Fairy Gold Page #2

"Fairy Gold" is a collection of whimsical and humorous short stories by W. W. Jacobs, known for his distinctively British storytelling style. The tales often blend elements of fantasy and realism, featuring eccentric characters and unexpected twists. Jacobs's writing captures the charm of everyday life while infusing it with a sense of enchantment and folly. Through his vivid narratives, readers are invited to explore a world where the mundane collides with the magical, highlighting the absurdities of human nature and the allure of the fantastical.

• Humour
• Short story

								


"So, thanking you all the same," continued Mrs. Teak, with amiable
cheerfulness, "I'll stay at 'ome."

"'Ow-'ow much are they?"  growled her husband, scowling at Mr. Chase.

"All prices," replied his wife.

"Yes, I know," said Mr. Teak, in a grating voice.  "You go in to buy a
hat at one and eleven-pence; you get talked over and flattered by a man
like a barber's block, and you come out with a four-and-six penny one.
The only real difference in hats is the price, but women can never see
it."

Mrs. Teak smiled faintly, and again expressed her willingness to stay at
home.  They could spend the afternoon working in the garden, she said.
Her husband, with another indignant glance at the right eye of Mr. Chase,
which was still enacting the part of a camera-shutter, said that she
could have a hat, but asked her to remember when buying it that nothing
suited her so well as a plain one.

The remainder of the week passed away slowly; and Mr. Teak, despite his
utmost efforts, was unable to glean any information from Mr. Chase as to
that gentleman's ideas concerning the hiding-place.  At every suggestion
Mr. Chase's smile only got broader and more indulgent.

"You leave it to me," he said.  "You leave it to me, and when you come
home from a happy outing I 'ope to be able to cross your little hand with
three 'undred golden quids."

"But why not tell me?"  urged Mr. Teak.

"'Cos I want to surprise you," was the reply.  "But mind, whatever you
do, don't let your wife run away with the idea that I've been mixed up in
it at all.  Now, if you worry me any more I shall ask you to make it
thirty pounds for me instead of twenty."

The two friends parted at the corner of the road on Saturday afternoon,
and Mr. Teak, conscious of his friend's impatience, sought to hurry his
wife by occasionally calling the wrong time up the stairs.  She came down
at last, smiling, in a plain hat with three roses, two bows, and a
feather.

"I've had the feather for years," she remarked.  "This is the fourth hat
it has been on--but, then, I've taken care of it."

Mr. Teak grunted, and, opening the door, ushered her into the street.  A
sense of adventure, and the hope of a profitable afternoon made his
spirits rise.  He paid a compliment to the hat, and then, to the surprise
of both, followed it up with another--a very little one--to his wife.

They took a tram at the end of the street, and for the sake of the air
mounted to the top.  Mrs. Teak leaned back in her seat with placid
enjoyment, and for the first ten minutes amused herself with the life in
the streets.  Then she turned suddenly to her husband and declared that
she had felt a spot of rain.

"'Magination," he said, shortly.

Something cold touched him lightly on the eyelid, a tiny pattering
sounded from the seats, and then swish, down came the rain.  With an
angry exclamation he sprang up and followed his wife below.

"Just our luck," she said, mournfully.  "Best thing we can do is to stay
in the car and go back with it."

"Nonsense!"  said her husband, in a startled' voice; "it'll be over in a
minute."

Events proved the contrary.  By the time the car reached the terminus it
was coming down heavily.  Mrs. Teak settled herself squarely in her seat,
and patches of blue sky, visible only to the eye of faith and her
husband, failed to move her.  Even his reckless reference to a cab
failed.

"It's no good," she said, tartly.  "We can't go about the grounds in a
cab, and I'm not going to slop about in the wet to please anybody.  We
must go another time.  It's hard luck, but there's worse things in life."

Mr. Teak, wondering as to the operations of Mr. Chase, agreed dumbly.  He
stopped the car at the corner of their road, and, holding his head down
against the rain, sprinted towards home.  Mrs. Teak, anxious for her hat,
passed him.

"What on earth's the matter?"  she inquired, fumbling in her pocket for
the key as her husband executed a clumsy but noisy breakdown on the front
step.

"Chill," replied Mr. Teak.  "I've got wet."

He resumed his lumberings and, the door being opened, gave vent to his
relief at being home again in the dry, in a voice that made the windows
rattle.  Then with anxious eyes he watched his wife pass upstairs.

"Wonder what excuse old Alf'll make for being in?"  he thought.

He stood with one foot on the bottom stair, listening acutely.  He heard
a door open above, and then a wild, ear-splitting shriek rang through the
house.  Instinctively he dashed upstairs and, following his wife into
their bedroom, stood by her side gaping stupidly at a pair of legs
standing on the hearthstone.  As he watched they came backwards into the
room, the upper part of a body materialized from the chimney, and turning
round revealed the soot-stained face of Mr. Alfred Chase.  Another wild
shriek from Mrs. Teak greeted its appearance.

"Hul-lo!"  exclaimed Mr. Teak, groping for the right thing to say.
"Hul-lo!  What--what are you doing, Alf?"

Mr. Chase blew the soot from his lips.  "I--I--I come 'ome unexpected,"
he stammered.

"But--what are--you doing?"  panted Mrs. Teak, in a rising voice.

"I--I was passing your door," said Mr. Chase, "passing your door--to go
to my room to--to 'ave a bit of a rinse, when--"

"Yes," said Mrs. Teak.

Mr. Chase gave Mr. Teak a glance the pathos of which even the soot could
not conceal.  "When I--I heard a pore little bird struggling in your
chimbley," he continued, with a sigh of relief.  "Being fond of animals,
I took the liberty of comin' into your room and saving its life."

Mr. Teak drew a breath, which he endeavoured in vain to render noiseless.

"It got its pore little foot caught in the brickwork," continued the
veracious Mr. Chase, tenderly.  "I released it, and it flowed--I mean
flew--up the chimbley."

With the shamefaced air of a man detected in the performance of a noble
action, he passed out of the room.  Husband and wife eyed each other.

"That's Alf--that's Alf all over," said Mr. Teak, with enthusiasm.  "He's
been like it from a child.  He's the sort of man that 'ud dive off
Waterloo Bridge to save the life of a drownding sparrow."

"He's made an awful mess," said his wife, frowning; "it'll take me the
rest of the day to clean up.  There's soot everywhere.  The rug is quite
spoilt."

She took off her hat and jacket and prepared for the fray.  Down below
Messrs.  Teak and Chase, comparing notes, sought, with much warmth, to
put the blame on the right shoulders.

"Well, it ain't there," said Mr. Chase, finally.  "I've made sure of
that.  That's something towards it.  I shan't 'ave to look there again,
thank goodness."

Mr. Teak sniffed.  "Got any more ideas?"  he queried.

"I have," said the other sternly.  "There's plenty of places to search
yet.  I've only just begun.  Get her out as much as you can and I'll 'ave
my hands on it afore you can say--"

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