For Better or Worse Page #2

"For Better or Worse" by W. W. Jacobs is a captivating short story that explores themes of love, sacrifice, and the complexities of human relationships. Set against the backdrop of a seaside village, the narrative follows a couple whose seemingly mundane life is disrupted by unexpected events that test their bond and commitment to one another. Jacobs blends humor with poignant moments, showcasing his signature storytelling style and keen insight into human nature. Through clever dialogue and vivid characterizations, the story delves into the idea that true devotion often involves navigating life's challenges together.

• Short story

								

suddenly withdrawn.  For a moment he stood irresolute in the tiny
passage, and then, with a husband's boldness, he entered the front room
and threw himself into an easy-chair.  Mr. Wotton, after a scared glance
around the well-furnished room, seated himself on the extreme edge of the
most uncomfortable chair he could find and coughed nervously.

"Better not be too sudden with her," he whispered.  "You don't want her
to faint, or anything of that sort.  Don't let 'er know who you are at
first; let her find it out for herself."

Mr. Davis, who was also suffering from the stiff grandeur of his
surroundings, nodded.

"P'r'aps you'd better start, in case she reckernizes my voice," he said,
slowly.  "Pitch it in strong about me and 'ow I was always wondering what
had 'appened to her."

"You're in luck, that's wot you are," said his friend, enviously.  "I've
only seen furniture like thiss in shop windows before.  H'sh!  Here she
comes."

He started, and both men tried to look at their ease as a stiff rustling
sounded from the stairs.  Then the door opened and a tall, stoutly-built
old lady with white hair swept into the room and stood regarding them.

Mr. Davis, unprepared for the changes wrought by thirty-five years,
stared at her aghast.  The black silk dress, the gold watch-chain, and
huge cameo brooch did not help to reassure him.

"Good-good afternoon, ma'am," said Mr. Wotton, in a thin voice.

The old lady returned the greeting, and, crossing to a chair and seating
herself in a very upright fashion, regarded him calmly.

"We--we called to see you about a dear old pal--friend, I mean,"
continued Mr. Wotton; "one o' the best.  The best."

"Yes?"  said the old lady.

"He's been missing," said Mr. Wotton, watching closely for any symptoms
of fainting, "for thir-ty-five years.  Thir-ty-five years ago-very much
against his wish-he left 'is young and handsome wife to go for a sea
v'y'ge, and was shipwrecked and cast away on a desert island."

"Yes?"  said the old lady again.

"I was cast away with 'im," said Mr. Wotton.  "Both of us was cast away
with him."

He indicated Mr. Davis with his hand, and the old lady, after a glance at
that gentleman, turned to Mr. Wotton again.

"We was on that island for longer than I like to think of," continued Mr.
Wotton, who had a wholesome dread of dates.  "But we was rescued at last,
and ever since then he has been hunting high and low for his wife."

"It's very interesting," murmured the old lady; "but what has it got to
do with me?"

Mr. Wotton gasped, and cast a helpless glance at his friend.

"You ain't heard his name yet," he said, impressively.  "Wot would you
say if I said it was--Ben Davis?"

"I should say it wasn't true," said the old lady, promptly.

"Not--true?"  said Mr. Wotton, catching his breath painfully.  "Wish I
may die----"

"About the desert island," continued the old lady, calmly.  "The story
that I heard was that he went off like a cur and left his young wife to
do the best she could for herself.  I suppose he's heard since that she
has come in for a bit of money."

"Money!" repeated Mr. Wotton, in a voice that he fondly hoped expressed
artless surprise.  "Money!"

"Money," said the old lady; "and I suppose he sent you two gentlemen
round to see how the land lay."

She was looking full at Mr. Davis as she spoke, and both men began to
take a somewhat sombre view of the situation.

"You didn't know him, else you wouldn't talk like that," said Mr. Wotton.
"I don't suppose you'd know 'im if you was to see him now."

"I don't suppose I should," said the other.

"P'r'aps you'd reckernize his voice?"  said Mr. Davis, breaking silence
at last.

Mr. Wotton held his breath, but the old lady merely shook her head
thoughtfully.  "It was a disagreeable voice when his wife used to hear
it," she said at last.  "Always fault-finding, when it wasn't swearing."

Mr. Wotton glanced at his friend, and, raising his eyebrows slightly,
gave up his task.  "Might ha' been faults on both sides," said Mr. Davis,
gruffly.  "You weren't all that you should ha' been, you know."

"Me!" said his hostess, raising her voice.

"Yes, you," said Mr. Davis, rising.  "Don't you know me, Mary?  Why, I
knew you the moment you come into the room."

He moved towards her awkwardly, but she rose in her turn and drew back.

"If you touch me I'll scream," she said, firmly.  "How dare you.  Why,
I've never seen you before in my life."

"It's Ben Davis, ma'am; it's 'im, right enough," said Mr. Wotton, meekly.

"Hold your tongue," said the old lady.

"Look at me!"  commanded Mr. Davis, sternly.  "Look at me straight in the
eye."

"Don't talk nonsense," said the other, sharply.  "Look you in the eye,
indeed!  I don't want to look in your eye.  What would people think?"

"Let 'em think wot they like," said Mr. Davis, recklessly.  "This is a
nice home-coming after being away thirty-five years."

"Most of it on a desert island," put in Mr. Wotton, pathetically.

"And now I've come back," resumed Mr. Davis; "come back to stop."

He hung his cap on a vase on the mantelpiece that reeled under the shock,
and, dropping into his chair again, crossed his legs and eyed her
sternly.  Her gaze was riveted on his dilapidated boots.  She looked up
and spoke mildly.

"You're not my husband," she said.  "You've made a mistake--I think you
had better go."

"Ho!"  said Mr. Davis, with a hard laugh.  "Indeed!  And 'ow do you know
I'm not?"

"For the best of reasons," was the reply.  "Besides, how can you prove
that you are?  Thirty-five years is a long time."

"'Specially on a desert island," said Mr. Wotton, rapidly.  "You'd be
surprised 'ow slow the time passes.  I was there with 'im, and I can lay
my hand on my 'art and assure you that that is your husband."

"Nonsense!"  said the old lady, vigorously.  "Rubbish!"

"I can prove it," said Mr. Davis, fixing her with a glittering eye.  "Do
you remember the serpent I 'ad tattooed on my leg for a garter?"

"If you don't go at once," said the old lady, hastily, "I'll send for the
police."

"You used to admire it," said Mr. Davis, reproachfully.  "I remember
once----"

"If you say another word," said the other, in a fierce voice, "I'll send
straight off for the police.  You and your serpents!  I'll tell my
husband of you, that's what I'll do."

"Your WHAT?"  roared Mr. Davis, springing to his feet.

"My husband.  He won't stand any of your nonsense, I can tell you.  You'd
better go before he comes in."

"O-oh," said Mr. Davis, taking a long breath.  "Oh, so you been and got
married again, 'ave you?  That's your love for your husband as was cast
away while trying to earn a living for you.  That's why you don't want
me, is it?  We'll see.  I'll wait for him."

"You don't know what you're talking about," said the other, with great
dignity.  "I've only been married once."

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