The Old Man of the Sea

"The Old Man of the Sea" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous short story that revolves around an old fisherman who recounts his misadventures with a giant fish. Set against the backdrop of the sea, the narrative explores themes of luck, human folly, and the struggle between man and nature. With Jacobs' characteristic wit and vivid storytelling, the tale highlights the quirks of seaside life and the eccentricities of its characters, culminating in a delightful and engaging read that captures the spirit of coastal folklore.

• Humour
• Short story

								
"What I want you to do," said Mr. George Wright, as he leaned towards the
old sailor, "is to be an uncle to me."

"Aye, aye," said the mystified Mr. Kemp, pausing with a mug of beer
midway to his lips.

"A rich uncle," continued the young man, lowering his voice to prevent
any keen ears in the next bar from acquiring useless knowledge.  "An
uncle from New Zealand, who is going to leave me all 'is money."

"Where's it coming from?"  demanded Mr. Kemp, with a little excitement.

"It ain't coming," was the reply.  "You've only got to say you've got it.
Fact of the matter is, I've got my eye on a young lady; there's another
chap after 'er too, and if she thought I'd got a rich uncle it might make
all the difference.  She knows I 'ad an uncle that went to New Zealand
and was never heard of since.  That's what made me think of it."

Mr. Kemp drank his beer in thoughtful silence.  "How can I be a rich
uncle without any brass?"  he inquired at length.

"I should 'ave to lend you some--a little," said Mr. Wright.

The old man pondered.  "I've had money lent me before," he said,
candidly, "but I can't call to mind ever paying it back.  I always meant
to, but that's as far as it got."

"It don't matter," said the other.  "It'll only be for a little while,
and then you'll 'ave a letter calling you back to New Zealand.  See?  And
you'll go back, promising to come home in a year's time, after you've
wound up your business, and leave us all your money.  See?"

Mr. Kemp scratched the back of his neck.  "But she's sure to find it out
in time," he objected.

"P'r'aps," said Mr. Wright.  "And p'r'aps not.  There'll be plenty of
time for me to get married before she does, and you could write back and
say you had got married yourself, or given your money to a hospital."

He ordered some more beer for Mr. Kemp, and in a low voice gave him as
much of the family history as he considered necessary.

"I've only known you for about ten days," he concluded, "but I'd sooner
trust you than people I've known for years."

"I took a fancy to you the moment I set eyes on you," rejoined Mr. Kemp.
"You're the living image of a young fellow that lent me five pounds once,
and was drowned afore my eyes the week after.  He 'ad a bit of a squint,
and I s'pose that's how he came to fall overboard."

He emptied his mug, and then, accompanied by Mr. Wright, fetched his
sea-chest from the boarding-house where he was staying, and took it to
the young man's lodgings.  Fortunately for the latter's pocket the chest
contained a good best suit and boots, and the only expenses incurred
were for a large, soft felt hat and a gilded watch and chain.  Dressed
in his best, with a bulging pocket-book in his breast-pocket, he set out
with Mr. Wright on the following evening to make his first call.

Mr. Wright, who was also in his best clothes, led the way to a small
tobacconist's in a side street off the Mile End Road, and, raising his
hat with some ceremony, shook hands with a good-looking young woman who
stood behind the counter: Mr. Kemp, adopting an air of scornful dignity
intended to indicate the possession of great wealth, waited.

"This is my uncle," said Mr. Wright, speaking rapidly, "from New Zealand,
the one I spoke to you about.  He turned up last night, and you might
have knocked me down with a feather.  The last person in the world I
expected to see."

Mr. Kemp, in a good rolling voice, said, "Good evening, miss; I hope you
are well," and, subsiding into a chair, asked for a cigar.  His surprise
when he found that the best cigar they stocked only cost sixpence almost
assumed the dimensions of a grievance.

"It'll do to go on with," he said, smelling it suspiciously.  "Have you
got change for a fifty-pound note?"

Miss Bradshaw, concealing her surprise by an effort, said that she would
see, and was scanning the contents of a drawer, when Mr. Kemp in some
haste discovered a few odd sovereigns in his waistcoat-pocket.  Five
minutes later he was sitting in the little room behind the shop, holding
forth to an admiring audience.

"So far as I know," he said, in reply to a question of Mrs. Bradshaw's,
"George is the only relation I've got.  Him and me are quite alone, and I
can tell you I was glad to find him."

Mrs. Bradshaw sighed.  "It's a pity you are so far apart," she said.

"It's not for long," said Mr. Kemp.  "I'm just going back for about a
year to wind up things out there, and then I'm coming back to leave my
old bones over here.  George has very kindly offered to let me live with
him."

"He won't suffer for it, I'll be bound," said Mrs. Bradshaw, archly.

"So far as money goes he won't," said the old man.  "Not that that would
make any difference to George."

"It would be the same to me if you hadn't got a farthing," said Mr.
Wright, promptly.

Mr. Kemp, somewhat affected, shook hands with him, and leaning back in
the most comfortable chair in the room, described his life and struggles
in New Zealand.  Hard work, teetotalism, and the simple life combined
appeared to be responsible for a fortune which he affected to be too old
to enjoy.  Misunderstandings of a painful nature were avoided by a timely
admission that under medical advice he was now taking a fair amount of
stimulant.

"Mind," he said, as he walked home with the elated George, "it's your
game, not mine, and it's sure to come a bit expensive.  I can't be a rich
uncle without spending a bit.  'Ow much did you say you'd got in the
bank?"

"We must be as careful as we can," said Mr. Wright, hastily.  "One thing
is they can't leave the shop to go out much.  It's a very good little
business, and it ought to be all right for me and Bella one of these
days, eh?"

Mr. Kemp, prompted by a nudge in the ribs, assented.  "It's wonderful how
they took it all in about me," he said; "but I feel certain in my own
mind that I ought to chuck some money about."

"Tell 'em of the money you have chucked about," said Mr. Wright.  "It'll
do just as well, and come a good deal cheaper.  And you had better go
round alone to-morrow evening.  It'll look better.  Just go in for
another one of their sixpenny cigars."

Mr. Kemp obeyed, and the following evening, after sitting a little while
chatting in the shop, was invited into the parlour, where, mindful of Mr.
Wright's instructions, he held his listeners enthralled by tales of past
expenditure.  A tip of fifty pounds to his bedroom steward coming over
was characterized by Mrs. Bradshaw as extravagant.

"Seems to be going all right," said Mr. Wright, as the old man made his
report; "but be careful; don't go overdoing it."

Mr. Kemp nodded.  "I can turn 'em round my little finger," he said.
"You'll have Bella all to yourself to-morrow evening."

Mr. Wright flushed.  "How did you manage that?"  he inquired.  "It's the
first time she has ever been out with me alone."

"She ain't coming out," said Mr. Kemp.  "She's going to stay at home and

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