Tales of Mean Streets PDF

" ' That's ' " my landlord, that is ; look at 'im ! Drawn by Edmond Prand. TALES OF MEAN STREETS. Tales of Mean Streets BY ARTHUR M...

" ' That's ' " my landlord, that is ; look at 'im ! Drawn by Edmond Prand. TALES OF MEAN STREETS. Tales of Mean Streets BY ARTHUR MORRISON ^5>%r "**- BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY PUBLISHERS  Copyright, 1895, BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. All rights reserved. SBLntbtrsttg 13rtss : JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.  TO WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY  NOTE. The greater number of these stories and studies -were first printed in The National Observer; the introduction, in a slightly different form, in Macmillan's Magazine; "That Brute Simmons" and "A Conversion" have been published in The Pall Mall Budget ; and " The Red Cow Group " is new.  CONTENTS. PAGE INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.... 9 INTRODUCTION 15* LIZERUNT : I. LIZER'S WOOING 29 II. LIZER'S FIRST 38 for the daughter of people in business, as Emma should have had the proper feeling to see for herself. This Emma had not : she wallowed in  IN BUSINESS. 133 a luxury of woe, exacerbated on occasions to poignancy by the scoldings and sometimes by the thumpings of her mar; and neglected even the select weekly quadrille class, membership whereof was part of the novel splendor. But there was never again a seven-shilling customer. The state of trade perplexed Mrs. Munsey beyond telling. Being in business, one must, by the circumstance, have a genteel competence: this was an elementary axiom in Cubitt Town. But where was the money? What was the difference between this and other shops? Was a screw loose anywhere? In that case it certainly could not be her fault where-- ; fore shenagged Hedward. One day a polite young man called in a large pony-trap and explained the whole mystery. Nobody could reasonably expect to succeed in a business of this sort who did not keep a good stock of the fancy aprons and lace bows made by the firm he was charged to represent. Of course he knew what business was, and that cash was not always free, but that need never hinder transactions with him three months' : credit was the regular thing with any respect- able, well-established business concern, and in three months one would certainly sell all the fancy aprons and lace bows of this especial kind and price that one had room for. And he need 134 IN BUSINESS. scarcely remind a lady of Mrs. Munsey's busi- ness experience that fancy aprons and lace bows of the right sort were by far the most profitable goods known to the trade. Every- body knew that. Should they say a gross of each, just to go on with? No? Well, then half a gross. These prices were cut so near that it really did not pay to split the gross, but this time, to secure a good customer, he would stretch a point. Mrs. Munsey was enlightened. Plainly the secret of success in business was to buy advantageously, in the way the polite young man suggested, sell at a good price, and live on the profits: merely paying over the remainder at the end of three months. Nothing could be simpler. So she began the system forthwith. Other polite young men called, and further cer- tain profits were arranged for on similar terms. The weak spot in the plan was the absence of any binding arrangement with the general pub- lic; and this was not long in discovering itself. Nobody came to buy the fancy aprons and the lace bows, tempting as they might seem. More- over, after they had hung a week or more, Alice reported that a large shop in the Commercial Road was offering, by retail, aprons and bows of precisely the same sort at a less price than the polite young man had charged for a whole- sale purchase. Mrs. Munsey grew desperate,  IN BUSINESS. 135 and Hedward's life became a horror unto him. He was set to stand at the door with a fancy apron in one hand and a lace bow in the other, and capture customers as they passed a func-: tion wherein he achieved detestable failure; alarming passing women (who considered him dangerously drunk) as greatly as his situation distressed himself. Mrs. Munsey grew more desperate, and drove Hedward to the rear of the house, with bitter revilings. Money must be got out of the stock somehow. That a shop could in any circum- stances be unremunerative puzzled as much as it dismayed her. The goods were marked down to low prices often lower than cost. Still Mrs. Munsey had the abiding conviction that the affair must pay, as others did, if only she might hold out long enough. Hedward's sug- gestion that he should return to the moulding, coming and going as little in sight as possible, she repelled savagely. "A nice notion you've got o' keepin' up a proper position. You ain't content with disgracin' me and yourself too, playin' the fool in the shop till trade's ruined an' nobody won't come near the place an' I don't wonder at it.... You 're a nice sort of 'usband, I must say. What are you goin' to do now, with the business in this pretty mess, an' your wife an' children ready to starve? What 136 IN BUSINESS. are you goin' to do? Where are you goin' to turn? That 's what I want to know." "Well, I 'm a-thinkin' it out,Marier, in a " legal point. P'r'aps, you know, my dear " " Oh, don't dear me I 'ate a fool. ! Marked as low as they might be, none of the aprons nor the bows nor the towels nor the stockings nor any other of the goods were bought never a thing beyond a ha'porth of thread or a farthing bodkin. Rent had to be paid, and even food cost money. There was a flavor of blank disappointment about Saturday the pay day of less anxious times and quar- ; ter day, when all these polite young men would demand the money that was not that day was coming, black and soon. Mrs. Munsey grew more desperate than ever, sharp of feature, and aged. Alone, she would probably have wept. Having Hedward at hand, she poured forth her bitterness of spirit upon him; till at last he was nagged out of his normal stolidity, and there came upon his face the look of a bullock that is harried on all hands through unfamiliar streets. On a night when, from sheer weariness of soul, she fell from clatter toward sleep, of a " sudden Hedward spoke. "Marier he said. "Well?" "You ain't give me a kiss lately. Kiss me " now,  IN BUSINESS. 137 "Don't be a fool. I'm sick an' tired. Go " to sleep, you can sleep, with everything if " " Kiss me, I tell you He had never com- ! manded like that before. She marvelled, feared a little, and obeyed. In the morning, when she awoke, he had already gone downstairs. This was as usual. When she followed, however, he was not to be found in the house. The shop shutters had been taken down, and the windows carefully cleaned, although it was not the regular win- dow-cleaning day; but the door was shut. On the sitting-room table were two papers, one within the other. The first was written with many faults and smudges, and this was how it ran: "the deed and testiment of Ed. Munsey this is to cirtiffy that make over all my property i d to my belov wife stock bisness and furnitur so help me god all detts keep to pay myself and i my wife is not ansrable for them and certiffy thatI O U Minchin and co 9 pound 4/7% Jones and son 6 pound 13/2 and settrer all other detts me and not my wife I O U ED. MUNSEY" The other was a letter : 138 IN BUSINESS. " my have done this legle docker- dear wife i ment it out it will make after thinking you alrite having all made over and me still oawe the detts not you as you can pull round the bisness as you said with time and if you do not see me again will you pay the detts when it is pull round as we have been allways honnest and straght i should wish for Emma to keep co with Jhon Page if can be mannaged he might be shop walker and you will soon all be rich swels i know so no more from yours aff ec husband ED. MUNSEY " love to Emma and Alice this one must be " burnt keep the other Near the papers lay Ted Munsey's large silver watch and chain, the silver ring that he used to fasten his best tie, three keys, and a few cop- pers. Upstairs the girls began to move about. Mrs. Munsey sat with her frightened face on the table. THE RED COW GROUP.  THE RED COW GROUP. Red Cow Anarchist Group no longer THE exists. no more Its leading spirit appears among his devoted comrades, and without him they are ineffectual. He was but a young man, this leading spirit, (his name, by the bye, was Sotcher,) but of his commanding influence among the older but un- lettered men about him, read and judge. For themselves, they had long been plunged in a beery apathy, neither regarding nor caring for the fearful iniquities of the social system that oppressed them. ARed Cow group they had always been, before the coming of Sotcher to make Anarchists of them forgathering in a re- : mote compartment of the Red Cow bar, reached by a side door in an alley; a compartment un- invaded and almost undiscovered by any but themselves, where night after night they drank their beer and smoked their pipes, sunk in a stagnant ignorance of their manifold wrongs. During the day Old Baker remained to garrison the stronghold. He was a long-bankrupt trades- 142 THE RED COW GROUP. man, with invisible resources and no occupation but this, and no known lodging but the Red Cow snuggery. There he remained all day and every day, "holding the fort," as he put it: with his nose, a fiery signal of possession, never two feet from the rim of his pot; while Jerry Shand was carrying heavy loads in Columbia Market; while Gunno Poison was running for a book-maker in Fleet Street; while Snorkey was wherever his instinct took him, doing what- ever paid best, and keeping out of trouble as long as he could; and while the rest of the group two or three picked a living out of the London heap in ways and places unspecified. But at evening they joined Old Baker, and they filled their snuggery. Their talk was rarely of politics, and never of " social problems" : present and immediate facts filled their whole field of contemplation. Their accounts were kept, and their references to pecuniary matters were always stated, in terms of liquid measure. Thus, fourpence was never spoken of in the common way it was a quart, : and a quart was the monetary standard of the community. Even as twopence was a pint, and eightpence was half-a-gallon. It was Snorkey who discovered Sotcher, and it was with Snorkey that that revolutionary appeared before the Red Cow group with his  THE RED COW GROUP. 