Friends in Need Page #2

"Friends in Need" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous short story that explores themes of friendship and human nature. Set in a coastal village, the narrative follows a group of friends as they navigate a series of misunderstandings and comical situations. The story captures Jacobs' signature wit and keen observations of social dynamics, ultimately reflecting on the complexities of loyalty and support among friends. Through lighthearted dialogue and engaging scenarios, Jacobs delivers both entertainment and commentary on the bonds that tie people together.

• Humour
• Short story

								

expostulations of his financial backers.  "Wot is it?"

He sat in amazed discomfort during the operation, and emerging with his
friends remarked that he felt half a stone lighter.  The information was
received in stony silence, and, having spent some time in the selection,
they found a quiet public-house, and in a retired corner formed
themselves into a Committee of Ways and Means.

"That'll do for you to go on with," said Mr. Kidd, after he and Mr. Brown
had each made a contribution; "and, mind, it's coming off of your share."

Mr. Gibbs nodded.  "And any evening you want to see me you'll find me in
here," he remarked.  "Beer's ripping.  Now you'd better go and see my old
woman."

The two friends departed, and, to their great relief, found a little knot
of people outside the abode of Mrs. Gibbs.  It was clear that the news
had been already broken, and, pushing their way upstairs, they found the
widow with a damp handkerchief in her hand surrounded by attentive
friends.  In feeble accents she thanked Mr. Kidd for his noble attempts
at rescue.

"He ain't dry yet," said Mr. Brown.

"I done wot I could," said Mr. Kidd, simply.  "Pore Joe!  Nobody could
ha' had a better pal.  Nobody!"

"Always ready to lend a helping 'and to them as was in trouble, he was,"
said Mr. Brown, looking round.

"'Ear, 'ear!"  said a voice.

"And we'll lend 'im a helping 'and," said Mr. Kidd, energetically.  "We
can't do 'im no good, pore chap, but we can try and do something for 'er
as is left behind."

He moved slowly to the door, accompanied by Mr. Brown, and catching the
eye of one or two of the men beckoned them to follow.  Under his able
guidance a small but gradually increasing crowd made its way to the "Red
Lion." For the next three or four days the friends worked unceasingly.
Cards stating that a Friendly Lead would be held at the "Red Lion," for
the benefit of the widow of the late Mr. Joseph Gibbs, were distributed
broadcast; and anecdotes portraying a singularly rare and beautiful
character obtained an even wider circulation.  Too late Wapping realized
the benevolent disposition and the kindly but unobtrusive nature that had
departed from it for ever.

Mr. Gibbs, from his retreat across the water, fully shared his friends'
enthusiasm, but an insane desire--engendered by vanity--to be present at
the function was a source of considerable trouble and annoyance to them.
When he offered to black his face and take part in the entertainment as a
n*gger minstrel, Mr. Kidd had to be led outside and kept there until such
time as he could converse in English pure and undefiled.

"Getting above 'imself, that's wot it is," said Mr. Brown, as they wended
their way home.  "He's having too much money out of us to spend; but it
won't be for long now."

"He's having a lord's life of it, while we're slaving ourselves to
death," grumbled Mr. Kidd.  "I never see'im looking so fat and well.  By
rights he oughtn't to 'ave the same share as wot we're going to 'ave; he
ain't doing none of the work."

His ill-humour lasted until the night of the "Lead," which, largely owing
to the presence of a sporting fishmonger who had done well at the races
that day, and some of his friends, realized a sum far beyond the
expectations of the hard-working promoters.  The fishmonger led off by
placing a five-pound note in the plate, and the packed audience breathed
so hard that the plate-holder's responsibility began to weigh upon his
spirits.  In all, a financial tribute of thirty-seven pounds three and
fourpence was paid to the memory of the late Mr. Gibbs.

"Over twelve quid apiece," said the delighted Mr. Kidd as he bade his
co-worker good night.  "Sounds too good to be true."

The next day passed all too slowly, but work was over at last, and Mr.
Kidd led the way over London Bridge a yard or two ahead of the more
phlegmatic Mr. Brown.  Mr. Gibbs was in his old corner at the
"Wheelwright's Arms," and, instead of going into ecstasies over the sum
realized, hinted darkly that it would have been larger if he had been
allowed to have had a hand in it.

"It'll 'ardly pay me for my trouble," he said, shaking his head.  "It's
very dull over 'ere all alone by myself.  By the time you two have 'ad
your share, besides taking wot I owe you, there'll be 'ardly anything
left."

"I'll talk to you another time," said Mr. Kidd, regarding him fixedly.
"Wot you've got to do now is to come acrost the river with us."

"What for?"  demanded Mr. Gibbs.

"We're going to break the joyful news to your old woman that you're alive
afore she starts spending money wot isn't hers," said Mr. Kidd.  "And we
want you to be close by in case she don't believe us.

"Well, do it gentle, mind," said the fond husband.  "We don't want 'er
screaming, or anything o' that sort.  I know 'er better than wot you do,
and my advice to you is to go easy."

He walked along by the side of them, and, after some demur, consented, as
a further disguise, to put on a pair of spectacles, for which Mr. Kidd's
wife's mother had been hunting high and low since eight o'clock that
morning.

"You doddle about 'ere for ten minutes," said Mr. Kidd, as they reached
the Monument, "and then foller on.  When you pass a lamp-post 'old your
handkerchief up to your face.  And wait for us at the corner of your road
till we come for you."

He went off at a brisk pace with Mr. Brown, a pace moderated to one of
almost funeral solemnity as they approached the residence of Mrs. Gibbs.
To their relief she was alone, and after the usual amenities thanked them
warmly for all they had done for her.

"I'd do more than that for pore Joe," said Mr. Brown.

"They--they 'aven't found 'im yet?"  said the widow.

Mr. Kidd shook his head.  "My idea is they won't find 'im," he said,
slowly.

"Went down on the ebb tide," explained Mr. Brown; and spoilt Mr. Kidd's
opening.

"Wherever he is 'e's better off," said Mrs. Gibbs.

"No more trouble about being out o' work; no more worry; no more pain.
We've all got to go some day.

"Yes," began Mr. Kidd; "but--

"I'm sure I don't wish 'im back," said Mrs. Gibbs; "that would be
sinful."

"But 'ow if he wanted to come back?"  said Mr. Kidd, playing for an
opening.

"And 'elp you spend that money," said Mr. Brown, ignoring the scowls of
his friend.

Mrs. Gibbs looked bewildered.  "Spend the money?" she began.

"Suppose," said Mr. Kidd, "suppose he wasn't drownded after all?  Only
last night I dreamt he was alive."

"So did I," said Mr. Brown.

"He was smiling at me," said Mr. Kidd, in a tender voice.  "'Bob,' he
ses, 'go and tell my pore missis that I'm alive,' he ses; 'break it to
'er gentle.'"

"It's the very words he said to me in my dream," said Mr. Brown.  "Bit
strange, ain't it?"

"Very," said Mrs. Gibbs.

"I suppose," said Mr. Kidd, after a pause, "I suppose you haven't been

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