Dual Control Page #3

"Dual Control" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous novella that delves into the intricacies of human relationships and the misunderstandings that often arise from them. The story follows two men, posing as a duo with a unique system of checks and balances, as they navigate various comedic situations stemming from their contrasting personalities and perspectives. Jacobs, known for his wit and keen observational humor, crafts a narrative that explores themes of trust, friendship, and the complexities of duality in life, all while keeping readers entertained with his signature style. Through clever dialogue and engaging scenarios, the book highlights the absurdities of social interaction and the often comedic outcomes of miscommunication.

• Humour
• Short story

								

"Because it--it would make your hair stand on end," said the industrious
Mr. Sharp.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Culpepper, sharply.

"He said it would," said Mr. Sharp, indicating his host with his spoon,
"and he ought--to know-- Who's that kicking me under the table?"

Mr. Culpepper, shivering with wrath and dread, struggled for speech.
"You'd better get home, Bert," he said at last.  "You're not yourself.
There's nobody kicking you under the table.  You don't know what you are
saying.  You've been dreaming things.  I never said anything of the
kind."

"Memory's gone," said Mr. Sharp, shaking his head at him.  "Clean gone.
Don't you remember--"

"NO!"  roared Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp sat blinking at him, but his misgivings vanished before the
glances of admiring devotion which Miss Garland was sending in his
direction.  He construed them rightly not only as a reward, but as an
incentive to further efforts.  In the midst of an impressive silence Mrs.
Culpepper collected the plates and, producing a dish of fruit from the
sideboard, placed it upon the table.

"Help yourself, Mr. Sharp," she said, pushing the bottle of port towards
him.

Mr. Sharp complied, having first, after several refusals, put a little
into the ladies' glasses, and a lot on the tablecloth near Mr. Culpepper.
Then, after a satisfying sip or two, he rose with a bland smile and
announced his intention of making a speech.

"But you've made one," said his host, in tones of fierce expostulation.

"That--that was las' night," said Mr. Sharp.  "This is to-night--your
birthday."

"Well, we don't want any more," said Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp hesitated.  "It's only his fun," he said, looking round and
raising his glass.  "He's afraid I'm going to praise him up--praise him
up.  Here's to my old friend, Mr. Culpepper: one of the best.  We all
have our--faults, and he has his--has his.  Where was I?"

"Sit down," growled Mr. Culpepper.

"Talking about my husband's faults," said his wife.

"So I was," said Mr. Sharp, putting his hand to his brow.  "Don't be
alarm'," he continued, turning to his host; "nothing to be alarm' about.
I'm not going to talk about 'em.  Not so silly as that, I hope.  I don't
want spoil your life."

"Sit down," repeated Mr. Culpepper.

"You're very anxious he should sit down," said his wife, sharply.

"No, I'm not," said Mr. Culpepper; "only he's talking nonsense."

Mr. Sharp, still on his legs, took another sip of port and, avoiding the
eye of Mr. Culpepper, which was showing signs of incipient inflammation,
looked for encouragement to Miss Garland.

"He's a man we all look up to and respect," he continued.  "If he does go
off to London every now and then on business, that's his lookout.  My
idea is he always ought to take Mrs. Culpepper with him.

"He'd have pleasure of her company and, same time, he'd be money in pocket
by it.  And why shouldn't she go to music-halls sometimes?  Why shouldn't
she--"

"You get off home," said the purple Mr. Culpepper, rising and hammering
the table with his fist.  "Get off home; and if you so much as show your
face inside this 'ouse again there'll be trouble.  Go on.  Out you go!"

"Home?"  repeated Mr. Sharp, sitting down suddenly.  "Won't go home till
morning."

"Oh, we'll soon see about that," said Mr. Culpepper, taking him by the
shoulders.  "Come on, now."

Mr. Sharp subsided lumpishly into his chair, and Mr. Culpepper, despite
his utmost efforts, failed to move him.  The two ladies exchanged a
glance, and then, with their heads in the air, sailed out of the room,
the younger pausing at the door to bestow a mirthful glance upon Mr.
Sharp ere she disappeared.

"Come--out," said Mr. Culpepper, panting.

"You trying to tickle me?"  inquired Mr. Sharp.

"You get off home," said the other.  "You've been doing nothing but make
mischief ever since you came in.  What put such things into your silly
head I don't know.  I shall never hear the end of 'em as long as I live."

"Silly head?"  repeated Mr. Sharp, with an alarming change of manner.
"Say it again."

Mr. Culpepper repeated it with gusto.

"Very good," said Mr. Sharp.  He seized him suddenly and, pushing him
backwards into his easychair, stood over him with such hideous
contortions of visage that Mr. Culpepper was horrified.  "Now you sit
there and keep quite still," he said, with smouldering ferocity.  "Where
did you put carving-knife?  Eh?  Where's carving-knife?"

"No, no, Bert," said Mr. Culpepper, clutching at his sleeve.  "I--I was
only joking.  You--you ain't quite yourself, Bert."

"What?"  demanded the other, rolling his eyes, and clenching his fists.

"I--I mean you've improved," said Mr. Culpepper, hurriedly.  "Wonderful,
you have."

Mr. Sharp's countenance cleared a little.  "Let's make a night of it," he
said.  "Don't move, whatever you do."

He closed the door and, putting the wine and a couple of glasses on the
mantelpiece, took a chair by Mr. Culpepper and prepared to spend the
evening.  His instructions were too specific to be disregarded, and three
times he placed his arm about the waist of the frenzied Mr. Culpepper and
took him for a lumbering dance up and down the room.  In the intervals
between dances he regaled him with interminable extracts from speeches
made at the debating society and recitations learned at school.
Suggestions relating to bed, thrown out by Mr. Culpepper from time to
time, were repelled with scorn.  And twice, in deference to Mr. Sharp's
desires, he had to join in the chorus of a song.

Ten o'clock passed, and the hands of the clock crawled round to eleven.
The hour struck, and, as though in answer, the door opened and the
agreeable face of Florrie Garland appeared.  Behind her, to the intense
surprise of both gentlemen, loomed the stalwart figure of Mr. Jack
Butler.

"I thought he might be useful, uncle," said Miss Garland, coming into the
room.  "Auntie wouldn't let me come down before."

Mr. Sharp rose in a dazed fashion and saw Mr. Culpepper grasp Mr. Butler
by the hand.  More dazed still, he felt the large and clumsy hand of Mr.
Butler take him by the collar and propel him with some violence along the
small passage, while another hand, which he dimly recognized as belonging
to Mr. Culpepper, was inserted in the small of his back.  Then the front
door opened and he was thrust out into the night.  The door closed, and a
low feminine laugh sounded from a window above.
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