Short Fiction by H. G. Wells (ebook smartphone .txt) 📕

’E didn’t let me off a Snack or two over that bit, you lay a bob.”

“And you mean to say⁠—” I began.

“Wait a bit,” said Mr. Brisher. “I say, I’d made my plan. That put the kybosh on one bit, but it didn’t ’urt the general scheme not a bit. I went and I finished that rockery next day, as though there wasn’t a Snack in the world; cemented over the stones, I did, dabbed it green and everythink. I put a dab of green just to show where the box was. They all came and looked at it, and sai ’ow nice it was⁠—even ’e was a bit softer like to see it, and all he said was, ‘It’s a pity you can’t always work like that, then you might get something definite to do,’ he says.

“ ‘Yes,’ I says⁠—I couldn’t ’elp it⁠—‘I put a lot in that rockery,’ I says, like that. See? ‘I put a lot in that rockery’⁠—meaning⁠—”

“I see,” said I⁠—for Mr. Brisher is apt to overelaborate his jokes.

“’E didn’t,” said Mr. Brisher. “Not then, anyhow.

“Ar’ever⁠—after all that was over, off I set for London⁠ ⁠… Orf I set for London.”

Pause.

“On’y I wasn’t going to no London,” said Mr. Brisher, with sudden animation, and thrusting his face into mine. “No fear! What do you think?

“I didn’t go no further than Colchester⁠—not a yard.

“I’d left the spade just where I could find it. I’d got everything planned and right. I ’ired a little trap in Colchester, and pretended I wanted to go to Ipswich and stop the night, and come back next day, and the chap I ’ired it from made me leave two sovrings on it right away, and off I set.

“I didn’t go to no Ipswich neither.

“Midnight the ’orse and trap was ’itched by the little road that ran by the cottage where ’e lived⁠—not sixty yards off, it wasn’t⁠—and I was at it like a good ’un. It was jest the night for such games⁠—overcast⁠—but a trifle too ’ot, and all round the sky there was summer lightning and presently a thunderstorm. Down it came. First big drops in a sort of fizzle, then ’ail. I kep’on. I whacked at it⁠—I didn’t dream the old man would ’ear. I didn’t even trouble to go quiet with the spade, and the thunder and lightning and ’ail seemed to excite me like. I shouldn’t wonder if I was singing. I got so ’ard at it I clean forgot the thunder and the ’orse and trap. I precious soon got the box showing, and started to lift it⁠—”

“Heavy?” I said.

“I couldn’t no more lift it than fly. I was sick. I’d never thought of that I got regular wild⁠—I tell you, I cursed. I got sort of outrageous. I didn’t think of dividing it like for the minute, and even then I couldn’t ’ave took money about loose in a trap. I hoisted one end sort of wild like, and over the whole show went with a tremenjous noise. Perfeck smash of silver. And then right on the heels of that, Flash! Lightning like the day! and there was the back door open and the old man coming down the garden with ’is blooming old gun. He wasn’t not a ’undred yards away!

“I tell you I was that upset⁠—I didn’t think what I was doing. I never stopped-not even to fill my pockets. I went over the fence like a shot, and ran like one o’clock for the trap, cussing and swearing as I went. I was in a state⁠ ⁠…

“And will you believe me, when I got to the place where I’d left the ’orse and trap, they’d gone. Orf! When I saw that I ’adn’t a cuss left for it. I jest danced on the grass, and when I’d danced enough I started off to London⁠ ⁠… I was done.”

Mr. Brisher was pensive for an interval. “I was done,” he repeated, very bitterly.

“Well?” I said.

“That’s all,” said Mr. Brisher.

“You didn’t go back?”

“No fear. I’d ’ad enough of that blooming treasure, any’ow for a bit. Besides, I didn’t know what was done to chaps who tried to collar a treasure trove. I started off for London there and then⁠ ⁠…”

“And you never went back?”

“Never.”

“But about Jane? Did you write?”

“Three times, fishing like. And no answer. We’d parted in a bit of a ’uff on account of ’er being jealous. So that I couldn’t make out for certain what it meant.

“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know whether the old man knew it was me. I sort of kep’ an eye open on papers to see when he’d give up that treasure to the Crown, as I hadn’t a doubt ’e would, considering ’ow respectable he’d always been.”

“And did he?”

Mr. Brisher pursed his mouth and moved his head slowly from side to side. “Not ’im,” he said.

“Jane was a nice girl,” he said, “a thorough nice girl mind you, if jealous, and there’s no knowing I mightn’t ’ave gone back to ’er after a bit. I thought if he didn’t give up the treasure I might ’ave a sort of ’old on ’im⁠ ⁠… Well, one day I looks as usual under Colchester⁠—and there I saw ’is name. What for, d’yer think?”

I could not guess.

Mr. Brisher’s voice sank to a whisper, and once more he spoke behind his hand. His manner was suddenly suffused with a positive joy. “Issuing counterfeit coins,” he said. “Counterfeit coins!”

“You don’t mean to say⁠—?”

“Yes-It. Bad. Quite a long case they made of it. But they got ’im, though he dodged tremenjous. Traced ’is ’aving passed, oh!⁠—nearly a dozen bad ’arf-crowns.”

“And you didn’t⁠—?”

“No fear. And it didn’t do ’im much good to say it was treasure trove.”

A Vision of Judgment I

Bru-a-a-a.

I listened, not understanding.

Wa-ra-ra-ra.

“Good Lord!” said I, still only half awake. “What an infernal shindy!”

Ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra Ta-ra-rra-ra.

“It’s enough,” said I, “to wake⁠—” and stopped short. Where was I?

Ta-rra-rara⁠—louder and louder.

“It’s either some new invention⁠—”

Toora-toora-toora! Deafening!

“No,” said I,