Establishing Relations Page #3

"Establishing Relations" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous short story that explores the theme of social relationships and misunderstandings. Set in the late 19th or early 20th century, it follows the misadventures of a character as he navigates the complexities of making and maintaining connections with others. Jacobs' trademark wit and keen observation of human nature are evident, as characters often find themselves in hilariously awkward situations that reveal the absurdities of social conventions. Through a blend of comedy and insight, the story reflects on the challenges and quirks inherent in human interactions.

• Humour
• Short story

								

put on a clean collar.”

Catesby watched him into his cabin and then, though it still wanted an
hour to seven, hastily quitted the ship and secreted himself in the
private bar of the Beehive.

He waited there until a quarter past seven, and then, adjusting his tie
for about the tenth time that evening in the glass behind the bar,
sallied out in the direction of No. 5.

He knocked lightly, and waited. There was no response, and he knocked
again. When the fourth knock brought no response, his heart sank within
him and he indulged in vain speculations as to the reasons for this
unexpected hitch in the programme. He knocked again, and then the door
opened suddenly and Prudence, with a little cry of surprise and dismay,
backed into the passage.

“You!” she said, regarding him with large eyes. Mr. Catesby bowed
tenderly, and passing in closed the door behind him.

“I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night,” he said, humbly.

“Very well,” said Prudence; “good-bye.”

Mr. Catesby smiled. “It’ll take me a long time to thank you as I ought
to thank you,” he murmured. “And then I want to apologise; that’ll take
time, too.”

“You had better go,” said Prudence, severely; “kindness is thrown away
upon you. I ought to have let you be punished.”

“You are too good and kind,” said the other, drifting by easy stages
into the parlour.

Miss Truefitt made no reply, but following him into the room seated
herself in an easy-chair and sat coldly watchful.

“How do you know what I am?” she inquired.

“Your face tells me,” said the infatuated Richard. “I hope you will
forgive me for my rudeness last night. It was all done on the spur of
the moment.”

“I am glad you are sorry,” said the girl, softening.

“All the same, if I hadn’t done it,” pursued Mr. Catesby, “I shouldn’t
be sitting here talking to you now.”

Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and then lowered them modestly to
the ground. “That is true,” she said, quietly.

“And I would sooner be sitting here than anywhere,” pursued Catesby.
“That is,” he added, rising, and taking a chair by her side, “except
here.”

Miss Truefitt appeared to tremble, and made as though to rise. Then she
sat still and took a gentle peep at Mr. Catesby from the corner of her
eye.

“I hope that you are not sorry that I am here?” said that gentleman.

Miss Truefitt hesitated. “No,” she said, at last.

“Are you—are you glad?” asked the modest Richard.

Miss Truefitt averted her eyes altogether. “Yes,” she said, faintly.

A strange feeling of solemnity came over the triumphant Richard. He
took the hand nearest to him and pressed it gently.

“I—I can hardly believe in my good luck,” he murmured.

“Good luck?” said Prudence, innocently.

“Isn’t it good luck to hear you say that you are glad I’m here?” said
Catesby.

“You’re the best judge of that,” said the girl, withdrawing her hand.
“It doesn’t seem to me much to be pleased about.”

Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and was about to address another
tender remark to her when she was overcome by a slight fit of coughing.
At the same moment he started at the sound of a shuffling footstep in
the passage. Somebody tapped at the door.

“Yes?” said Prudence.

“Can’t find the knife-powder, miss,” said a harsh voice. The door was
pushed open and disclosed a tall, bony woman of about forty. Her red
arms were bare to the elbow, and she betrayed several evidences of a
long and arduous day’s charing.

“It’s in the cupboard,” said Prudence. “Why, what’s the matter, Mrs.
Porter?”

Mrs. Porter made no reply. Her mouth was wide open and she was gazing
with starting eyeballs at Mr. Catesby.

“Joe!” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “Joe!”

Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling silence. Miss Truefitt, with an
air of great surprise, glanced from one to the other.

“Joe!” said Mrs. Porter again. “Ain’t you goin’ to speak to me?”

Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her in speechless astonishment. She
skipped clumsily round the table and stood before him with her hands
clasped.

“Where ’ave you been all this long time?” she demanded, in a higher
key.

“You—you’ve made a mistake,” said the bewildered Richard.

“Mistake?” wailed Mrs. Porter. “Mistake! Oh, where’s your ’art?”

Before he could get out of her way she flung her arms round the
horrified young man’s neck and embraced him copiously. Over her bony
left shoulder the frantic Richard met the ecstatic gaze of Miss
Truefitt, and, in a flash, he realised the trap into which he had
fallen.

“Mrs. Porter!” said Prudence.

“It’s my ’usband, miss,” said the Amazon, reluctantly releasing the
flushed and dishevelled Richard; “’e left me and my five eighteen
months ago. For eighteen months I ’aven’t ’ad a sight of ’is blessed
face.”

She lifted the hem of her apron to her face and broke into discordant
weeping.

“Don’t cry,” said Prudence, softly; “I’m sure he isn’t worth it.”

Mr. Catesby looked at her wanly. He was beyond further astonishment,
and when Mrs. Truefitt entered the room with a laudable attempt to
twist her features into an expression of surprise, he scarcely noticed
her.

“It’s my Joe,” said Mrs. Porter, simply.

“Good gracious!” said Mrs. Truefitt. “Well, you’ve got him now; take
care he doesn’t run away from you again.”

“I’ll look after that, ma’am,” said Mrs. Porter, with a glare at the
startled Richard.

“She’s very forgiving,” said Prudence. “She kissed him just now.”

“Did she, though,” said the admiring Mrs. Truefitt. “I wish I’d been
here.”

“I can do it agin, ma’am,” said the obliging Mrs. Porter.

“If you come near me again—” said the breathless Richard, stepping back
a pace.

“I shouldn’t force his love,” said Mrs. Truefitt; “it’ll come back in
time, I dare say.”

“I’m sure he’s affectionate,” said Prudence.

Mr. Catesby eyed his tormentors in silence; the faces of Prudence and
her mother betokened much innocent enjoyment, but the austerity of Mrs.
Porter’s visage was unrelaxed.

“Better let bygones be bygones,” said Mrs. Truefitt; “he’ll be sorry
by-and-by for all the trouble he has caused.”

“He’ll be ashamed of himself—if you give him time,” added Prudence.

Mr. Catesby had heard enough; he took up his hat and crossed to the
door.

“Take care he doesn’t run away from you again,” repeated Mrs. Truefitt.

“I’ll see to that, ma’am,” said Mrs. Porter, taking him by the arm.
“Come along, Joe.”

Mr. Catesby attempted to shake her off, but in vain, and he ground his
teeth as he realised the absurdity of his position. A man he could have
dealt with, but Mrs. Porter was invulnerable. Sooner than walk down the
road with her he preferred the sallies of the parlour. He walked back
to his old position by the fireplace, and stood gazing moodily at the
floor.

Mrs. Truefitt tired of the sport at last. She wanted her supper, and
with a significant glance at her daughter she beckoned the redoubtable

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