143 message of enlightenment. Snorkey (who was christened something else that nobody knew or cared about) had a trick of getting into extraor- dinary and unheard-of places in his daily quest of quarts, and he had met Sotcher in a loft at the top of a house in Berners Street, Shadwell. It was a loft where the elect of Anarchism congregated nightly, and where everybody lec- tured all the others. Sotcher was a very young Anarchist, restless by reason of not being suffi- ciently listened to, and glad to find outsiders to instruct and to impress with a full sense of his sombre, mystic dare-devilry. Therefore he came to the Red Cow with Snorkey, to spread (ashe said) the light. He was not received with enthusiasm, per- haps because of a certain unlaundered aspect of person remarkable even to them of the Red Cow group. Grease was his chief exterior char- acteristic,and his thick hair, turning up over his collar, seemedto have lain for long unharried of brush or comb. His face was a sebaceous trickle of long features, and on his hands there was a murky deposit that looked like scales. He wore, in all weathers, a long black coat with a rectangular rent in the skirt, and his throat he clipped in a brown neckerchief that on a time had been of the right Anarchist red. But no want of welcome could abash him. Here, 144 THE RED cow GROUP. indeed, he had an audience, an audience that did not lecture on its own account, a crude audience that might take him at his own valua- tion. So he gave it to that crude audience, hot and strong. They (and he) were the salt of the earth, bullied, plundered and abused. Down with everything that was n't down already. And so forth and so on. His lectures were continued. Every night it was the same as every other, and each several chapter of his discourse was a repetition of the one before. Slowly the Red Cow group came around. Plainly other people were better off than they; and certainly each man found it hard to believe that anybody else was more deserving than himself. "Wy are we pore?" asked Sotcher, leaning forward and jerking his extended palm from one to another, as though attempting a hasty collec- tion. "I ask you straight, wy are we pore? Why is it, my frien's, that awften and awften you find you ain't got a penny in yer pocket, not for to git a crust o' bread or 'alf a pint o' reasonable refreshment ? 'Ow is it that 'appens ? " Agin I ask, 'ow? Snorkey, with a feeling that an answer was expected from somebody, presently murmured, "No mugs," which encouraged Gunno Poison to suggest, "Backers all stony-broke." Jerry  THE RED COW GROUP. 145 Shand said nothing, but reflected on the occa- sional result of a day on the loose. Old Baker neither spoke nor thought. "I'll tell you, me frien's. It's 'cos o' the rotten state o' s'ciety. Wy d' you allow the lazy, idle, do-nothing upper classes, as dirty, they call 'emselves, to reap all the benefits o' your toil wile you slave an' slave to keep 'em in lukshry an' starve yerselves? don't you Wy go an* take your shares o' the wealth lyin' round you?" There was another pause. Gunno Poison looked at his friends one after another, spat " " emphatically, and said, Coppers. "Becos o' the brute force as the privileged classes is 'edged theirselves in with, that 's all. Becos the paid myrmidons armed an' kep' to o' make o' the people. slaves Becos o' the magis- trates an' p'lice. Then wy not git rid o' the magistrates an' p'lice? They're no good, are they? 'Oo wants 'em, I ask? 'Oo?" "They are a noosance," admitted Snorkey, who had done a little time himself. He was a mere groundling, and persisted in regarding the proceedings as simple conversation, instead of as an oration with pauses at the proper places. " Nobody wants 'em nobody as is any good. Then don't 'ave 'em, me frien's don't 'ave 'em ! It all rests with you. Don't 'ave no magis- 10 146 THE RED COW GROUP. trates nor p'lice, nor gover'ment, nor parliament, nor monarchy, nor county council, nor nothink. Make a clean sweep of 'em. Blow 'em up. Then you '11 'ave yer rights. The time 's comin', I tell you. comin', take my word for it. It 's Now you toil an' slave then everybody '11 'ave ; to work w'ether 'e likes it or not, and two hours work a day '11 be all you '11 'ave to do." Old Baker looked a little alarmed, and for a moment paused in his smoking. " Two hours a day at most, that 's all an' all ; yer wants provided for, free an' liberal." Some of the group gave a lickerish look across the bar. "No a'thority, no gover'ment, no privi- lege, an' nothink to interfere. Free contrack between man an' man, subjick to free revision an' change." "Wot's that?" demanded Jerry Shand, who was the slowest convert. "Wy, that," Sotcher explained, "means that everybody can make wot arrangements with 'is feller-men 'e likes for to carry on the business of life, but nothink can't bind you. You chuck over the arrangement if it suits best." "Ah," said Gunno Poison musingly, rotating his pot horizontally before him to stir the beer; "that 'ud be 'andy sometimes. They call it welshin' now."  THE RED COW GROUP. 147 The light spread fast and free, and in a few nights the Red Cow group was a very promis- ing bed of Anarchy. Sotcher was at pains little to have reported at two places west of Totten- it ham Court Road and at another in Dean Street, Soho, that at last a comrade had secured an excellent footing with a party of the proletariat of East London, hitherto looked on as hopeless material. More: that an early manifestation of activity might be expected in that quarter. Such activity had been held advisable of late, in view of certain extraditions. And Sotcher's discourse at the Red Cow turned, lightly andeasily, toward the question of explosives. Anybody could make them, he explained; nothing simpler, with care. And here he posed at large in the character of mys- terious desperado, the wonder and admiration of all the Red Cow group. They should buy nitric acid, he said, of the strongest sort, and twice as much sulphuric acid. The shops where they sold photographic materials were best and cheapest for these things, and no questions were asked. They should mix the acids, and then add gently, drop by drop, the best glyce- rine, taking care to keep everything cool. After which the whole lot must be poured into water, to stand for an hour. Then a thick, yellowish, oily stuff would be found to have sunk to the 148 THE RED COW GROUP. bottom, which must be passed through several pails of water to be cleansed and there it was, : a terrible explosive. You handled it with care and poured it on brick-dust or dry sand, or any- thing of that sort that would soak it up, and then it could be used with safety to the operator. The group listened with rapt attention, more than one pot stopping half-way on its passage mouthwards. Then Jerry Shand wanted to know if Sotcher had ever blown up anything or any- body himself. The missionary admitted that that glory had not been his. "I'm one o' the teachers, me frien's one o' the pioneers that goes to show the way for the active workers like you. I on'y come to explain the principles an' set you in the right road to the social revolution, so as you may get yer rights at last. It 's for you to act." Then he explained might be taken that action in two ways: either individually or by mutual aid in the group. Individual work was much to be preferred, being safer; but a particu- lar undertaking often necessitated co-operation. But that was for the workers to settle as the occasion arose. However, one thing must be remembered. If the group operated, each man must be watchful of the rest there must be no ; half measures, no timorousness; any comrade wavering, temporizing, or behaving in any way  THE RED COW GROUP. 149 suspiciously, must be straightway suppressed. There must be no mistake about that. It was desperate and glorious work, and there must be desperate and rapid methods both of striking and guarding. These things he made clear in his best conspirator's manner: with nods and scowls and a shaken forefinger, as of one accus- tomed to oversetting empires. The men Red Cow group looked at of the each other, and spat thoughtfully. Then a com- rade asked what had better be blown up first. Sotcher's opinion was that there was most glory in blowing up people, in a crowd or at a theatre. But a building was safer, as there was more chance of getting away. Of buildings, a public office was probably to be preferred something in Whitehall, say. Or a bank nobody seemed to have tried a bank: he offered the suggestion now. Of course there were not many public buildings in the East End, but possibly the group would like to act in their own neighbor- hood it would be a novelty, and would attract : notice; the question was one for their own decision, independent freedom of judgment be- ing the right thing in these matters. There were churches, of course, and the factories of the bloated capitalist. Particularly, he might suggest the gas-works close by. There was a large gasometer abutting on the street, and 150 THE RED COW GROUP. probably an explosion there would prove tre- mendously effective, putting the lights out everywhere, and attracting great attention in the papers. That was glory. Jerry Shand hazarded a remark about the lives of the men in the gas-works; but Sotcher explained that that was a trivial matter. Rev- olutions were never accomplished without blood- shed, and a few casual lives were not to be weighed in the balance against the glorious con- summation of the social upheaval. He repeated his contention, when some weaker comrade spoke of the chance of danger to the operator, and re- peated it with a proper scorn of the soft-handed pusillanimity that shrank from danger to life and limb in the cause. Look at the glory, and consider the hundred-fold vengeance on the enemy in the day to come ! The martyr's crown was his who should die at the post of duty. His eloquence prevailed there were murmurs : no more. " 'Ere, tell us the name of the stuff agin," broke out Gunno Poison, resolutely, " feeling for a pencil and paper. Blimy, I'll " make some to-morrer. He wrote down the name of the ingredients with much spelling. "Thick, yuller, oily stuff, " ain't it, wot you make? he asked. "Yus an' keep it cool." The group broke up, stern and resolute, and  THE RED COW GROUP. 151 Sotcher strode to his home exultant, a man of power. For the next night or two the enthusiasm at the Red Cow was unbounded. There was no longer any questioning of principles or action every man was an eager Anarchist strong and devoted in the cause. The little chemical experiment was going on well, Gunno Poison re- ported, with confident nods and winks. Sotcher repeated his discourse, as a matter of routine, to maintain the general ardor, which had, how- ever, toendure a temporary check as the result of a delicate inquiry of Snorkey's, as towhat funds might be expected from head-quarters. For there were no funds, said Sotcher, some- what surprised at the question. "Wot?" demanded Jerry Shand, opening his mouth and putting down his pipe: "ain't we goin' to get nothink for all this?" They would get the glory, Sotcher assured him, and the consciousness of striking a mighty blow at this, and that, and the other; but that was all. And instantly the faces of the group grew long. "But," said Old Baker, "I thought all you blokes always got somethink from the the " committee? There was no committee, and no funds: there 152 THE RED COW GROUP. was nothing but glory, and victory, and triumph, and the social revolution, and things of that kind. For a little, the comrades looked at each other awkwardly, but they soon regained their cheerfulness, with zeal no whit abated. The sitting closed with promises of an early gathering for the next night. But when the next night came Sotcher was later than usual. "Ullo," shouted Gunno Pol- son, ashe entered, " 'ere you are at last. We 've 'ad to do important business without you. See," he added in a lower tone, "'ere's " the stuff And he produced an old physic- ! bottle nearly full of a thick, yellowish fluid. Sotcher started back half a pace, and slightly " " paled. Don't shake it, he whispered hoarsely. "Don't shake it, for Gawd's sake!... Wot wotjer bring it 'ere for, like that? It 's it 's awful stuff, blimy." He looked uneasily about the group, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I I thought you 'd git the job over soon as the stuff was ready. 'Ere, my... Gawd!" he squeaked under his breath, "don't put it down'ard on the table like that. It 's sich sich awful stuff." He wiped his fore- head again, and, still standing, glanced once more apprehensively round the circle of impas- sive faces. Then after a pause, he asked, with " " an effort, Wot wotjer goin' to do now?  THE RED COW GROUP. 153 "Blow up the bleed'n' gas-works, o* course," " answered Gunno Poison complacently. 'Ere 's a penn'orth o' silver sand, an' a 'bacca canister, an' some wire, an' a big cracker with a long touch-paper, so as to stick out o' the canister- lid. That ought to set it auf, ought n't it? 'Ere, you pour the stuff over the sand, doncher?" And he pulled out the cork and made ready to mix. " 'Old on 'old on don't Wait a bit, for ! Gawd's sake!" cried Sotcher, in a sweat of ter- ror. "You you dunno wot awful stuff it is s'elp me, you don't! You you'll blow us all up if you don't keep it still. Y you '11 want " some other things. I '11 go an' But Jerry Shand stood grimly against the door. "This 'ere conspiracy '11 'ave to be gawn through proper," he said. "We can't 'ave no waverers nor blokes wot want to clear out in the middle of it, and p'r'aps go an' tell the p'lice. Them sort we 'as to suppress; see? There's all the stuff there, me lad, an' you know it. Wot 's more, it 's you as is got to put it up agin the gas-works an' set it auf." The hapless Sotcher turned a yellower pallor " and asked faintly, " Me ? Wy me ? "All done reg'lar and proper," Jerry replied, "'fore you come. We voted it by ballot, all square. If you'd 'a' come earlier you 'd 'a' 'ad a vote yerself." 154 THE RED COW GROUP. Sotcher pushed at Jerry's shoulder despair- " " " ingly. I won't, I won't he gasped.! Lemme " go it ain't fair I was n't 'ere lemme go ! "None o' yer shovin', young man," said Jerry severely. "None o' yer shovin', else I'll 'ave to punch you on the jore. You 're a bleed'n' nice conspirator, you are. It 's pretty plain we can't depend on you, an' you know wot that means, eh ? Doncher ? You 're one o' the sort as 'as to be suppressed, that 's wot it means. 'Ere, 'ave a drink o' this 'ere beer, an' see if that can't put a little 'art in ye. You got to do it, so you may as well do it cheerful. Snorkey, give 'im a drink." But the wretched revolutionary would not drink. He sank in a corner the furthest from the table where Gunno Poison was packing his dreadful canister a picture of stupefied affright. Presently he thought of the bar a mere yard of counter in an angle of the room, with a screen standing above it and conceived a wild notion of escape by scrambling over. But scarce had he risen ere the watchful Jerry divined his purpose. "'Old 'im, Snorkey," he said. "Keep 'im in the corner. An' if 'e won't drink that beer, pour it over 'is 'ead." Snorkey obeyed gravely and conscientiously,  THE RED COW GROUP. 155 and the bedraggled Sotcher, cowed from protest, whined and sobbed desolately. When all was ready, Jerry Shand said " I : s'pose it 's no good askin' you to do it willin', " like a man ? " O, let me go, I I ain't well s'elp me, I ain't. I I might do it wrong an' an' I 'm a a teacher a speaker; not the active branch, s'elp me. Put it auf for to-night wait till to-morrer. I ain't well an' an' you 're " very 'ard on me ! "Desp'rit work, desp'rit ways," Jerry replied laconically. "You're be'avin' very suspicious, an' you 're rebellin' agin the orders o' the group. There 's only one physic for that, ain't there, in the rules? You're got to be suppressed. Question is 'ow. We'll 'ave to kill 'im quiet somehow," he proceeded, turning to the group. " Quiet an' quick. It 's my belief 'e 's spyin' for the p'lice, an' wants to git out to split on us. Question is 'ow to do for 'im?" Sotcher rose, a staring spectre. He opened his mouth to call, but there came forth from it only a dry murmur. Hands were across his mouth at once, and he was forced back into the corner. One suggested a clasp-knife at the throat, another a stick in his neckerchief, twisted to throttling-point. But in the end it was settled that it would be simpler, and would 156 THE RED COW GROUP. better destroy all traces, to despatch him in the explosion to tie him to the canister, in fact. A convulsive movement under the men's hands decided them to throw more beer on Sotcher's face, forhe seemed to be fainting. Then his pockets were invaded by Gunno Poison, who turned out each in succession. "You won't 'ave no use for money where you 're goin'," he observed callously; "besides, it 'ud be blowed no use to nobody. to bits an' Look at the bloke at Greenwich, 'ow 'is things was blowed away. 'Ullo! 'ere's two 'arf-crowns an' some tanners. Seven an' thrippence altogether, with the browns. This is the bloke wot 'ad n't got no funds. This '11 be divided on free an' equal principles to 'elp pay for that beer you 've wasted. 'Old up, ol' man ! Think o'the glory. P'r'aps you 're all right, but it 's best to be on the safe side, an' dead blokes can't split to the coppers. An' you mustn't forget the glory. You 'ave to shed blood in a revolution, an' a few odd lives more or less don't matter not a single damn. Keep your eye on the bleed'n' glory! They'll 'ave photos of you in the papers, all the broken bits in a'eap, fac-similiar as found on the spot. Wot a comfort that'll be!" But the doomed creature was oblivious pros- trate a swooning heap. They ran a piece of  THE RED COW GROUP. 1 57 clothes-line under his elbows, and pulled them together tight. They then hobbled his ankles, and took him among them through the alley and down the quiet street, singing and shouting their loudest as they went, in case he might sufficiently recover his powers to call for help. But he did not, and there in the shadow, at the foot of the great gasometer, they flung him down with a parting kick and a barbarous knock on the head, to keep him quiet for those few neces- sary moments. Then the murderous canister, bound with wire, was put in place; the extrud- ing touch-paper was set going with a match; and the Red Cow Anarchists disappeared at a run, leaving their victim to his fate. Presently the policeman on that beat heard a sudden report from the neighborhood of the gas-works, and ran to see what it might mean. The next morning Alfred Sotcherwas charged at theThames Police Court as a drunk and in- capable. He had been found in a helpless state near the gas-works, and appeared to have been tied at the elbows and ankles by mischievous boys, who had also, it seemed, ignited a cracker near by where he lay. The divisional surgeon stated that he was called to the prisoner, and found him tearful and incoherent, and smelling strongly of drink. He complained of having 158 THE RED COW GROUP. been assaulted in a public-house, but could give no intelligible account of himself. A canister found by his side appeared to contain a mixture of sand and castor oil, but prisoner could not explain how it came there. The magistrate fined him five shillings, with the alternative of seven days, and as he had no money he was removed to the cells. ON THE STAIRS.  ON THE STAIRS. house had been "genteel." When -L trade was prospering in the East End, and the ship-fitter or block-maker thought it no shame to live in the parish where his workshop lay, such a master had lived here. Now, it was a tall, solid, well-bricked, ugly house, grimy and paintless in the joinery, cracked and patched in the windows where the front door stood open : all day long; and the womankind sat on the steps, talking of sickness and deaths and the cost of things and treacherous holes lurked in ; the carpet of road-soil on the stairs and in the passage. For when eight families live in a house, nobody buys a door-mat, and the street was one of those streets that are always muddy. It^ smelt, too, of many things, none of them pleasant (one was fried fish) ; but for all that it was not a slum.. Three flights up, a gaunt woman with bare forearms stayed on her way to listen at a door which, opening, let out a warm, fetid waft from a close sick-room. A bent and tottering old a 162 ON THE STAIRS. woman stood on the threshold, holding the door behind her. "An' is 'e no better now, Mrs. Curtis?" the gaunt woman asked, with a nod at the opening. The old woman shook her head, and pulled the door closer. Her jaw waggled loosely in her withered chaps: "Nor won't be; till 'e 's gone." Then after a certain pause, "'E'sgoin'," she said. " "Don't doctor give no 'ope? " Lor' bless ye, I don't want to ast no doc- tors," Mrs. Curtis replied, with something not " unlike a chuckle. I Ve seed too many on 'em. The boy's a-goin', fast ; I can see that. An' " then she gave the handle another tug, and whispered "he's been called." She nodded amain. "Three seprit knocks at the bed-head las' night; an' I know what that means!" The gaunt woman raised her brows, and nodded. "Ah, well," she said, "we all on us comes to it some day, sooner or later. An' " it 'soften a 'appy release. The two looked into space beyond each other, the elder with a nod and a croak. Presently the other pursued, " 'E 's been a very good son, ain't 'e?" "Ay, ay, well enough son to me," responded the old woman, a little peevishly; "an' I'll 'ave 'im put away decent, though there 's on'y the  ON THE STAIRS. 