. “I’ve got no pride
left; it’s all been knocked out of me. How’s Julia?”

“She’s all right,” ses Charlie. “Here, Ju—”

“H’sh!” ses Dixon, reaching over the bar and laying his ’and on his
arm. “Don’t let ’er know too sudden; break it to ’er gently.”

“Fiddlesticks!” ses Charlie, throwing his ’and off and calling, “Here,
Julia! He’s come back.”

Mrs. Dixon came running downstairs and into the bar. “Good gracious!”
she ses, staring at her ’usband. “Whoever’d ha’ thought o’ seeing you
agin? Where ’ave you sprung from?”

“Ain’t you glad to see me, Julia?” ses George Dixon.

“Yes, I s’pose so; if you’ve come back to behave yourself,” ses Mrs.
Dixon. “What ’ave you got to say for yourself for running away and then
writing them letters, telling me to get rid of my relations?”

“That’s a long time ago, Julia,” ses Dixon, raising the flap in the
counter and going into the bar. “I’ve gone through a great deal o’
suffering since then. I’ve been knocked about till I ’adn’t got any
feeling left in me; I’ve been shipwrecked, and I’ve ’ad to fight for my
life with savages.”

“Nobody asked you to run away,” ses his wife, edging away as he went to
put his arm round ’er waist. “You’d better go upstairs and put on some
decent clothes.”

Dixon looked at ’er for a moment and then he ’ung his ’ead.

“I’ve been thinking o’ you and of seeing you agin every day since I
went away, Julia,” he ses. “You’d be the same to me if you was dressed
in rags.”

He went upstairs without another word, and old Burge, who was coming
down, came down five of ’em at once owing to Dixon speaking to ’im
afore he knew who ’e was. The old man was still grumbling when Dixon
came down agin, and said he believed he’d done it a-purpose.

“You run away from a good ’ome,” he ses, “and the best wife in Wapping,
and you come back and frighten people ’arf out o’ their lives. I never
see such a feller in all my born days.”

“I was so glad to get ’ome agin I didn’t think,” ses Dixon. “I hope
you’re not ’urt.”

He started telling them all about his ’ardships while they were at tea,
but none of ’em seemed to care much about hearing ’em. Bob said that

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes