Two of a Trade

"Two of a Trade" is a humorous short story by W. W. Jacobs that revolves around the misadventures of two sailors who find themselves in a series of comedic situations due to their conflicting personalities and approaches to life. The narrative captures the themes of friendship, rivalry, and the absurdity of human behavior, often highlighting the quirks and foibles of its characters. Jacobs's witty writing style and keen observational humor make the story an entertaining exploration of camaraderie and the challenges of collaboration.

• Fiction

								
“’E’s a nero, that’s wot ’e is, sir,” said the cook, as he emptied a
boiler of dirty water overboard.

“A what?” said the skipper.

“A nero,” said the cook, speaking very slowly and distinctly. “A nero
in real life, a chap wot, speaking for all for’ard, we’re proud to have
aboard along with us.”

“I didn’t know he was much of a swimmer,” said the skipper, glancing
curiously at a clumsily built man of middle age, who sat on the hatch
glancing despondently at the side.

“No more ’e ain’t,” said the cook, “an’ that’s what makes ’im more
’eroish still in my own opinion.”

“Did he take his clothes off?” inquired the mate.

“Not a bit of it,” said the delighted cook; “not a pair of trowsis, nor
even ’is ’at, which was sunk.”

“You’re a liar, cook,” said the hero, looking up for a moment.

“You didn’t take your trowsis off, George?” said the cook anxiously.

“I chucked my ’at on the pavement,” growled George, without looking up.

“Well, anyway, you went over the embankment after that pore girl like a
Briton, didn’t you?” said the other.

There was no reply.

“Didn’t you?” said the cook appealingly.

“Did you expect me to go over like a Dutchman, or wot?” demanded George
fiercely.

“That’s ’is modesty,” said the cook, turning to the others with the air
of a showman. “’E can’t bear us to talk about it. Nearly drownded ’e
was. All but, and a barge came along and shoved a boat-hook right
through the seat of his trowsis an’ saved ’im. Stand up an’ show ’em
your trowsis, George.”

“If I do stand up,” said George, in a voice broken with rage, “it’ll be
a bad day for you, my lad.”

“Ain’t he modest?” said the cook. “Don’t it do you good to ’ear ’im.
He was just like that when they got him ashore and the crowd started
patting him.”

“Didn’t like it?” queried the mate.

“Well, they overdid it a little, p’r’aps,” admitted the cook; “one old
chap wot couldn’t get near patted ’is ’ead with ’is stick, but it was
all meant in the way of kindness.”

“I’m proud of you, George,” said the skipper heartily.

“We all are,” said the mate.

George grunted.

“I’ll write for the medal for him,” said the skipper. “Were there any
witnesses, cook?”

“Heaps of ’em,” said the other; “but I gave ’em ’is name and address.
‘Schooner John Henry, of Limehouse, is ’is home,’ I ses, and George
Cooper ’is name’.”

“You talked a damned sight too much,” said the hero, “you lean,
lop-sided son of a tinker.”

“Theres ’is modesty ag’in,” said the cook, with a knowing smile. “’E’s
busting with modesty, is George. You should ha’ seen ’im when a chap
took ’is fortygraph.”

“Took his what?” said the skipper, becoming Interested.

“His fortygraph,” said the cook. “’E was a young chap what was taking
views for a noose-paper. ’E took George drippin’ wet just as ’e come
out of the water, ’e took him arter ’e ’ad ’is face wiped, an’ ’e took
’im when ’e was sitting up swearing at a man wot asked ’im whether ’e
was very wet.”

“An’ you told ’im where I lived, and what I was,” said George, turning
on him and shaking his fist. “You did.”

“I did,” said the cook simply. “You’ll live to thank me for it,
George.”

The other gave a dreadful howl, and rising from the deck, walked
forward and went below, giving a brother seaman who patted his shoulder
as he passed a blow in the ribs, which nearly broke them. Those on deck
exchanged glances.

“Well, I don’t know,” said the mate, shrugging his shoulders; “seems to
me if I’d saved a fellow-critter’s life I shouldn’t mind hearing about
it.”

“That’s what you think,” said the skipper, drawing himself up a little.
“If ever you do do anything of the kind perhaps you’ll feel different
about it.”

“Well, I don’t see how you should know any more than me,” said the
other.

The skipper cleared his throat.

“There have been one or two little things in my life which I’m not
exactly ashamed of,” he said modestly.

“That ain’t much to boast of,” said the mate, wilfully misunderstanding
him.

“I mean,” said the skipper sharply, “one or two things which some
people might have been proud of. But I’m proud to say that there isn’t
a living soul knows of ’em.”

“I can quite believe that,” assented the mate, and walked off with an
irritating smile.

The skipper was about to follow him, to complain of the needless
ambiguity of his remarks, when he was arrested by a disturbance from
the fo’c’sle. In response to the cordial invitation of the cook, the
mate and one of the hands from the brig Endeavour, moored alongside,
had come aboard and gone below to look at George. The manner in which
they were received was a slur upon the hospitality of the John Henry;
and they came up hurriedly, declaring that they never wanted to see him
again as long as they lived, and shouting offensive remarks behind them
as they got over the side of their own vessel.

The skipper walked slowly to the fo’c’sle and put his head down.

“George,” he shouted.

“Sir,” said the hero gruffly.

“Come down into the cabin,” said the other, turning away. “I want to
have a little talk with you.”

George rose, and, first uttering some terrible threats against the
cook, who bore them with noble fortitude, went on deck and followed the
skipper to the cabin.

At his superior’s request he took a seat on the locker, awkwardly
enough, but smiled faintly as the skipper produced a bottle and a
couple of glasses.

“Your health, George,” said the skipper, as he pushed a glass towards
him and raised his own.

“My bes’ respec’s, sir,” said George, allowing the liquor to roll
slowly round his mouth before swallowing it. He sighed heavily, and,
putting his empty glass on the table, allowed his huge head to roll on
his chest.

“Saving life don’t seem to agree with you, George,” said the skipper.
“I like modesty, but you seem to me to carry it a trifle too far.”

“It ain’t modesty, sir,” said George; “it’s that fortygraph. When I
think o’ that I go ’ot all over.”

“I shouldn’t let that worry me if I was you, George,” said the other
kindly. “Looks ain’t everything.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” said George very sourly. “My looks is good
enough for me. In fact, it is a partly owing to my looks, so to speak,
that I’m in a mess.”

“A little more rum, George?” said the skipper, whose curiosity was
roused. “I don’t want to know your business, far from it. But in my
position as cap’n, if any of my crew gets in a mess I consider it’s my
duty to lend them a hand out of it, if I can.”

“The world ’ud be a better place if there was more like you,” said
George, waxing sentimental as he sniffed delicately at the fragrant
beverage. “If that noosepaper, with them pictures, gets into a certain
party’s ’ands, I’m ruined.”

“Not if I can help it, George,” said the skipper with great firmness.
“How do you mean ruined?”

The seaman set his glass down on the little table, and, leaning over,
formed a word with his lips, and then drew back slowly and watched the
effect.

“What?” said the skipper.

The other repeated the performance, but beyond seeing that some word of
three syllables was indicated the skipper obtained no information.

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