H G Wells

Mr. Brisher's Treasure - Original Edition H G Wells

"You can't be too careful who you marry," said Mr. Brisher, and pulled thoughtfully with a fat-wristed hand at the lank moustache that hides his want of chin. "That's why-" I ventured. "Yes," said Mr. Brisher, with a solemn light in his bleary, blue-grey eyes, moving his head expressively and breathing alcohol intimately at me. "There's lots as 'ave 'ad a try at me-many as I could name in this tow -but none 'ave done it-none." I surveyed the flushed countenance, the equatorial expansion, the masterly carelessness of his attire, and heaved a sigh to think that by reason of the unworthiness of women he must needs be the last of his race. "I was a smart young chap when I was younger," said Mr. Brisher. "I 'ad my work cut out. But I was very careful-very. And I got through ... " He leant over the taproom table and thought visibly on the subject of my trustworthiness. I was relieved at last by his confidence. "I was engaged once," he said at last, with a reminiscent eye on the shuv-a'penny board. "So near as that?" He looked at me. "So near as that. Fact is-" He looked about him, brought his face close to mine, lowered his voice, and fenced off an unsympathetic world with a grimy hand. "If she ain't dead or married to some one else or anything-I'm engaged still. Now." He confirmed this statement with nods and facial contortions. "Still," he said, ending the pantomime, and broke into a reckless smile at my surprise.