Keeping Up Appearances Page #2

"Keeping Up Appearances" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous short story that explores themes of social status and the lengths to which people will go to maintain their reputations. Set in a quaint coastal village, the narrative follows a well-meaning but misguided protagonist who attempts to impress his neighbors and elevate his social standing. As the story unfolds, Jacobs masterfully blends wit and irony, exposing the absurdities of pretentiousness and the superficiality of societal expectations. With memorable characters and comedic situations, the tale offers a lighthearted critique of human nature and the pursuit of outward appearances.

• Humour
• Short story

								

believe anything in the ghost line.

It was past twelve when a couple o' pals brought him 'ome, and, arter
offering to fight all six of 'em, one after the other, Bill hit the wall
for getting in 'is way, and tumbled upstairs to bed. In less than ten
minutes 'e was fast asleep, and pore Mrs. Burtenshaw, arter trying her
best to keep awake, fell asleep too.

She was woke up suddenly by a noise that froze the marrer in 'er bones—
the most 'art-rending groan she 'ad ever heard in 'er life; and, raising
her 'ead, she saw Silas Winch standing at the foot of the bed. He 'ad
done his face and hands over with wot is called loominous paint, his cap
was pushed at the back of his 'ead, and wet wisps of 'air was hanging
over his eyes. For a moment Mrs. Burtenshaw's 'art stood still and then
Silas let off another groan that put her on edge all over. It was a
groan that seemed to come from nothing a'most until it spread into a
roar that made the room tremble and rattled the jug in the wash-stand
basin. It shook everything in the room but Bill, and he went on sleeping
like an infant. Silas did two more groans, and then 'e leaned over the
foot o' the bed, and stared at Bill, as though 'e couldn't believe his
eyesight.

'She Saw Silas Winch Standing at the Foot of The Bed.'

“Try a squeaky one,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw.

Silas tried five squeaky ones, and then he 'ad a fit o' coughing that
would ha' woke the dead, as they say, but it didn't wake Bill.

“Now some more deep ones,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw, in a w'isper.

Silas licked his lips—forgetting the paint—and tried the deep ones agin.

“Now mix 'em a bit,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw.

Silas stared at her. “Look 'ere,” he ses, very short, “do you think I'm
a fog-horn, or wot?”

He stood there sulky for a moment, and then 'e invented a noise that
nothing living could miss hearing; even Bill couldn't. He moved in 'is
sleep, and arter Silas 'ad done it twice more he turned and spoke to 'is
missis about it. “D'ye hear?” he ses; “stop it. Stop it at once.”

Mrs. Burtenshaw pretended to be asleep, and Bill was just going to turn
over agin when Silas let off another groan. It was on'y a little one
this time, but Bill sat up as though he 'ad been shot, and he no sooner
caught sight of Silas standing there than 'e gave a dreadful 'owl and,
rolling over, wropped 'imself up in all the bed-clothes 'e could lay his
'ands on. Then Mrs. Burtenshaw gave a 'owl and tried to get some of 'em
back; but Bill, thinking it was the ghost, only held on tighter than
ever.

“Bill!” ses Silas Winch, in an awful voice.

Bill gave a kick, and tried to bore a hole through the bed.

“Bill,” ses Silas agin, “why don't you answer me? I've come all the way
from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean to see you, and this is all I get
for it. Haven't you got anything to say to me?”

“Good-by,” ses Bill, in a voice all smothered with the bed-clothes.

Silas Winch groaned agin, and Bill, as the shock 'ad made a'most sober,
trembled all over.

“The moment I died,” ses Silas, “I thought of my promise towards you.
'Bill's expecting me,' I ses, and, instead of staying in comfort at
the bottom of the sea, I kicked off the body of the cabin-boy wot was
clinging round my leg, and 'ere I am.”

“It was very—t-t-thoughtful—of you—Silas,” ses Bill; “but you always—
w-w-was—thoughtful. Good-by.”

Afore Silas could answer, Mrs. Burtenshaw, who felt more comfortable,
'aving got a bit o' the clothes back, thought it was time to put 'er
spoke in.

“Lor' bless me, Bill,” she ses. “Wotever are you a-talking to yourself
like this for? 'Ave you been dreaming?”

“Dreaming!” ses pore Bill, catching hold of her 'and and gripping it
till she nearly screamed. “I wish I was. Can't you see it?”

“See it?” ses his wife. “See wot?”

“The ghost,” ses Bill, in a 'orrible whisper; “the ghost of my dear,
kind old pal, Silas Winch. The best and noblest pal a man ever 'ad. The
kindest-'arted——”

“Rubbish,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw. “You've been dreaming. And as for the
kindest-'arted pal, why I've often heard you say—”

“H'sh!” ses Bill. “I didn't. I'll swear I didn't. I never thought of
such a thing.”

“You turn over and go to sleep,” ses his wife, “hiding your 'ead under
the clothes like a child that's afraid o' the dark! There's nothing
there, I tell you. Wot next will you see, I wonder? Last time it was a
pink rat.”

“This is fifty million times worse than pink rats,” ses Bill. “I on'y
wish it was a pink rat.”

“I tell you there is nothing there,” ses his wife. “Look!”

Bill put his 'ead up and looked, and then 'e gave a dreadful scream and
dived under the bed-clothes agin.

“Oh, well, 'ave it your own way, then,” ses his wife. “If it pleases you
to think there is a ghost there, and to go on talking to it, do so, and
welcome.”

She turned over and pretended to go to sleep agin, and arter a minute or
two Silas spoke agin in the same hollow voice.

“Bill!” he ses.

“Yes,” ses Bill, with a groan of his own.

“She can't see me,” ses Silas, “and she can't 'ear me; but I'm 'ere all
right. Look!”

“I 'ave looked,” ses Bill, with his 'ead still under the clothes.

“We was always pals, Bill, you and me,” ses Silas; “many a v'y'ge 'ave
we had together, mate, and now I'm a-laying at the bottom of the Pacific
Ocean, and you are snug and 'appy in your own warm bed. I 'ad to come
to see you, according to promise, and over and above that, since I was
drowned my eyes 'ave been opened. Bill, you're drinking yourself to
death!”

“I—I—didn't know it,” ses Bill, shaking all over. “I'll knock it—off a
bit, and—thank you—for—w-w-warning me. G-G-Good-by.”

“You'll knock it off altogether,” ses Silas Winch, in a awful voice.
“You're not to touch another drop of beer, wine, or spirits as long as
you live. D'ye hear me?”

“Not—not as medicine?” ses Bill, holding the clothes up a bit so as to
be more distinct.

“Not as anything,” ses Silas; “not even over Christmas pudding. Raise
your right arm above your 'ead and swear by the ghost of pore Silas
Winch, as is laying at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, that you won't
touch another drop.”

Bill Burtenshaw put 'is arm up and swore it.

Then 'e took 'is arm in agin and lay there wondering wot was going to
'appen next.

“If you ever break your oath by on'y so much as a teaspoonful,” ses
Silas, “you'll see me agin, and the second time you see me you'll die as
if struck by lightning. No man can see me twice and live.”

Bill broke out in a cold perspiration all over. “You'll be careful,
won't you, Silas?” he ses. “You'll remember you 'ave seen me once, I
mean?”

“And there's another thing afore I go,” ses Silas. “I've left a widder,
and if she don't get 'elp from some one she'll starve.”

“Pore thing,” ses Bill. “Pore thing.”

“If you 'ad died afore me,” ses Silas, “I should 'ave looked arter your
good wife—wot I've now put in a sound sleep—as long as I lived.”

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