163 Union for me after. I can do that, thank " Gawd ! she added, meditatively, as chin on fist she stared into the thickening dark over the stairs. "When my pore 'usband," said the I lost gaunt woman, with a certain brightening, " I give 'im a 'ansome funeral. 'E was a Odd- feller, an' I got twelve pound. I 'ad a oak caufin an' a open 'earse. There was a kerridge for the fam'ly an' one for 'is mates two 'orses each, an' feathers, an' mutes; an' it went the ' furthest way round to the cimitry. 'Wotever 'appens, Mrs. Manders,' says the undertaker, 'you'll feel as you're treated 'im proper; no- body can't reproach you over that.' An' they could n't. 'E was a good 'usband to me, an' I buried 'im respectable." The gaunt woman exulted. The old, old story of Manders's funeral fell upon the other one's ears with a freshened interest, and she mumbled her gums ruminantly. " Bob '11 'ave a 'ansome buryin', too," she said. "I can make it up, with the insurance money, an' this, an' that. On'y I dunno about mutes. It 's a expense." In the East End, when a woman has not enough money to buy a thing much desired, she does not say so in plain words; she says the thing is an "expense," or a "great expense." 1 64 ON THE STAIRS. It means the same thing, but it sounds better. Mrs. Curtis had reckoned her resources, and found that mutes would be an "expense." At a cheap funeral mutes cost half-a-sovereign and their liquor. Mrs. Manders said as much. "Yus, yus, 'arf-a-sovereign," the old woman assented. Within, the sick man feebly beat the floor with a stick. "I'm a-comin','' she cried shrilly; "yus, 'arf-a-sovereign, but it 's a lot, an' I don't see 'ow I'm to do it not at present." She reached for the door-handle again, but " stopped and added, by after-thought, Unless I don't 'ave no plooms." "It 'ud be a pity not to 'ave plooms. I " 'ad There were footsteps on the stairs then a : stumble and a testy word. Mrs. Curtis peered " over into the gathering dark. Is it the doctor, sir?" she asked. It was the doctor's assistant; and Mrs. Manders tramped up to the next land- ing as the door of the sick-room took him in. For five minutes the stairs were darker than ever. Then the assistant, a very young man, came out again, followed by the old woman with a candle. Mrs. Manders listened in the upper dark. "He's sinking fast," said the assistant. " He must have a stimulant. Dr. Mansell or- dered port wine. Where is it?" Mrs. Curtis " mumbled dolorously. I tell vou he must have  ON THE STAIRS. 165 it," he averred with unprofessional emphasis " (his qualification was only a month old). The man can't take solid food, and his strength must be kept up somehow. Another day may make all the difference. Is it because you can't afford " " " it ? It 's a expense sich a expense, doctor, the old woman pleaded. "An' wot with 'arf- " pints o' milk an' She grew inarticulate, and mumbled dismally. " But he must have it, Mrs. Curtis, if it 's your lastshilling: the only way. it's If you " mean you absolutely have n't the money And he paused a little awkwardly. He was not a wealthy young man wealthy young men do not devil for East End doctors but he was conscious of a certain haul of sixpences at nap the night before; and, being inexperienced, he did not foresee the career of persecution where- on he was entering at his own expense and of his own motion. He produced five shillings: ] "If you absolutely have n't the money, why take this and get a bottle good not at a : public-house. But mind, at once. He should have had it before." It would have interested him, as a matter of coincidence, to know that his principal had been guilty of the selfsame indiscretion even the amount was identical on that landing the. day before. But, as Mrs. Curtis said nothing 1 66 ON THE STAIRS. of this, he floundered down the stair and out into the wetter mud, pondering whether or not the beloved son of a Congregational minister might take full credit for a deed of charity on the proceeds of sixpenny nap. But Mrs. Curtis puffed her wrinkles, and shook her head saga- ciously as she carried in her candle. From the room came a clink as of money falling into a teapot. And Mrs. Manders went about her business. The door was shut, and the stair a pit of blackness. Twice a lodger passed down, and up and down, and still it did not open. Men and women walked on the lower flights, and out at the door, and in again. From the street a shout or a snatch of laughter floated up the pit. On the pavement footsteps rang crisper and fewer, and from the bottom passage there were sounds of stagger and sprawl. A demented old clock buzzed divers hours at random, and was rebuked every twenty minutes by the regular tread of a policeman on his beat. Finally, somebody shut the street-door with a great bang, and the street was muffled. A key turned in- side the door on the landing, but that was all. A feeble light shone for hours along the crack below, and then went out. The crazy old clock went buzzing on, but nothing left that room all night. Nothing that opened the door....  ON THE STAIRS. l6/ When next the key turned, it was to Mrs. Manders's knock, in the full morning; and soon the two women came out on the landing together, Mrs. Curtis with a shapeless clump of bonnet. "Ah, 'e's a lovely corpse," said Mrs. " " Manders. Like wax. So was my 'usband. "I must be stirrin','' croaked the old woman, "an" go about the insurance an' the measurin' " an' that. There 's lots to do. " Ah, there is. 'Oo are you goin' to 'ave, Wilkins? I 'ad Wilkins. Better than Kedge, /think: Kedge's mutes dresses rusty, an' their trousis is frayed. If you was thinkin' of 'avin' " mutes " " " Yus, yus, with a palsied nodding, I 'm a-goin' to 'ave mutes I can : do it respectable, " thank Gawd ! "And the plooms?" "Ay, yus, and the plooms too. They ain't sich a great expense, after all." SQUIRE NAPPER.  SQUIRE NAPPER. I. NAPPER was a heavy man of some- BILL thing between thirty-five and forty. His moleskin trousers were strapped below the knees, and he wore his coat loose on his back, with the sleeves tied across his chest. The casual ob- server set him down a navvy, but Mrs. Napper punctiliously made it known that he was "in " the paving which meant that he was a pavior. ; He Canning Town, and was on a foot- lived in path job West Ham (Allen was the contrac- at tor) when he won and began to wear the nick- name "Squire." Daily at the stroke of twelve from the neigh- boring church, Bill Napper's mates let drop rammer, trowel, spade, and pick, and turned toward a row of basins, tied in blue-and-red handkerchiefs, and accompanied of divers tin cans with smoky bottoms. Bill himself looked toward the street corner for the punctual Polly bearing his own dinner fresh and hot; for home 1/2 SQUIRE NAPPER. was not far, and Polly, being thirteen, had no school now. One day Polly was nearly ten minutes late. Bill, at impatient, grew savage, and first thought wrathfully on the strap on its nail by the kitchen-dresser. But at the end of the ten minutes Polly came, bringing a letter as well as the basin-load of beef and cabbage. young A man had left it, she said, after asking many ill-mannered questions. The letter was ad- dressed "W. Napper, Esq.," with a flourish; the words, "By hand," stood in the corner of the envelope and on the flap at the back were ; the embossed characters "T. & N." These things Bill Napper noted several times over, as he turned the letter about in his hand. "Seems to me you'll 'ave to open it after all," saidone of Bill's mates; and he opened it, setting back his hat as a preparation to serious study. The letter was dated from Old Jewry, and ran thus : "Re B. NAPPER deceased. " DEAR We have a communication in SIR, this matter from our correspondents at Sydney, New South Wales, in respect to testamentary dispositions under which you benefit. We shall be obliged if you can make it convenient to call  SQUIRE NAPPER. 173 at this office any day except Saturday between two and four. Your obedient servants, "TIMS & NORTON." The dinner hour had gone by before the full inner meaning had been wrested from this let- ter. "B. Napper deceased" Bill accepted, with a little assistance, as an announcement of the death of his brother Ben, who had gone to Aus- tralia nearly twenty years ago, and had been " " forgotten. Testamentary dispositions nobody would tackle with confidence, although its dis- tinct suggestion of biblical study was duly re- marked. "Benefit "was right enough, and led one of the younger men, after some thought, to the opinion that Bill Napper's brother might have left him something: a theory instantly accepted as the most probable, although some thought it foolish of him not to leave it direct instead of authorizing the interference of a law- yer, who would want to do Bill out of it. Bill Napper put up his tools and went home. There the missis put an end to doubt by repeat- ing what the lawyer's clerk said: which was nothing more definite than that Bill had been "left a bit"; and the clerk only acknowledged so much when he had satisfied himself, by sinu- ous questionings, that he had found the real lega- tee. He further advised the bringing of certain 174 SQUIRE NAPPER. evidence on the visit to the office. Thus it was plain that the Napper fortunes were in good case, for, as "a bit" means money all the world over, the thing was clearly no worthless keep- sake. II. On the afternoon of the next day, Bill Napper, in clean moleskins and black coat, made for Old Jewry. On mature considerationhe had decided to go through it There was not merely alone. one lawyer, which would be bad enough, but two of them in a partnership; and to take the missis, whose intellects, being somewhat flighty, were quickly divertible by the palaver of which a lawyer was master, would be to distract and impede his own faculties. A male friend might not have been so bad, but Bill could not call to mind one quite cute enough to be of any use, and in any case such a friend would have to be paid for the loss of his day's work. Moreover, he might imagine himself to hold a sort of interest in the proceeds. So Bill Napper went alone. Having waited the proper time without the bar in the clerk'soffice, he was shown into a room where a middle-aged man sat at a writing-  SQUIRE NAPPER. 