I stepped inside the wicket—backwards—and then I slammed it in their faces, and putting the key in my pocket, walked up the wharf. I knew it was no good standing out there argufying. I felt sorry for the pore thing in a way. If she really thought I was her ’usband, and she ’ad lost me—— I put one or two things straight and then, for the sake of distracting my mind, I ’ad a word or two with the skipper of the John Henry, who was leaning against the side of his ship, smoking.
“Wot’s that tapping noise?” he ses, all of a sudden. “’Ark!”
I knew wot it was. It was the handle of that umberella ’ammering on the gate. I went cold all over, and then when I thought that the pot-man was most likely encouraging ’er to do it I began to boil.
“Somebody at the gate,” ses the skipper.
“Aye, aye,” I ses. “I know all about it.”
I went on talking until at last the skipper asked me whether he was wandering in ’is mind, or whether I was. The mate came up from the cabin just then, and o’ course he ’ad to tell me there was somebody knocking at the gate.
“Ain’t you going to open it?” ses the skipper, staring at me.
“Let ’em ring,” I ses, off-hand.
The words was ’ardly out of my mouth afore they did ring, and if they ’ad been selling muffins they couldn’t ha’ kept it up harder. And all the time the umberella was doing rat-a-tat tats on the gate, while a voice— much too loud for the potman’s—started calling out: “Watch-man ahoy!”
“They’re calling you, Bill,” ses the skipper. “I ain’t deaf,” I ses, very cold.