Ships Company | Page 2

time at the
Palace."
He took a reef in the counterpane and with a fair amount of dignity,
considering his appearance, stalked upstairs again and stood gloomily
considering affairs in his bedroom. Ever since Gladys and Dorothy had
been big enough to be objects of interest to the young men of the
neighbourhood the clothes nuisance had been rampant. He peeped
through the window-blind at the bright sunshine outside, and then
looked back at the tumbled bed. A murmur of voices downstairs
apprised him that the conspirators were awaiting the result.
He dressed at last and stood like a lamb--a redfaced, bull-necked lamb--
while Mrs. Jobson fastened his collar for him.
"Bert wanted to get a taller one," she remarked, "but I said this would
do to begin with."
"Wanted it to come over my mouth, I s'pose," said the unfortunate Mr.
Jobson. "Well, 'ave it your own way. Don't mind about me. What with
the trousers and the collar, I couldn't pick up a sovereign if I saw one in
front of me."
"If you see one I'll pick it up for you," said his wife, taking up the hat
and moving towards the door. "Come along!"

Mr. Jobson, with his arms standing out stiffly from his sides and his
head painfully erect, followed her downstairs, and a sudden hush as he
entered the kitchen testified to the effect produced by his appearance. It
was followed by a hum of admiration that sent the blood flying to his
head.
"Why he couldn't have done it before I don't know," said the dutiful
Gladys. "Why, there ain't a man in the street looks a quarter as smart."
"Fits him like a glove!" said Dorothy, walking round him.
"Just the right length," said Bert, scrutinizing the coat.
"And he stands as straight as a soldier," said Gladys, clasping her hands
gleefully.
"Collar," said Mr. Jobson, briefly. "Can I 'ave it took off while I eat my
bloater, mother?"
"Don't be silly, Alf," said his wife. "Gladys, pour your father out a nice,
strong, Pot cup o' tea, and don't forget that the train starts at ha' past
ten."
"It'll start all right when it sees me," observed Mr. Jobson, squinting
down at his trousers.
Mother and children, delighted with the success of their scheme,
laughed applause, and Mr. Jobson somewhat gratified at the success of
his retort, sat down and attacked his breakfast. A short clay pipe,
smoked as a digestive, was impounded by the watchful Mrs. Jobson the
moment he had finished it.
"He'd smoke it along the street if I didn't," she declared.
"And why not?" demanded her husband--always do."
"Not in a top-'at," said Mrs. Jobson, shaking her head at him.
"Or a tail-coat," said Dorothy.

"One would spoil the other," said Gladys.
"I wish something would spoil the hat," said Mr. Jobson, wistfully. "It's
no good; I must smoke, mother."
Mrs. Jobson smiled, and, going to the cupboard, produced, with a smile
of triumph, an envelope containing seven dangerous-looking cigars. Mr.
Jobson whistled, and taking one up examined it carefully.
"What do they call 'em, mother?" he inquired. "The 'Cut and Try Again
Smokes'?"
Mrs. Jobson smiled vaguely. "Me and the girls are going upstairs to get
ready now," she said. "Keep your eye on him, Bert!"
Father and son grinned at each other, and, to pass the time, took a cigar
apiece. They had just finished them when a swish and rustle of skirts
sounded from the stairs, and Mrs. Jobson and the girls, beautifully
attired, entered the room and stood buttoning their gloves. A strong
smell of scent fought with the aroma of the cigars.
"You get round me like, so as to hide me a bit," entreated Mr. Jobson,
as they quitted the house. "I don't mind so much when we get out of our
street."
Mrs. Jobson laughed his fears to scorn.
"Well, cross the road, then," said Mr. Jobson, urgently. "There's Bill
Foley standing at his door."
His wife sniffed. "Let him stand," she said, haughtily.
Mr. Foley failed to avail himself of the permission. He regarded Mr.
Jobson with dilated eyeballs, and, as the party approached, sank slowly
into a sitting position on his doorstep, and as the door opened behind
him rolled slowly over onto his back and presented an enormous pair of
hobnailed soles to the gaze of an interested world.
"I told you 'ow it would be," said the blushing Mr. Jobson. "You know

what Bill's like as well as I do."
His wife tossed her head and they all quickened their pace. The voice
of the ingenious Mr. Foley calling piteously for his mother pursued
them to the end of the road.
"I knew what it 'ud be," said Mr. Jobson, wiping his hot face. "Bill will
never let me