175 table. There was no other lawyer to be seen. This was a stratagem for which Bill Napper was not prepared. He looked suspiciously about the room, but without discovering anything that looked like a hiding-place. Plainly there were two lawyers, because their names were on the door and on the letter itself; and the letter said we. Why one should hide it was hard to guess, unless it were to bear witness to some unguarded expression. Bill Napper resolved to speak little, and not loud. The lawyer addressed him affably, inviting him to sit. Then he asked to see the papers that Bill had brought. These were an old tes- timonial reciting that Bill had been employed " " with his brother Benjamin as a boy in a brick-field,and had given satisfaction; a letter from a parish guardian, the son of an old em- ployer of Bill's father, certifying that Bill was his father's son and his brother's brother; copies of the birth registry of both Bill and his brother, procured that morning; and a let- ter from Australia, the last word from Benja- min, dated eighteen years back. These Bill produced in succession, keeping a firm grip on each as he placed it beneath the lawyer's nose. The lawyer behaved somewhat testily under this restraint, but Bill knew better than to let the papers out of his possession, and would not be done.  SQUIRE NAPPER. When he had seen all, "Well, Mr. Napper," said the lawyer, rather snappishly (obviously he was balked), "these things seem all right, and with the inquiries I have already made I sup- pose I may proceed to pay you the money. It is a legacy of three hundred pounds. Your brother was married, and I believe his business and other property goes to his wife and children. The money is intact, the estate paying legacy duty and expenses. In cases of this sort there is sometimes an arrangement for the amount to be paid a little at a time as required; that, how- ever, I judge, would not be an arrangement to please you. I hope, at any rate, you will be able to invest the money in a profitable way. I willdraw a check." Three hundred pounds was beyond Bill Nap- per's wildest dreams. But he would not be dazzled out of his caution. Presently the law- yer tore the check from the book, and pushed it across the table with another paper. He offered Bill a pen, pointing with his other hand at the bottom of the second paper, and saying, "This " isthe receipt. Sign just there, please. Bill took up the check, but made no move- ment toward the pen. " Receipt ? " he grunted " softly; "receipt wot for? I ain't 'ad no money. "There 's the check in your hand the same thing. It 's an order to the bank to hand you  SQUIRE NAPPER. 177 the amount the usual way of paying money in business affairs. If you would rather have the money paid here, I can send a clerk to the bank to get it. Give me the check." But again Bill was not to be done. The law- yer, finding him sharper than he expected, now wanted to get this tricky piece of paper back. So Bill only grinned at him, keeping a good hold of the check. The lawyer lost his tem- per. "Why, damn it," he said, "you 're a curi- ous person to deal with. D' ye want the money " and the check too ? He rang a bell twice, and a clerk appeared. "Mr. Dixon," said the lawyer, "I have given this person a check for three hundred pounds. Just take him round to the bank, and get it cashed. Let him sign the receipt at the bank. I suppose," he added, turning to Bill, "that you won't object to giving a receipt when you get the " money, eh ? Bill Napper, conscious of his victory, ex- pressed his willingness to do the proper thing at the proper time, and went out with the clerk. At the bank there was little difficulty, except at the clerk's advice to take the money chiefly in notes, which instantly confirmed Bill in a deter- mination to accept nothing but gold. When all was done, and the three hundred sovereigns, carefully counted over for the third and fourth If 178 SQUIRE NAPPER. time, were stowed in small bags about his per- son, Bill, much relieved after his spell of watchfulness, insisted on standing the clerk a drink. "Ah," he said, "all you City lawyers an' clurks are pretty bleed'n' sharp, I know, but you ain't done me, an' /don't bear no malice. ' Ave wot you like 'ave wine or a six o' Irish I ain't goin' to be stingy. I 'm goin* to do it open an' free, I am, an' set a example to men o' property." III. Bill Napper went home in a hansom, ordering a barrel of beer on the way. One of the chief comforts of affluence is that you may have beer in by the barrel for then Sundays and closing ; times vex not, and you have but to reach the length of your arm for another pot whenever moved thereunto. Nobody in Canning Town had beer by the barrel except the tradesmen, and for that Bill had long envied the man who kept shop. And now, at his first opportunity, he bought a barrel of thirty-six gallons. Once home with the news, and Canning Town was ablaze. Bill Napper had come in for three thousand, thirty thousand, three hundred thou-  SQUIRE NAPPER. 179 sand any number of thousands that were within the compass of the gossip's command of enumeration. Bill Napper was called "W. Napper, Esq." he was to be knighted he was a long-lost baronet anything. Bill Napper came home in a hansom a brougham a state coach. Mrs. Napper went that very evening to the Grove at Stratford to buy silk and satin, green, red, and yellow cutting her neighbors dead, right and left. And by the next morning trades- men had sent circulars and samples of goods. Mrs. Napper was for taking a proper position in society, and a house in a fashionable part Barking Road, for instance, or even East India Road, Poplar; but Bill would none of such fool- ishness. He was n't proud, and Canning Town was quite good enough for him. This much, though, he conceded that the family should : take a whole house of five rooms in the next street, instead of the two rooms and a cellule upstairs now rented. That morning Bill lit his pipe, stuck his hands and strolled as far as his in his pockets, job. "Wayo, squire," shouted one of the men as he approached. "'Ere comes the bleed'n' toff," remarked another. "'Tcheer, 'tcheer, mates," Bill responded, calmly complacent. "I'm a-goin' to wet it." 180 SQUIRE NAPPER. And all the fourteen men left their paving for the beer-house close by. The foreman made some demur, but was helpless, and ended by coming himself. "Now then, gaffer," said Bill, "none o' your sulks. No one ain't a-goin' to stand out of a drink o' mine unless 'e wants to fight. As for the job damn the job! I 'd buy up fifty jobs like that 'ere and not stop for the change. You send the guv' nor to me if e ' says anythink: unnerstand ? You send 'im to " me. And hands on the foreman, who he laid was not a big man, and hauled him after the others. They wetted it for two or three hours, from many quart pots. Then there appeared between the swing doors the wrathful face of the guv'nor. The guv'nor's position was difficult. He was only a small master, and but a few years back had been a working mason. This deserted job was his first for the and by contract parish, he was bound to end it quickly under penalty. Moreover, he much desired something on ac- count that week, and must stand well with the vestry. On the other hand, this was a time of strikes, and the air was electrical. Several large and successful movements had quickened a spirit of restlessness in the neighborhood, and no master was sure of his men. Some slight was fancied, something was not done as it should  SQUIRE NAPPER. l8l have been done from the point of view of the workshop, and there was a strike, picketing, and bashing. Now, the worst thing that could have happened to the guv'nor at this moment was one of those tiny, unrecorded strikes that were bursting out weekly and daily about him, with the picketing of his two or three jobs. Furious, therefore, as he was, he dared not dis- charge every man on the spot. So he stood in the door, and said: "Look here, I won't stand this sort of thing it 's a damn robbery. " I'll "That 's all right, ol' cock," roared Bill Nap- per, reaching toward the guv'nor. "You come 'an 'ave a tiddley. I 'm a bleed'n' millionaire meself now, but I ain't proud. What, you won't?" for the guv'nor, unenthusiastic, re- " mained at the door. You 're a sulky old bleeder. These 'ere friends o' mine are 'avin' 'arf a day auf at my expense : unnerstand ? My expense. 'm a-payin' for their time, if you I dock 'em; an* I can give you a bob, me fine feller, if you're 'ard up. See?" The guv'nor addressed himself to the fore- man. "What's the meaning o' this, Walker?" he said. " What game d' ye call it ? " Bill Napper, whom a succession of pots had made uproarious, slapped the foreman violently on the shoulder. "This 'ere 's the gaffer," he 1 82 SQUIRE NAPPER. " shouted. 'E 's all right. 'E come 'ere 'cos 'e could n't 'elp 'isself. I made 'im come, forcible. Don't you bear no spite agin' the gaffer, d'y'ear? 'E 's my mate, is the gaffer; an' I could buy you up forty times, s'elp me but I ain't proud. An' you 're a bleed'n' gawblimy slackbaked..." "Well," said the guv'nor to the assembled company, but still ignoring Bill, "don't you think there's been about enough of this?" A few of the men glanced at one another, and " one or two rose. Awright, guv'nor," said one, " we 're auf. " And two more echoed, " Awright, guv'nor," and began to move away. "Ah!" said Bill Napper, with disgust, as he turned to finish his pot, "you're a blasted nig- ger-driver, you are. An' a sulky beast," he added as he set the pot down. "Never mind," he pursued, "I'm awright, an' I ain't a 'arf-paid " kerb-whacker no more, under you. " You was a damn sight better kerb-whacker than you are a millionaire," the guv'nor re- torted, feeling safer now that his men were getting back to work. "None o' your lip," replied Bill, rising and reaching for a pipe-spill "none your lip, you : o' work'us stone-breaker." Then, turning with a sudden access of fury, "I '11 knock yer face off, " blimy ! he shouted, and raised his fist.  