Money Changers

"Money Changers" by W. W. Jacobs is a short story that delves into themes of greed, deception, and the unexpected consequences of one's actions. Set in a financial context, the narrative follows a group of money-changers who engage in dubious practices in pursuit of profit. With Jacobs' signature wit and humor, the story examines the moral dilemmas faced by the characters as their schemes unravel, ultimately highlighting the pitfalls of avarice and the complexities of human nature. Engaging and thought-provoking, "Money Changers" is a keen commentary on the intersection of morality and commerce.

• Fiction

								
“’Tain’t no use waiting any longer,” said Hairy Pilchard, looking over
the side of the brig towards the Tower stairs. “’E’s either waiting for
the money or else ’e’s a spending of it. Who’s coming ashore?”

“Give ’im another five minutes, Harry,” said another seaman
persuasively; “it ’ud be uncommon ’ard on ’im if ’e come aboard and
then ’ad to go an’ get another ship’s crew to ’elp ’im celebrate it.”

“’Ard on us, too,” said the cook honestly. “There he is!”

The other glanced up at a figure waving to them from the stairs. “’E
wants the boat,” he said, moving aft.

“No ’e don’t, Steve,” piped the boy. “’E’s waving you not to. He’s
coming in the waterman’s skiff.”

“Ha! same old tale,” said the seaman wisely. “Chap comes in for a bit
o’ money and begins to waste it directly. There’s threepence gone;
clean chucked away. Look at ’im. Just look at ’im!”

“’E’s got the money all right,” said the cook; “there’s no doubt about
that. Why, ’e looks ’arf as large again as ’e did this morning.”

The crew bent over the side as the skiff approached, and the fare, who
had been leaning back in the stern with a severely important air, rose
slowly and felt in his trousers’ pocket.

“There’s a sixpence for you, my lad,” he said pompously. “Never mind
about the change.”

“All right, old slack-breeches,” said the waterman with effusive
good-fellowship, “up you get.”

Three pairs of hands assisted the offended fare on board, and the boy,
hovering round him, slapped his legs vigorously.

“Wot are you up to?” demanded Mr. Samuel Dodds, A.B., turning on him.

“Only dusting you down, Sam,” said the boy humbly.

“You got the money all right, I s’pose, Sammy?” said Steve Martin.

Mr. Dodds nodded and slapped his breastpocket.

“Right as ninepence,” he replied genially. “I’ve been with my lawyer
all the arternoon, pretty near. ’E’s a nice feller.”

“’Ow much is it, Sam?” inquired Pilchard eagerly.

“One ’undred and seventy-three pun seventeen shillings an’ ten
pence,” said the heir, noticing with much pleasure the effect of his
announcement.

“Say it agin, Sam,” said Pilchard in awed tones.

Mr. Dodds, with a happy laugh, obliged him. “If you’ll all come down
the foc’s’le,” he continued, “I’ve got a’ bundle o’ cigars an’ a drop
o’ something short in my pocket.”

“Let’s ’ave a look at the money, Sam,” said Pilchard when the cigars
were alight.

“Ah, let’s ’ave a look at it,” said Steve.

Mr. Dodds laughed again, and producing a small canvas-bag from his
pocket, dusted the table with his big palm, and spread out a roll of
banknotes and a little pile of gold and silver. It was an impressive
sight, and the cook breathed so hard that one note fluttered off the
table. Three men dived to recover it, while Sam, alive for the first
time to the responsibilities of wealth, anxiously watched the remainder
of his capital.

“There’s something for you to buy sweets with, my lad,” he said,
restored to good humour as the note was replaced.

He passed over a small coin, and regarded with tolerant good-humour the
extravagant manifestation of joy on the part of the youth which
followed. He capered joyously for a minute or two, and then taking it
to the foot of the steps, where the light was better, bit it
ecstatically.

“How much is it?” inquired the wandering Steve. “You do chuck your
money about, Sam.”

