Skilled Assistance

"Skilled Assistance" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous short story that explores the theme of miscommunication and unexpected consequences. Centered around the antics of a group of characters, the narrative unfolds in a lighthearted manner, showcasing Jacobs' signature wit and keen observations of human nature. Through a series of misadventures and clever dialogue, the story highlights the complexities of managing personal and professional relationships, ultimately illustrating that even the best-laid plans can go awry. Jacobs' engaging storytelling style invites readers into a world where skilled assistance is both sought after and humorously elusive.

• Humour
• Short story

								
The night-watchman, who had left his seat on the jetty to answer the
gate-bell, came back with disgust written on a countenance only too well
designed to express it.

"If she's been up 'ere once in the last week to, know whether the
Silvia is up she's been four or five times," he growled.  "He's
forty-seven if he's a day; 'is left leg is shorter than 'is right, and
he talks with a stutter.  When she's with 'im you'd think as butter
wouldn't melt in 'er mouth; but the way she talked to me just now you'd
think I was paid a-purpose to wait on her.  I asked 'er at last wot she
thought I was here for, and she said she didn't know, and nobody else
neither.  And afore she went off she told the potman from the 'Albion,'
wot was listening, that I was known all over Wapping as the Sleeping
Beauty.

"She ain't the fust I've 'ad words with, not by a lot.  They're all the
same; they all start in a nice, kind, soapy sort o' way, and, as soon as
they don't get wot they want, fly into a temper and ask me who, I think I
am.  I told one woman once not to be silly, and I shall never forget it
as long as I live-never.  For all I know, she's wearing a bit o' my 'air
in a locket to this day, and very likely boasting that I gave it to her.

"Talking of her reminds me of another woman.  There was a Cap'n Pinner,
used to trade between 'ere and Hull on a schooner named the Snipe.  Nice
little craft she was, and 'e was a very nice feller.  Many and many's the
pint we've 'ad together, turn and turn-about, and the on'y time we ever
'ad a cross word was when somebody hid his clay pipe in my beer and 'e
was foolish enough to think I'd done it.

"He 'ad a nice little cottage, 'e told me about, near Hull, and 'is
wife's father, a man of pretty near seventy, lived with 'em.  Well-off
the old man was, and, as she was his only daughter, they looked to 'ave
all his money when he'd gorn.  Their only fear was that 'e might marry
agin, and, judging from wot 'e used to tell me about the old man, I
thought it more than likely.

"'If it wasn't for my missis he'd ha' been married over and over agin,'
he ses one day.  'He's like a child playing with gunpowder.'

"''Ow would it be to let 'im burn hisself a bit?' I ses.

"'If you was to see some o' the gunpowder he wants to play with, you
wouldn't talk like that,' ses the cap'n.  'You'd know better.  The on'y
thing is to keep 'em apart, and my pore missis is wore to a shadder
a-doing of it.'

"It was just about a month arter that that he brought the old man up to
London with 'im.  They 'ad some stuff to put out at Smith's Wharf,
t'other side of the river, afore they came to us, and though they was
on'y there four or five days, it was long enough for that old man to get
into trouble.

"The skipper told me about it ten minutes arter they was made snug in the
inner berth 'ere.  He walked up and down like a man with a raging
toothache, and arter follering 'im up and down the wharf till I was tired
out, I discovered that 'is father-in-law 'ad got 'imself mixed up with a
widder-woman ninety years old and weighing twenty stun.  Arter he 'ad
cooled down a bit, and I 'ad given 'im a few little pats on the shoulder,
'e made it forty-eight years old and fourteen stun.

"'He's getting ready to go and meet her now,' he ses, 'and wot my
missis'll say to me, I don't know.'

"His father-in-law came up on deck as 'e spoke, and began to brush
'imself all over with a clothesbrush.  Nice-looking little man 'e was,
with blue eyes, and a little white beard, cut to a point, and dressed up
in a serge suit with brass buttons, and a white yachting cap.  His real
name was Mr. Finch, but the skipper called 'im Uncle Dick, and he took
such a fancy to me that in five minutes I was calling 'im Uncle Dick too.

"'Time I was moving,' he ses, by and by.  'I've got an app'intment.'

"'Oh! who with?' ses the skipper, pretending not to know.

"'Friend o' mine, in the army,' ses the old man, with a wink at me.  'So
long.'

"He went off as spry as a boy, and as soon as he'd gorn the skipper
started walking back'ards and for'ards agin, and raving.

"'Let's 'ope as he's on'y amusing 'imself,' I ses.

"'Wait till you see 'er,' ses the skipper; 'then you won't talk
foolishness.'

"As it 'appened she came back with Uncle Dick that evening, to see 'im
safe, and I see at once wot sort of a woman it was.  She 'adn't been on
the wharf five minutes afore you'd ha' thought it belonged to 'er, and
when she went and sat on the schooner it seemed to be about 'arf its
size.  She called the skipper Tom, and sat there as cool as you please
holding Uncle Dick's 'and, and patting it.

"I took the skipper round to the 'Bull's Head' arter she 'ad gorn, and I
wouldn't let 'im say a word until he had 'ad two pints.  He felt better
then, and some o' the words 'e used surprised me.

"'Wot's to be done?' he ses at last.  'You see 'ow it is, Bill.'

"'Can't you get 'im away?' I ses.  'Who is she, and wot's 'er name?'

"'Her name,' ses the skipper, 'her name is Jane Maria Elizabeth Muffit,
and she lives over at Rotherhithe.'

"'She's very likely married already,' I ses.

"'Her 'usband died ten years ago,' ses the skipper; 'passed away in 'is
sleep.  Overlaid, I should say.'

"He sat there smoking, and I sat there thinking.  Twice 'e spoke to me,
and I held my 'and up and said 'H'sh.' Then I turned to 'im all of a
sudden and pinched his arm so hard he nearly dropped 'is beer.

"'Is Uncle Dick a nervous man?' I ses.

"'Nervous is no name for it,' he ses, staring.

"'Very good, then,' I ses.  'I'll send 'er husband to frighten 'im.'

"The skipper looked at me very strange.  'Yes,' he ses.  'Yes.  Yes.'

"'Frighten 'im out of 'is boots, and make him give 'er up,' I ses.  'Or
better still, get 'im to run away and go into hiding for a time.  That
'ud be best, in case 'e found out.'

"'Found out wot?' ses the skipper.

"'Found out it wasn't 'er husband,' I ses.

"'Bill,' ses the skipper, very earnest, 'this is the fust beer I've 'ad
to-day, and I wish I could say the same for you.'

"I didn't take 'im at fast, but when I did I gave a laugh that brought in
two more customers to see wot was the matter.  Then I took 'im by the
arm--arter a little trouble--and, taking 'im back to the wharf, explained
my meaning to 'im.

"'I know the very man,' I ses.  'He comes into a public-'ouse down my way
sometimes.  Artful 'Arry, he's called, and, for 'arf-a-quid, say, he'd
frighten Uncle Dick 'arf to death.  He's big and ugly, and picks up a
living by selling meerschaum pipes he's found to small men wot don't want
'em.  Wonderful gift o' the gab he's got.'

"We went acrost to the 'Albion' to talk it over.  There's several bars
there, and the landlady always keeps cotton-wool in 'er ears, not 'aving
been brought up to the public line.  The skipper told me all 'e knew
about Mrs. Muffit, and we arranged that Artful 'Arry should come down at

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