SQUIRE NAPPER. 183 "Now, then, none o' that here, please," cried the landlord from behind the bar; unto whom Bill Napper, with all his wonted obedience in that quarter, answered only, "All right, guv'- nor," and subsided. Left alone, he soon followed the master-pavior and his men through the swing doors, and so went home. In his own street, observing two small boys in the prelusory stages of a fight, he put up sixpence by way of stakes, and super- vised the battle from the seat afforded by a con- venient window-sill. After that he bought a morning paper, and lay upon his bed to read it, with a pipe and a jug; for he was beginning a life of leisure and comfort, wherein every day should be a superior Sunday. IV. Thus far the outward and visible signs of the Napper wealth were these: the separate house; the barrel of beer; a piano not bought as a musical instrument, but as one of the visible signs; a daily paper, also primarily a sign; the bonnets and dresses of the missis; and the per- petual possession of Bill Napper by a varying degree of fuddlement. An inward and dis- sembled sign was a regiment, continually rein- 1 84 SQUIRE NAPPER. forced, of mostly empty bottles, in a cupboard kept sacred by the missis. And the faculties of that good lady herself experienced a fluctu- ating confusion from causes not always made plain to Bill: for the money was kept in the bedroom chest of drawers, and it was easy to lay hands on a half-sovereign as required without unnecessary disturbance. Now and again Bill Napper would discuss the abstract question of entering upon some invest- ment or business pursuit. Land had its advan- tages; great advantages; and he had been told that it was very cheap just now, in some places. Houses were good, and a suitable posses- too, sion for a man of consideration.Not so desir- able on the whole, however, as Land. You bought your Land and well there it was, and you could take things easily. But with Houses there was rent to collect, and repairs to see to, and so forth. It was a vastly paying thing for any man with capital to be a Merchant but ; there was work even in that, and you had to be perpetually on guard against sharp chaps in the City. A public-house, suggested by one of his old mates on the occasion of wetting it, was out of the question. There was tick, and long hours, and a sharp look-out, and all kinds of trouble, which a man with money would be a fool to encounter. Altogether, perhaps, Land  SQUIRE NAPPER. 185 seemed to be the thing: although there was no need to bother now, and plenty of time to turn things over, even if the matter were worth pon- dering at all, when it was so easy for a man to live on his means. After all, to take your boots off, and lie on the bed with a pipe and a pot and the paper was very comfortable, and you could always stroll out and meet a mate, or bringhim in when so disposed. Of an evening the Albert Music Hall was close at hand, and the Queen's not very far away. Andon Sundays and Saturday after- noons Bill would often take a turn down by the dock gates, or even in Victoria Park, or Mile End Waste, where there were speakers of all sorts. At the dock gates it was mostly Labor and Anarchy, but at the other places there was a fine variety; you could always be sure of a few minutes of Teetotalism, Evangelism, Atheism, Republicanism, Salvationism, Socialism, Anti- Vaccinationism, and Social Purity, with now and again some Mormonism or another curious exotic. Most of the speakers denounced some- thing, and if the denunciations of one speaker were not sufficiently picturesque and lively, you passed on to the next. Indeed, you might always judge afar off where the best denouncing was going on by the size of the crowds, at least until the hat went round. 1 86 SQUIRE NAPPER. It was at Mile End Waste that a good notion occurred to Bill Napper. He had always vastly admired the denunciations of one speaker a little man, shabbier, if anything, than most of the others, and surpassingly tempestuous of antic. He was an unattached orator, not con- fining himself to any particular creed, but denouncing whatever seemed advisable, con- sidering the audience and circumstances. He was always denouncing something somewhere, and was ever in a crisis that demanded the cir- culation of a hat. Bill esteemed this speaker for his versatility as well as for the freshness of his abuse, and Bill's sudden notion was to engage him for private addresses. The orator did not take kindly to the proposal at first, strongly suspecting something in the " " " " nature of guy or kid ; but a serious assur- ance of a shilling for an occasional hour and the payment of one in advance brought him over. After this Squire Napper never troubled to go to Mile End Waste. He sat at ease in his par- lor, with his pot on the piano, while the orator, with another pot on the mantelpiece, stood up and denounced to order. "Tip us the Teetotal an' Down-with-the-Public-'Ouse,"Bill would request, and the orator (his name was Minns) would oblige in that line till most of the strong phrases had run out, and had begun to recur.  SQUIRE NAPPER. l8/ Then Bill would say, "Now come the Rights o' Labor caper." Whereupon Minns would take a pull at the pot, and proceed to denounce Cap- ital, Bill Napper applauding or groaning at the pauses provided for those purposes. And so on with whatever subjects appealed to the patron's fancy. It was a fancy that sometimes put the orator's invention to grievous straits; but for Bill the whole performance was peculiarly privi- leged and dignified. For to have an orator ges- ticulating and speechifying all to one's self, on one's own order and choice of subject, is a thing not given to all men. One day Minns turned up (not having been invited) with a friend. Bill did not take to the friend. He was a lank-jawed man with a shifty eye, who smiled as he spoke, and showed a top row of irregular and dirty teeth. This friend, Minns explained, was a journalist a writer of newspapers; and between them they had an idea, which idea the friend set forth. Every- body, he said, who knew the history of Mr. Napper admired his sturdy independence and democratic simplicity. He was of the people and not ashamed of it. ("Well, no, I ain't proud," Bill interjected, wondering what was coming.) With all the advantages of wealth, he preferred to remain one of the people, living among them plainly, conforming to their simple 1 88 SQUIRE NAPPER. habits, and sympathizing with their sorrows. ("This chap," thought Bill, "wants to be took on to hold forth turn about with the other, and he's showing his capers; but I ain't on it.") It was the knowledge of these things, so greatly to Mr. Napper's honor, that had induced Minns and Minns's friend to place before him a means by which he might do the cause of toiling humanity a very great service. A new weekly paper was wanted wanted very badly a paper : that should rear its head on behalf of the down- trodden toilers, and make its mighty voice heard with dread by the bloated circles of Class and Privilege. That paper would prove a mar- vellously paying investment to its proprietor, bringing him enormous profits every week. He would have a vast fortune in that paper alone, besides the glory and satisfaction of striking the great blow that should pave the way to the emancipation of the Masses and the destruction of the vile system of society whose whole and sole effect was the accumulation of wealth in the hands of the Grasping Few. Being profes- sionally disengaged at present, he (the speaker), in conjunction with his friend Minns, had de- cided to give Mr. Napper the opportunity of becoming its proprietor. Bill was more than surprised: he was also a little bewildered. "What," he said, after two  SQUIRE NAPPER. 189 " draws of his pipe, d' ye mean you want me to " go in the printin' line? That was not at all necessary. The printing would be done by contract. Mr. Napper would only have to find the money. The paper, with a couple of thousand pounds behind it or even one thousand (Minns's friend read a diffi- culty in Bill's face) would be established for- ever. Even five hundred would do, and many successful papers had been floated with no more than a couple of hundred or so. Suppose they said just a couple of hundred to go on with, till the paper found its legs and began to pay? How would that do? Bill Napper smoked a dozen whiffs. Then he said: "An' what should I 'ave to do with " the two 'undred pound? Buy anythink? Not directly that, the promoters explained. Itwould finance the thing just finance it. " "'Oo 'd 'ave the money then? That was perfectly simple. It would simply be handed over to Minns and his friend, and they would attend to all the details. Bill Napper continued to smoke. Then, be- ginning with a slight chuckle at the back of his " throat, he said: Wen I got my money, I went to a lawyer's for it. There was two lawyers one layin' low. There was two fust-rate law- yers an' a lot o' clurks City clurks an' a 1 90 SQUIRE NAPPER. bank an' all. An' they could n't 'ave me, not for a single farden not a farden, try an' fiddle as they would.... Well, arter that, it ain't " much good you a-tryin' it on, is it ? And he chuckled again, louder. Minns was indignant, and Minns's friend was deeply hurt. Both protested. Bill Napper laughed aloud. "Awright, you'll do," he said; "you '11 do. My 'abits may be simple, but they ain't as simple as all that. Ha ha! 'Ere, 'ave a drink you ain't done no 'arm, an' I ain't spiteful. Ha ha!" Itwas on an evening a fortnight after this that, as Bill Napper lay, very full of beer and rather sleepy, on the bed the rest of his household being out of doors a ladder was quietly planted against the outer wall from the back-yard. Bill heard nothing until the win- dow, already a little open, was slowly pushed up, and from the twilight outside a head and an arm plunged into the thicker darkness of the room, and a hand went feeling along the edge of the chest of drawers by the window. Bill rolled over on the bed, and reached from the floor one of a pair of heavy iron-set boots. Taking the toe in his right hand, and grasping the footrail of the bedstead with his left, he raised himself on his knees, and brought the  SQUIRE NAPPER. 