“Why, did she bolt?” inquired Mr. Wotton, with mild interest.
“No,” said his friend, “but I did. We'd been married three years—three long years—and I had 'ad enough of it. Awful temper she had. The last words I ever heard 'er say was: 'Take that!'”
Mr. Wotton took up the mug and, after satisfying himself as to the absence of contents, put it down again and yawned.
“I shouldn't worry about it if I was you,” he remarked. “She's hardly likely to find you now. And if she does she won't get much.”
Mr. Davis gave vent to a contemptuous laugh. “Get much!” he repeated. “It's her what's got it. I met a old shipmate of mine this morning what I 'adn't seen for ten years, and he told me he run acrost 'er only a month ago. After she left me—”
“But you said you left her!” exclaimed his listening friend.
“Same thing,” said Mr. Davis, impatiently. “After she left me to work myself to death at sea, running here and there at the orders of a pack o'lazy scuts aft, she went into service and stayed in one place for fifteen years. Then 'er missis died and left her all 'er money. For twenty years, while I've been working myself to skin and bone, she's been living in comfort and idleness.”
“'Ard lines,” said Mr. Wotton, shaking his head. “It don't bear thinking of.”
“Why didn't she advertise for me?” said Mr. Davis, raising his voice. “That's what I want to know. Advertisements is cheap enough; why didn't she advertise? I should 'ave come at once if she'd said anything about money.”
Mr. Wotton shook his head again. “P'r'aps she didn't want you,” he said, slowly.