The Disbursement Sheet

"The Disbursement Sheet" by W. W. Jacobs is a comedic short story that revolves around the humorous misadventures of its characters, particularly focusing on the mishandling of financial matters. Jacobs, known for his wit and keen observations of human nature, crafts a narrative filled with misunderstandings and clever dialogue, revealing how simple situations can spiral into comedic chaos. Set in the early 20th century, the story reflects Jacobs' characteristic style of fusing humor with social commentary, making it a delightful read for fans of classic literature and comedy.

• Fiction

								
The old man was dead, and his son Edward reigned in his stead. The old
man had risen from an humble position in life; his rule was easy, and
his manner of conducting business eminently approved of by the rough
old seamen who sailed his small craft round the coast, and by that
sharp clerk Simmons, on whose discovery the old man was wont, at times,
to hug himself in secret. The proceedings, when one of his skippers
came home from a voyage, were severely simple. The skipper would
produce a bag, and, emptying it upon the table, give an account of his
voyage; whenever he came to an expenditure, raking the sum out of the
heap, until, at length, the cash was divided into two portions, one of
which went to the owner, the other to the skipper.

But other men other manners. The books of the inimitable Simmons being
overhauled, revealed the startling fact that they were kept by single
entry; in addition to which, a series of dots and dashes appeared
against the figures, forming a code, the only key to which was locked
up somewhere in Simmons’s interior.

“It’s a wonder the firm hasn’t gone bankrupt long ago,” said the new
governor, after the clerk had explained the meaning of various signs
and wonders. “What does this starfish against the entry mean?”

“It isn’t a starfish, sir,” said Simmons; “it means that one bag of
sugar got wetted a little; then, if the consigners notice it, we shall
know we have got to allow for it.”

“A pretty way of doing business, upon my word. It’ll all have to be
altered,” said the other. “I must have new offices too; this dingy
little hole is enough to frighten people away.”

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Captain Fazackerly,
of the schooner Sarah Ann, who, having just brought up in the river,
had hastened to the office to report.

“Mornin’, sir,” said the captain respectfully; “I’m glad to see you
here, sir, but the office don’t seem real like without your father
sitting in it. He was a good master, and we’re all sorry to lose him.”

“You’re very good,” said the new master somewhat awkwardly.

“I expect it’ll take some time for you to get into the way of it,” said
the captain with a view to giving the conversation a more cheerful
turn.

“I expect it will,” said the new master, thinking of the starfish.

“It’s a mercy Simmons was not took too,” said the captain, shaking his
head. “As it is, he’s spared; he’ll be able to teach you. There
ain’t”—he lowered his voice, not wishing to make Simmons unduly
proud—“there ain’t a smarter clerk in all Liverpool than wot he is.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said the new master, regarding the old man with
raised eyebrows, as he extricated a plethoric-looking canvas bag from
his jacket pocket and dropped it with a musical crash on the chipped
office table. His eyebrows went still higher, as the old man unfastened
the string, and emptying the contents on to the table, knitted his
brows into reflective wrinkles, and began to debit the firm with all
the liabilities of a slow but tenacious memory.

“Oh, come,” said the owner sharply, as the old man lovingly hooked out
the sum of five-and-sixpence as a first instalment, “this won’t do,
cap’n.”

“Wot won’t do, Mas’r Edward?” inquired the old man in surprise.

“Why this way of doing business,” said the other. “It’s not
business-like at all, you know.”

“Well, it’s the way me an’ your pore old father has done it this last
thirty year,” said the skipper, “an’ I’m sure I’ve never knowingly
cheated him out of a ha’penny; and a better man o’ business than your
father never breathed.”

“Yes; well, I’m going to do things a bit differently,” said the new
master. “You must give me a proper disbursement sheet, cap’n, if you
please.”

“And what may that be?” inquired Captain Fazackerly as, with great
slowness, he gathered, up the money and replaced it in the bag; “I
never heard of it afore.”

“Well, I haven’t got time to teach you bookkeeping,” said the other,
somewhat nettled at the old man’s manner. “Can’t you get some of your
brother captains to show you? Some deep-sea man would be sure to know.”

“I’ll see what I can do, sir,” said the skipper slowly as he turned
towards the door. “My word was always good enough for your father.”

In a moody, indignant frame of mind he stuck his hands furiously in his
trousers’ pockets, and passed heavily through the swing-doors. At other
times he had been wont to take a genial, if heavy interest in passing
events; but, in this instance, he plodded on, dwelling darkly upon his
grievance, until he reached, by the mere force of habit, a certain
favourite tavern. He pulled up sharply, and, as a mere matter of duty
and custom, and not because he wanted it, went in and ordered a glass
of gin.

He drank three, and was so hazy in his replies to the young lady behind
the bar, usually a prime favourite, that she took offence, and availing
herself, for private reasons, of a public weapon, coldly declined to
served him with a fourth.

“Wot?” said the astounded Fazackerly, coming out of his haze.

“You’ve had enough!” said the girl firmly, “You get aboard again, and
mind haw you do so.”

The skipper gazed at her for a moment in open-mouthed horror, and then
jamming his hat firmly over his brows, stumbled out of the door and
into the street, where he ran full into the arms of another mariner who
was just entering.

“Why, Zacky, my boy,” cried the latter, clapping him lustily on the
back, “how goes it?”

In broken indignant accents the other told him.

“You come in with me,” said the newcomer.

“I’ll never enter that pub again,” said the skipper.

“You come in with me,” said the master-mind firmly.

Captain Fazackerly hesitated a moment, and then, feeling that he was
safe in the hands of the master of a foreign-going barque, followed him
into the bar, and from behind his back glared defiantly at his fair
foe.

“Two glasses o’ gin, my dear,” said Captain Tweedie with the slightest
possible emphasis.

The girl, who knew her customer, served him without a murmur, deftly
avoiding the gaze of ungenerous triumph with which the injured captain
favoured her as he raised the cooling beverage to his lips. The glass
emptied, he placed it on the counter and sighed despondently.

“There’s something up with you, Zacky,” said Tweedie, eyeing him
closely as he bit the end off a cigar; “you’ve got something on your
mind.”

“I’ve been crool hurt,” said his friend in a hard, cold voice. “My word
ain’t good enough for the new guv’nor; he wants what he calls a
disbursement sheet.”

“Well, give him one,” said Tweedie. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

Captain Fazackerly shook his head, and pushing the glasses along the
counter nodded for them to be refilled.

“You come aboard with me,” said Tweedie after they had emptied them.

Captain Fazackerly, who had a doglike faith in his friend, followed him
into the street and on to his barque. In a general way he experienced a
social rise when he entered the commodious cabin of that noble craft,
and his face grew in importance as his host, after motioning him to a

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