191 boot-heel down heavily onthe intruding head. There was a gasp, and the first breath of a yell, and head, arm, shoulders, and body vanished with a bump and a rattle. Bill Napper let the boot fall, dropped back on the bed, and took no further heed. Neither Minns nor his friend ever came back again, but for some time after, at Victoria Park, Minns, inciting an outraged populace to rise and sweep police and army from the earth, was able to point to an honorable scar on his own forehead, the proof and sign of a police bludgeoning at Tower Hill or Trafalgar Square. V. Things went placidly on for near ten months. Many barrels of beer had come in full and been sent empty away. Also the missis had got a gold watch and divers new bonnets and gowns, some by gift from Bill, some by applying privily to the drawer. Her private collection of bottles, too,had been cleared out twice, and was respect- able for the third time. Everybody was not friendly with her, and one bonnet had been torn off her head by a neighbor who disliked her airs. 192 SQUIRE NAPPER. So stood when, on a certain morning, Bill it being minded to go out, found but two shillings in his pocket. He called upstairs to the missis, as was his custom in such a pass, asking her to fetch a sovereign or two when she came down ; and as she was long in coming, he went up himself. The missis left the room hurriedly, and Bill, after raking out every corner of the drawer (which he himself had not opened for some time) saw not a single coin. The missis had no better explanation than that there must have been thieves in the house some time lately: a suggestion deprived of some value by the sub- sequent protest that Bill couldn't expect money to last forever, and that he had had the last three days J ago. O In the end there was a vehement row, and the missis was severely thumped. The thumping over, Bill Napper conceived a great idea. Perhaps after all the lawyers had done him by understating the amount his brother had left. It might well have been five hundred pounds a thousand pounds anything. Prob- ably it was, and the lawyers had had the differ- ence. Plainly, three hundred pounds was a suspiciously small sum to inherit from a well- to-do brother. He would go to the lawyers and demand the rest of his money. He would not reveal his purpose till he saw the lawyers face to face, and then he would make his demand  SQUIRE NAPPER. 193 suddenly, so that surprise and consternation should overwhelm and betray them. He would give them to understand that he had complete evidence of the whole swindle. In any case he could lose nothing. He went, after carefully preparing his part, and was turned out by a policeman. "After that," mused Squire Napper, going home, "I suppose I 'd better see about getting a job at Allen's again. He can't but make me gaffer, considering I 've been a man of " property. 3 "A POOR STICK."  v^ 5^ "A POOR STICK." JENNINGS (or Jinnins, as the neigh- MRS.bors would have it) ruled absolutely at home, when she took so much trouble as to do anything at all there which was less often than might have been. As for Robert, her hus- band, he was a poor stick, said the neighbors. And yet he was a man with enough of hardi- hood to remain a non-unionist in the erector's shop at Maidment's all the years of his service; no mean test of a man's fortitude and resolu- tion, asmany a sufferer for independent opinion might testify. The truth was that Bob never grew out of his courtship-blindness. Mrs. Jen- nings governed as she pleased, stayed out or came home as she chose, and cooked a dinner or didn't, as her inclination stood. Thus it was for ten years, during which time there were no children, and Bob bore all things uncom- plaining: cooking his own dinner when he found none cooked, and sewing on his own but- tons. Then of a sudden came children, till in three years there were three; and Bob Jen- 1 98 "A POOR STICK." nings had to nurse and to wash them as often as not. Mrs. Jennings at this time was what is called rather a fine woman : a woman of large scale, and full development; whose slatternly habit left her coarse black hair to tumble in snake- locks about her face and shoulders half the day who, ; clad in half -hooked clothes, bore her- self notoriously and unabashed in her fulness; and of whom ill things were said regarding the lodger. The gossips had their excuse. The lodger was an irregular young cabinet- maker, who lost quarters and halves and whole days who had been seen abroad with his land- ; lady, what time Bob Jennings was putting the children to bed at home; who on his frequent holidays brought in much beer, which he and the woman shared, while Bob was at work. To carry the tale to Bob would have been a thank- less errand, for he would have none of any- body's sympathy, even in regard to miseries plain to his eye. But the thing got about in the workshop, and there his days were made bitter. At home things grew worse. To return at half-past five, and find the children still un- dressed, screaming, hungry, and dirty, was a matter of habit to get them food, to wash them, : to tend the cuts and bumps sustained through  "A POOR STICK." 199 the day of neglect, before lighting a fire and getting tea for himself, were matters of daily duty. "Ah," he said to his sister, who came at intervals tosay plain things about Mrs. Jennings, "you should n't go for to set a man agin 'is wife, Jin. Melier do'n' like work, I know, but that 's nach'ral to 'er. She ought to married a swell 'stead o' me; she might 'a' done easy if she liked, bein' sich a fine gal; but she's good-'arted, is Melier; an' she can't 'elp bein' a bit thoughtless." Whereat his sister called him a fool (it was her customary good-by at such times), and took herself off. Bob Jennings's intelligence was sufficient for his common needs, but it was never a vast intel- ligence. Now, under a daily burden of dull misery, it clouded and stooped. The base wit of the workshop he comprehended less, and realized more slowly, than before; and the gaffer cursed him for a sleepy dolt. Mrs. Jennings ceased from any pretence of housewifery, and would sometimes sit per- chance not quite sober while Bob washed the children in the evening, opening her mouth only to express her contempt for him and his establishment, and to make him understand that she was sick of both. Once, exasperated by his quietness, she struck at him; and for a moment he was another man. "Don't do that, Melier," 200 "A POOR STICK. he said, "else I might forget myself." His manner surprised his wifeand it was such that : she never did do that again. So was Bob Jennings without a friend in the : who chid him, and the world, except his sister, children, who squalled at him when his wife : vanished with the lodger, the clock, a shade of wax Bob's best boots (which fitted the flowers, lodger), and his silver watch. Bob had re- turned, as usual, to the dirt and the children, and it was only when he struck a light that he found the clock was gone. "Mummy tooked ve t'ock," said Milly, the eldest child, who had followed him in from the door, and now gravely observed his movements. "She tooked ve t'ock " an' went ta-ta. An' she tooked ve fyowers. Bob lit the paraffin lamp with the green glass reservoir, and carried it and its evil smell about the house. Some things had been turned over and others had gone, plainly. All Melier's clothes were gone. The lodger was not in, and under his bedroom window, where his box had stood, there was naught but an oblong patch of conspicuously clean wall-paper. In a muddle of doubt and perplexity, Bob found himself at the front door, staring up and down the street. Divers women-neighbors stood at their doors, and eyed him curiously; for Mrs. Webster, moralist, opposite, had not watched the day's  "A POOR STICK." 2OI proceedings (nor those of many other days) for nothing, nor had she kept her story to herself. He turned back into the house, a vague notion of what had befallen percolating feebly through his bewilderment. "I dunno I dunno," he faltered, rubbing his ear. His mouth was dry, and he moved his lips uneasily, as he gazed with aimless looks about the walls and ceiling. Presently his eyes rested on the child, and "Milly," he said decisively, "come an' 'ave yer face washed." He put the children to bed early, and went out. In the morning, when his sister came, because she had heard the news in common with everybody else, he had not returned. Bob Jennings had never lost more than two quarters in his life, but he was not seen at the workshop all this day. His sister stayed in the house, and in the evening, at his regular homing-time, he appeared, haggard and dusty, and began his preparations for washing the children. When he was made to understand that they had been already attended to, he looked doubtful and " troubled for a moment. Presently he said I : ain't found 'er yet, Jin; I was in 'opes she might 'a' bin back by this. I I don't expect she'll be very long. She was alwis a bit larky, " was Melier; but very good-'arted. His sister had prepared a strenuous lecture 202 "A POOR STICK. " on the theme of " I told you so but the man ; was so broken, so meek, and so plainly unhinged in his faculties, that she suppressed it. Instead she gave him comfortable talk, and made him promise in the end to sleep that night, and take up his customary work in the morning. He did these things, and could have worked placidly enough had he been alone; but the tale had reached the workshop, and there was no lack of brutish chaff to disorder him. This the decenter men would have no part in, and even protested against. But the ill-conditioned kept " " their way, till, at the cry of Bell O when ! all were starting for dinner, one of the worst shouted the cruellest gibe of all. Bob Jennings turned on him and knocked him over a scrap- heap. A shout went up from the hurrying workmen, with a chorus of " Serve ye right," and the fallei joker found himself awkwardly confronted by the shop bruiser. But Bob had turned to corner, and buried his eyes in the bend of his arm, while his shoulders heaved and shook. He slunk away home, and stayed there walk- : ing restlessly to and fro, and often peeping dowi the street from the window. When, at twilight, his sister cameagain, he had become almost " cheerful, and said with some briskness, I 'm a- goin' to meet 'er, Jin, at seven. I know when she'll be waitin'."  "A POOR STICK." 203 He went upstairs, and after a little while came down again in his best black coat, care- fully smoothing a tall hat of obsolete shape " with his pocket-handkerchief. I ain't wore it for years, "he said. "I ought to 'a' wore it it might 'a' pleased 'er. She used to say she would n't walk with me in no other when I used to meet the evenin', at seven o'clock." 'er in He brushed assiduously, and put the hat on. " I 'd better 'ave a shave round the corner as I go along," he added, fingering his stubbly chin. He received as one not comprehending his sister's persuasion to remain at home; but when he went she followed at a little distance. After his penny shave he made for the main road, where company-keeping couples walked up and down all evening. He stopped at a church, and began pacing slowly to and fro before it, eagerly looking out each way as he went. His sister watched him for nearly half an hour, and then went home. In two hours more she came back with her husband. Bob was still there, walking to and fro. "'Ullo, Bob," said his brother-in-law; "come along 'ome an' get to bed, there 's a good chap. " You '11 be awright in the mornin'. "She ain't turned up," Bob complained, "or else I Ve missed 'er. This is the reg'lar place -r- where I alwis used to meet 'er. But she '11 204 A POOR STICK.' come to-morrer. She used to leave me in the lurch sometimes, bein' nach'rally larky. But " very good-'arted, mindjer; very good-'arted. She did not come the next evening, nor the next, nor the evening after, nor the one after that. But Bob Jennings, howbeit depressed and anxious, was always confident. " Some- think 's prevented 'er to-night," he would say, "but she'll come to-morrer.... I '11 buy a blue tie to-morrer she used to like me in a blue tie. I won't miss 'er to-morrer. I '11 come a little earlier." So it went. The black coat grew ragged in the service, and hobbledehoys, finding him safe sport, smashed the tall hat over his eyes time after time. He wept over the hat, and straight- ened it as best he might. Was she coming.' Night after night, and night and night. But to-morrow. , A CONVERSION.  A CONVERSION. are some poor criminals that never -L have a chance circumstances are against : them from the first, as they explain, with tears, to sympathetic mission-readers. Circumstances had always been against Scuddy Lond, the gun. The word gun, it may be explained, is a friendly synonym for thief. His first name was properly James, but that " " had been long forgotten. Scuddy meant nothing in particular, was derived from noth- ing, and was not, apparently, the invention of any distinct person. Still, it was commonly his only name, and most of his acquaintances had also nicknames of similarly vague origin. Scuddy was a man of fine feelings, capable of a most creditable hour of rapturous misery after " hearing, perhaps at a sing-song, Put Me in my Little Bed," or any other ditty that was rank enough in sentiment: wherefore the mission- readers never really despaired of him. He was a small, shabby man of twenty-six, but looking younger; with a runaway chin, a sharp yellow 208 A CONVERSION. face, and tremulously sly eyes; with but faint traces of hair on his face, he had a great deal of it, straight and ragged and dirty, on his head. Scuddy Lond's misfortunes began early. Temptation had prevailed against him when he was at school, but that was nothing. He be- came errand boy in a grocer's shop, and 'com- plications with the till brought him, a howling penitent, to the police court. Here, while his mother hid her head in the waiting-room, he set forth the villainy of older boys who had prompted him to sin, and got away with no worse than a lecture on the evils of bad com- pany. So that a philanthropist found him a better situation at a distance, where the evil influence could no longer move him. Here he stayed a good while longer than some who had been there before him, but who had to leave because of vanishing postal orders. Neverthe- less, the postal orders still went, and in the end he confessed to another magistrate, and fervently promised to lead a better life if his false start were only forgiven. Betting, he protested, was this time the author of his fall and as that per- ; nicious institution was clearly to blame for the unhappy young man's ruin, the lamenting magis- trate let him off with a simple month in con- sideration of his misfortune and the intercession of his employer, who had never heard of the grocer and his till.  A CONVERSION. 2OQ After his month Scuddy went regularly into business as a lob-crawler: that is to say, he returned to his first love, the not narrowly till : to any individual till, but broad-mindedly to the till as a general institution, to be approached in unattended shops by stealthy grovelling on the belly. This he did until he perceived the greater security and comfort of waiting without while a small boy did the actual work within. From this, and with this, he ventured on peter- claiming: laying hands nonchalantly on uncon- sidered parcels and bags at railway stations, until a daywhen, bearing a fat portmanteau, he ran against its owner by the door of a refresh- ment bar. This time the responsibility lay with Drink. Strong Drink, he declared, with deep emotion, had been his ruin; he dated his downfall from the day when a false friend per- suaded him to take a Social Glass; he would still have been an honest, upright, self-respect- ing young man but for the Cursed Drink. From that moment he would never touch it more. The case was met with three months with hard labor, and for all that Scuddy Lond had so clearly pointed out the culpability of Drink, he had to do the drag himself. But the mission-readers were comforted for clearly : there was hope for one whose eyes were so fully opened to the causes of his degradation. 14 210 A CONVERSION. After the drag, Scuddy for long made a com- fortable living, free from injurious overwork, in the several branches of lob-crawling and peter- claiming, with an occasional deviation into parlor- jumping. It is true that this last did sometimes involve unpleasant exertion when the window was high and the boy heavy to bunk up; and it was necessary, at times, to run. But Scuddy was out of work, and hunger drove him to anything, so long as it was light and not too risky. And it is marvellous to reflect how much be may picked up in the streets and at the side-doors of Lon- don and the suburbs without danger or vulgar violence. And so Scuddy's life went on, with occasional misfortunes in the way of a moon, or another drag, or perhaps a sixer. And the mis- sion-readers never despaired, because the real cause was always hunger, or thirst, or betting, or a sudden temptation, or something quite ex- ceptional never anything like real, hardened, unblushing wickedness; and the man himself was always truly penitent. He made such touching references to his innocent childhood, and was so grateful for good advice or anything else you might give him. One bold attempt Scuddy made to realize his desire for better things. He resolved to depart from his ways and to become a nark evil a copper's nark which is a police spy, or in-  A CONVERSION. 211 former. The work was not hard, there was no imprisonment, and he would make amends for the past. But hardly had he begun his narking when some of the Kate Street mob dropped on him in Brick Lane, and bashed him full sore. This would never do: so once more implacable circumstance drove him to his old courses. And there was this added discomfort that no: boy would parlor-jump nor dip the lob for him. Indeed they bawled aloud, " Yah, Scuddy Lond the copper's nark!" So that the hand of all Flower and Dean Street was against him. Scuddy grew very sad. These and other matters were heavy upon his heart on an evening when, with nothing in his pockets but the piece of coal that he carried for luck, he turned aimlessly up Baker's Row. Things were very bad it was as though the : whole world knew him and watched. Shop- keepers stood frowningly at their doors. People sat defiantly on piles of luggage at the railway stations, and there was never a peter to touch for. All the areas were empty, and there were no side-doors left unguarded, where, failing the more desirable wedge, one might claim a pair or two of daisies put out for cleaning. All the hundred trifling things that commonly come freely to hand in a mile or two of streets were somehow swept out of the world's economy; and  212 A CONVERSION. Scuddy tramped into Baker's Row in melting mood. Why were things so hard for some and so easy for others? It was not as though he were to blame he, a man of feeling and sen- timent. Why were others living comfortable lives unvexed of any dread of the police? And apart from that, why did other gonophs get lucky touches for half a century of quids at a time, while he ! But there the world' was... : 1 one brutal oppression, and he was its most piti- able victim ; and he slunk along, dank with the pathos of things. At a corner a group was standing about a woman, whose voice was uplifted to a man's accompaniment on a stand-accordion. Scuddy listened. She sang, with a harsh tremble: " An' sang a song of 'ome, sweet 'ome, The song that reached my 'art. 'Ome, 'ome, sweet, sweet 'ome, She sang the song of 'ome, sweet 'ome, The song that reached my 'art." Here, indeed, was something in tune with Scuddy's looked up. fine feelings. He From the darkening sky the evening star winked through the smoke from a factory chimney. From anear came an exquisite scent of save- loys. Plaintive influences all. He tried to think of 'ome himself of 'ome strictly in the abstract, so that it might reach his 'art. He  A CONVERSION. 213 stood for some minutes torpid and mindless, oozing with sentiment till the song ended, and : he went Fine feelings on. fine. * He crossed the road, and took a turning. A lame old woman sat in a recess selling trotters, where a dark passage led back to a mission-hall. About the opening a man hovered fervent, watchful and darted forth on passers-by. He laid his hand on Scuddy's shoulder, and