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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>SIXPENNY PIECES</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Sixpenny Pieces" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="A. Neil Lyons" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1909" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="44952" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2014-02-17" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Sixpenny Pieces" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Sixpenny Pieces" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="sixpenny.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2014-02-17T22:12:05.719315+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44952" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="A. Neil Lyons" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2014-02-17" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="sixpenny-pieces"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">SIXPENNY PIECES</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Sixpenny Pieces -<br /> -<br />Author: A. Neil Lyons -<br /> -<br />Release Date: February 17, 2014 [EBook #44952] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>SIXPENNY PIECES</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics x-large">SIXPENNY</em><span class="x-large"> -<br />:: </span><em class="italics x-large">PIECES</em><span class="x-large"> ::</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics large">BY A. NEIL LYONS</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD</em><span class="medium"> -<br /></span><em class="italics medium">NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY: MCMIX</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">Arthur's. With a Cover-design -<br />by W. Graham Robertson. -<br />Crown 8vo. Second Edition.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO -<br />K. L. S.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics large">CONTENTS</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#introductory">Introductory</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#concerning-james">Concerning James</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#first-impressions">First Impressions</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#sixpences">Sixpences</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-hypocrites">The Hypocrites</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#conatus">Conatus</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#on-the-properties-of-water">On The Properties of Water</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-way-of-the-east">The Way of the East</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-pothecary">The 'Pothecary</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-mother-s-trade-union">The Mother's Trade Union</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-diagnosis">The Diagnosis</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-tuskers">The Tuskers</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#art-lovers">Art Lovers</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#three-babies">Three Babies</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#ingrates">Ingrates</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#baffin-s-find">Baffin's Find</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mr-west-s-wife">Mr. West's Wife</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#three-dialogues">Three Dialogues</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#curing-the-curer">Curing the Curer</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#milk">Milk!</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#two-patients">Two Patients</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#lost">Lost!</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-survivor">The Survivor</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#more-of-prudence">More of Prudence</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-talk-with-james">A Talk with James</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-april-barge">The April Barge</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-case-of-mrs-roper">The Case of Mrs. Roper</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-black-hat">The Black Hat</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#on-earning-sixpence">On Earning Sixpence</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#dialogue-with-a-bride">Dialogue with a Bride</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#an-interlude">An Interlude</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#low-finance">Low Finance</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-mothers-meeting">The Mothers' Meeting</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-woes-of-wilfered">The Woes of Wilfered</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#still-more-of-prudence">Still More of Prudence</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-birthday-party">A Birthday Party</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-moral-sense">The Moral Sense</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#love-and-hate">Love and Hate</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#on-a-dead-policeman">On a Dead Policeman</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mrs-gluckstein">Mrs. Gluckstein</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#of-human-kindness">Of Human Kindness</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-last">The Last</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="introductory"><em class="bold italics x-large">SIXPENNY PIECES</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">INTRODUCTORY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I was a beautiful evening in the month of -May.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stars were shining.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The beautiful moon looked beautifully -forth from her beautiful throne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A nightingale greeted her with a beautiful -sonnet. England—our England—bore upon -her bosom the beautiful perfume of woodruff -and the wild clover. In Bovingdon Street, -London, E., a lover was kicking his sweetheart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was the beginning of this book. I -happened to be standing at Mr. Wilson's -coffee stall. And I heard the screaming. -And I saw some shadows moving briskly, -like the funny silhouettes on the blind at a -pantomime. And some of us laughed and -some of us whined and one of us blew a -whistle. And the constabulary arrived, and -with their coming the tumult died. And -they brought the girl to the light of the -stall, and her face was bruised and swollen -and she lost her voice. But before doing so -she was able to assure us that "'E done it -in drink." "'E" was removed under escort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They did not take her to a hospital, -because there was a round little man at the -stall who prevented them from doing so. -"Lemme alone," the lady had remarked, -upon regaining speech. "Don't you worry -me. I'm all right, I am. I got my doctor -'ere: this genelman in the top 'at. Ain't -that right, sir? You are my doctor, ain't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is so," said the round little man, -"I'm her doctor. Shift your dam carcases -and give the woman some air."