THE LADY OF THE BARGE
AND OTHER STORIES
By W. W. Jacobs
BOOK 10
AN ADULTERATION ACT
Dr. Frank Carson had been dreaming tantalizing dreams of cooling,effervescent beverages. Over and over again in his dreams he had risenfrom his bed, and tripping lightly down to the surgery in his pajamas,mixed himself something long and cool and fizzy, without being able tobring the dream to a satisfactory termination.
With a sudden start he awoke. The thirst was still upon him; thematerials for quenching it, just down one flight of stairs. He wouldhave smacked his lips at the prospect if they had been moist enough tosmack; as it was, he pushed down the bedclothes, and throwing one leg outof bed-became firmly convinced that he was still dreaming.
For the atmosphere was stifling and odorous, and the ceiling descended inan odd bulging curve to within a couple of feet of his head. Still halfasleep, he raised his fist and prodded at it in astonishment—a feelingwhich gave way to one of stupefaction as the ceiling took another shapeand swore distinctly.
"I must be dreaming," mused the doctor; "even the ceiling seems alive."
He prodded it again-regarding it closely this time. The ceiling at oncerose to greater altitudes, and at the same moment an old face with bushywhiskers crawled under the edge of it, and asked him profanely what hemeant by it. It also asked him whether he wanted something for himself,because, if so, he was going the right way to work.
"Where am I?" demanded the bewildered doctor. "Mary! Mary!"
He started up in bed, and brought his head in sudden violent contact withthe ceiling. Then, before the indignant ceiling could carry out itsthreat of a moment before, he slipped out of bed and stood on a floorwhich was in its place one moment and somewhere else the next.
In the smell of bilge-water, tar, and the foetid atmosphere generally hisclouded brain awoke to the fact that he was on board ship, but resolutelydeclined to inform him how he got there. He looked down in disgust atthe ragged clothes which he had on in lieu of the usual pajamas; andthen, as events slowly pieced themselves together in his mind,remembered, as the last thing that he could remember, that he had warnedhis friend Harry Thomson, solicitor, that if he had any more to drink itwould not be good for him.
He wondered dimly as he stood whether Thomson was there too, and walkingunsteadily round the forecastle, roused the sleepers, one by one, andasked them whether they were Harry Thomson, all answering with muchfluency in the negative, until he came to one man who for some time madeno answer at all.
The doctor shook him first and then punched him. Then he shook him againand gave him little scientific slaps, until at length Harry T