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    Dirty Work Deep Waters, Part 11.
    Dirty Work Deep Waters, Part 11.
    Dirty Work Deep Waters, Part 11.
    Ebook44 pages28 minutes

    Dirty Work Deep Waters, Part 11.

    By W. W. (William Wymark) Jacobs

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 15, 2013
    Dirty Work Deep Waters, Part 11.

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      Book preview

      Dirty Work Deep Waters, Part 11. - W. W. (William Wymark) Jacobs

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dirty Work, by W.W. Jacobs

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Dirty Work

      Deep Waters, Part 11.

      Author: W.W. Jacobs

      Release Date: March 6, 2004 [EBook #11481]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIRTY WORK ***

      Produced by David Widger

      DEEP WATERS

      By W.W. JACOBS

      DIRTY WORK

      It was nearly high-water, and the night-watchman, who had stepped aboard a lighter lying alongside the wharf to smoke a pipe, sat with half-closed eyes enjoying the summer evening. The bustle of the day was over, the wharves were deserted, and hardly a craft moved on the river. Perfumed clouds of shag, hovering for a time over the lighter, floated lazily towards the Surrey shore.

      There's one thing about my job, said the night-watchman, slowly, it's done all alone by yourself. There's no foreman a-hollering at you and offering you a penny for your thoughts, and no mates to run into you from behind with a loaded truck and then ask you why you didn't look where you're going to. From six o'clock in the evening to six o'clock next morning I'm my own master.

      He rammed down the tobacco with an experienced forefinger and puffed contentedly.

      People like you 'ud find it lonely (he continued, after a pause); I did at fust. I used to let people come and sit 'ere with me of an evening talking, but I got tired of it arter a time, and when one chap fell overboard while 'e was showing me 'ow he put his wife's mother in 'er place, I gave it up altogether. There was three foot o' mud in the dock at the time, and arter I 'ad got 'im out, he fainted in my arms.

      Arter that I kept myself to myself. Say wot you like, a man's best friend is 'imself. There's nobody else'll do as much for

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