“On’y sixpence,” said Sam, laughing. “I expect if it ’ad been a
shillin’ it ’ud ha’ turned his brain.”

“It ain’t a sixpence,” said the boy indignantly. “‘It’s ’arf a
suvrin’.”

“’Arf a wot?” exclaimed Mr. Dodds with a sudden change of manner.

“’Arf a suvrin’,” repeated the boy with nervous rapidity; “and thank
you very much, Sam, for your generosity. If everybody was like you we
should all be the better for it. The world ’ud be a different place to
live in,” concluded the youthful philosopher.

Mr. Dodd’s face under these fulsome praises was a study in conflicting
emotions. “Well, don’t waste it,” he said at length, and hastily
gathering up the remainder stowed it in the bag.

“What are you going to do with it all, Sam?” inquired Harry.

“I ain’t made up my mind yet,” said Mr. Dodds deliberately. “I ’ave
thought of ’ouse property.”

“I don’t mean that,” said the other. “I mean wot are you going to do
with it now, to take care of it?”

“Why, keep it in my pocket,” said Sam, staring.

“Well, if I was you,” said Harry impressively, “I should ask the
skipper to take care of it for me. You know wot you are when you’re a
bit on, Sam.”

“Wot d’yer mean?” demanded Mr. Dodds hotly.

“I mean,” said Harry hastily, “that you’ve got sich a generous nature
that when you’ve ’ad a glass or two you’re just as likely as not to
give it away to somebody.”

“I know what I’m about,” said Mr. Dodds with conviction. “I’m not goin’
to get on while I’ve got this about me. I’m just goin’ round to the
‘Bull’s Head,’ but I sha’n’t drink anything to speak of myself. Anybody
that likes to come t’ave anything at my expense is welcome.”

A flattering murmur, which was music to Mr. Dodds’ ear, arose from his
shipmates as they went on deck and hauled the boat alongside. The boy
was first in her, and pulling out his pockethandkerchief ostentatiously
wiped a seat for Mr. Dodds.

“Understand,” said that gentleman, with whom the affair of the
half-sovereign still rankled, “your drink is shandygaff.”

They returned to the brig at eleven o’clock, Mr. Dodds slumbering
peacefully in the stern of the boat, propped up on either side by Steve
and the boy.

His sleep was so profound that he declined to be aroused, and was
hoisted over the side with infinite difficulty and no little risk by
his shipmates.

“Look at ’im,” said Harry, as they lowered him down the forecastle.
“What ’ud ha’ become of ’im if we hadn’t been with ’im? Where would ’is
money ha’ been?”

“He’ll lose it as sure as eggs is heggs,” said Steve, regarding him
intently, “Bear a hand to lift ’im in his bunk, Harry.”

Harry complied, their task being rendered somewhat difficult by a
slight return of consciousness in Mr. Dodds’ lower limbs, which,
spreading themselves out fanwise, defied all attempts to pack them in
the bunk.

“Let ’em hang out then,” said Harry savagely, wiping a little mud from
his face. “Fancy that coming in for a fortin.”

“’E won’t ’ave it long,” said the cook, shaking his head.

“Wot ’e wants is a shock,” said Harry. “’Ow’d it be when he wakes up to
tell ’im he’s lost all ’is money?”

“Wot’s the good o’ telling ’im,” demanded the cook, “when ’e’s got it
in his pocket?”

“Well, let’s take it out,” said Pilchard. “I’ll hide it under my
piller, and let him think he’s ’ad his pocket picked.”

“I won’t ’ave nothing to do with it,” said Steve peremptorily. “I don’t
believe in sich games.”

“Wot do you think, cook?” inquired Harry.

“I don’t see no ’arm in it,” said the cook slowly, “the fright might do
’im good, p’raps.”

“It might be the saving of ’im,” said Harry. He leaned over the
sleeping seaman, and, gently inserting his fingers in his
breast-pocket, drew out the canvas bag. “There it is, chaps,” he said

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