Self-Help Page #2

"Self-Help" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous novella that explores the misadventures of its protagonist, a well-meaning but hapless character who navigates various challenges in his quest for personal improvement. Through a series of comedic situations, Jacobs offers satirical insights into the self-help genre and the absurdities of societal expectations. With his trademark wit, the author illustrates the pitfalls of overzealous self-improvement efforts, capturing the essence of human folly in the pursuit of betterment. The story serves as both an entertaining read and a critique of the self-help movement, blending humor with thoughtful commentary on personal growth.

• Humour
• Short story

								


“I got a matter o' twelve quid or so,” ses Sam, in a off-hand way.

“The very thing,” says the tec. “Well, to-morrow night you put that
in your pocket, and be walking up Tower Hill just as the clock strikes
nine. I promise you you'll be robbed afore two minutes past, and by two
and a 'arf past I shall 'ave my hands on both of 'em. Have all the money
in one pocket, so as they can get it neat and quick, in case they get
interrupted. Better still, 'ave it in a purse; that makes it easier to
bring it 'ome to 'em.”

“Wouldn't it be enough if they stole the purse?” ses Sam. “I should feel
safer that way, too.”

Mr. Cubbins shook his 'ead, very slow and solemn. “That wouldn't do at
all,” he ses. “The more money they steal, the longer they'll get; you
know that, cap'n, without me telling you. If you could put fifty quid
in it would be so much the better. And, what-ever you do, don't make
a noise. I don't want a lot o' clumsy policemen interfering in my
business.”

“Still, s'pose you didn't catch 'em,” ses Sam, “where should I be?”

“You needn't be afraid o' that,” ses the tec, with a laugh. “Here, I'll
tell you wot I'll do, and that'll show you the trust I put in you.”

He drew a big di'mond ring off of 'is finger and handed it to Sam.

“Put that on your finger,” he ses, “and keep it there till I give you
your money back and the fi'-pun note reward. It's worth seventy quid
if it's worth a farthing, and was given to me by a lady of title for
getting back 'er jewellery for 'er. Put it on, and wotever you do, don't
lose it!”

He sat and watched while Sam forced it on 'is finger.

“You don't need to flash it about too much,” he ses, looking at 'im
rather anxious. “There's men I know as 'ud cut your finger off to get
that.”

Sam shoved his 'and in his pocket, but he kept taking it out every now
and then and 'olding his finger up to the light to look at the di'mond.
Mr. Cubbins got up to go at last, saying that he 'ad got a call to make
at the police-station, and they went out together.

“Nine o'clock sharp,” he ses, as they shook hands, “on Tower Hill.”

“I'll be there,” ses Sam.

“And, wotever you do, no noise, no calling out,” ses the tec, “and don't
mention a word of this to a living soul.”

Sam shook 'ands with 'im agin, and then, hiding his 'and in his pocket,
went off 'ome, and, finding Ginger and Peter Russet wasn't back, went
off to bed.

He 'eard 'em coming upstairs in the dark in about an hour's time, and,
putting the 'and with the ring on it on the counterpane, shut 'is eyes
and pretended to be fast asleep. Ginger lit the candle, and they was
both beginning to undress when Peter made a noise and pointed to Sam's
'and.

“Wot's up?” ses Ginger, taking the candle and going over to Sam's bed.
“Who've you been robbing, you fat pirate?”

Sam kept 'is eyes shut and 'eard 'em whispering; then he felt 'em take
'is hand up and look at it. “Where did you get it, Sam?” ses Peter.

“He's asleep,” ses Ginger, “sound asleep. I b'lieve if I was to put 'is
finger in the candle he wouldn't wake up.”

“You try it,” ses Sam, sitting up in bed very sharp and snatching his
'and away. “Wot d'ye mean coming 'ome at all hours and waking me up?”
“Where did you get that ring?” ses Ginger. “Friend o' mine,” ses Sam,
very short.

“Who was it?” ses Peter.

“It's a secret,” ses Sam.

“You wouldn't 'ave a secret from your old pal Ginger, Sam, would you?”
ses Ginger.

“Old wot?” ses Sam. “Wot did you call me this arternoon?”

“I called you a lot o' things I'm sorry for,” ses Ginger, who was
bursting with curiosity, “and I beg your pardin, Sam.”

“Shake 'ands on it,” ses Peter, who was nearly as curious as Ginger.

They shook hands, but Sam said he couldn't tell 'em about the ring; and
several times Ginger was on the point of calling 'im the names he 'ad
called 'im in the arternoon, on'y Peter trod on 'is foot and stopped
him. They wouldn't let 'im go to sleep for talking, and at last, when 'e
was pretty near tired out, he told 'em all about it.

“Going—to 'ave your—pocket picked?” ses Ginger, staring at 'im, when 'e
had finished.

“I shall be watched over,” ses Sam.

“He's gorn stark, staring mad,” ses Ginger. “Wot a good job it is he's
got me and you to look arter 'im, Peter.”

“Wot d'ye mean?” ses Sam.

“Mean?” ses Ginger. “Why, it's a put-up job to rob you, o' course. I
should ha' thought even your fat 'ead could ha' seen that':”

“When I want your advice I'll ask you for it,” ses Sam, losing 'is
temper. “Wot about the di'mond ring—eh?”

“You stick to it,” ses Ginger, “and keep out o' Mr. Cubbins's way.
That's my advice to you. 'Sides, p'r'aps it ain't a real one.”

Sam told 'im agin he didn't want none of 'is advice, and, as Ginger
wouldn't leave off talking, he pretended to go to sleep. Ginger woke 'im
up three times to tell 'im wot a fool 'e was, but 'e got so fierce that
he gave it up at last and told 'im to go 'is own way.

Sam wouldn't speak to either of 'em next morning, and arter breakfast
he went off on 'is own. He came back while Peter and Ginger was out, and
they wasted best part o' the day trying to find 'im.

“We'll be on Tower Hill just afore nine and keep 'im out o' mischief,
any way,” ses Peter.

Ginger nodded. “And be called names for our pains,” he ses. “I've a good
mind to let 'im be robbed.”

“It 'ud serve 'im right,” ses Peter, “on'y then he'd want to borrer off
of us. Look here! Why not—why not rob 'im ourselves?”

“Wot?” ses Ginger, starting.

“Walk up behind 'im and rob 'im,” ses Peter. “He'll think it's them two
chaps he spoke about, and when 'e comes 'ome complaining to us we'll
tell 'im it serves 'im right. Arter we've 'ad a game with 'im for a day
or two we'll give 'im 'is money back.”

“But he'd reckernize us,” ses Ginger.

“We must disguise ourselves,” ses Peter, in a whisper. “There's a
barber's shop in Cable Street, where I've seen beards in the winder. You
hook 'em on over your ears. Get one o' them each, pull our caps over our
eyes and turn our collars up, and there you are.”

Ginger made a lot of objections, not because he didn't think it was a
good idea, but because he didn't like Peter thinking of it instead of
'im; but he gave way at last, and, arter he 'ad got the beard, he stood
for a long time in front o' the glass thinking wot a difference it would
ha' made to his looks if he had 'ad black 'air instead o' red.

Waiting for the evening made the day seem very long to 'em; but it came
at last, and, with the beards in their pockets, they slipped out and
went for a walk round. They 'ad 'arf a pint each at a public-'ouse at
the top of the Minories, just to steady themselves, and then they came
out and hooked on their beards; and wot with them, and pulling their
caps down and turning their coat-collars up, there wasn't much of their
faces to be seen by anybody.

It was just five minutes to nine when they got to Tower Hill, and they

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