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are," gasped the woman, -"what did I tell you? He </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> my doctor. I -got 'is confinement card in me pocket this -minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She can't stop 'ere you know, Dr. Brink," -expostulated a constable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take her home," said the round man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be a lot better in the 'orspital," muttered -the constable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm obliged for your opinion, officer; -but I think I'll have my own way </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> -time. Catch hold of her middle, will you, -Sonny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was your servant who had the honour -to be addressed as Sonny, and he hastened -to do the little round man's bidding. When -we had got the lady into a perpendicular -attitude, the doctor put his arm about her, -and, anticipating the little man's commands, -your servant did the same. And so we led -her from the stall, all the cut-throats of -Bovingdon Street following reverently behind -us. Happily our march was not a long one, -for the patient lived in Smith Street; and -Smith Street, as everybody knows, is the -second turning past the African Chief -beer-house in Bovingdon Street. Short as the -journey was, however, I could have wished -it to be shorter: for the cut-throats pressed -us close, breathing thickly about our ears; -and the woman weighed heavy, having no -manner of use for her legs and being stupid -in the head. She only spoke once during -the walk, and that was to say, in a drowsy -sort of monotone: "'E done it—in drink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We came at last to 13, Smith Street, and -the fact that eighteen eager faces were -already distributed among the six small -windows of that dwelling-house removed my -latent fears that our arrival would disturb -"the neighbours." The owners of these -faces were entirely mute, save for one, an -elderly woman, who, in a loud wail, made -certain representations to Providence in -regard to one 'Erry Barber, whom I understood -to be the lusty gallant primarily responsible -for this adventure. Having repeated -these commands a great number of times, -and having exercised undoubted talent in -describing 'Erry and 'Erry's parentage, the -old woman proceeded to chronicle her views -respecting a vast number of alien subjects. -At last this lady had the great misfortune to -"catch her breath," at which the doctor -cut in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop that beastly noise!" he shouted, -"and shut the window, and put on a -respectable garment, and come downstairs and -let us in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady looked benignly down upon us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go' bless ye, doctor," she exclaimed, -"you are a good man. But you didn't -ought to talk like that to </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>. I lorst a son -in the Bower war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that moment the door was opened by -some other dweller in the house. And the -doctor and his patient entered in. Not -knowing the neighbourhood and not liking -it, and being also of a curious nature, I -awaited the doctor's return. I had not long -to wait. He came out very soon, and we -walked away together into clearer air. And -the doctor spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a deuced queer thing," he said, "that -a man can't stop for five minutes at a dam -coffee stall without some fool or other finding -work for him. I'll never go to that stall -again. I'll be damned if I will. I ought to -have got home half an hour ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I said—I believe that vaguely I -sought to comfort him—"and she </span><em class="italics">would</em><span> -have been better off in the infirmary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk foolishness, young man," -replied the round little doctor. "You are -talking dam nonsense. Infirmary—pooh! With -a baby almost due, and with all those bruises! -They would have made a complete job of it -there. They would have kept her there for -the lying-in and all—a six weeks' job at -least."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And would that matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Matter? Of course it would. That man -will be out in a week, even if our local -humorist doesn't let him off with a fine. -What's to become of that poor girl's home, -do you suppose, while she's in and he's out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would he touch it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you live in this neighbourhood, sir?" The -doctor wore a visage as of painful -wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I explained that I didn't.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor's wonder grew. "What under -heaven are you doing in the purlieus of Mile -End Road at two in the morning, then?" he -demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," I said, with grand simplicity, "you -behold in me the representative of an -inexpensive but celebrated newspaper. I am -come here, by editorial instruction, to seek -out Blossom, the chimney-sweep philosopher, -whose opinion on horse-racing we are -anxious to secure for our magazine page. -But Blossom has evaporated. Mrs. Blossom -vainly seeketh him. So does the other -woman's husband. I have prepared a full -and detailed report of this disgraceful scandal, -which will appear, together with photographs, -on our sermon page next Sunday. And as, -when I communicated by telephone with my -editor, he was so kind as to relieve me from -further intellectual activity for the day, and -as I do not know Mile End, and as I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind the 'ases,'" interpolated the -doctor. "My name is Brink. I like your -politics."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no politics," I explained. "But -... I hate my job."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what I mean," replied the doctor. -"... So you want me to send this woman to -the infirmary, where they will feed her well -and keep her warm between white sheets, -and give her copies of the </span><em class="italics">Nineteenth -Century</em><span> to read. But during that time, you -see, her 'man' and some other woman would -be pawning her home. She knows this, and -I know it. So I took her home. If she has -concussion, of course, she'll </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> to go; but -short of that we can get her through it at -home. There's a boilerman's wife in the -room above who has rudimentary graces. -Infirmary, forsooth! Why, even the -respectable married ones would rather pawn their -wedding rings than 'lie in' on a public bed. -A woman at home is a woman at home, even -though she talks through the mouth of a -midwife; but when a woman is in hospital -William's wages and the marble ornaments -are both at William's mercy. And so the -women stop at home and call in -Brink—Brink—the sixpenny doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed. "Is it </span><em class="italics">really</em><span> sixpence—your -fee, I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is </span><em class="italics">really</em><span> sixpence. And my income is -twelve hundred a year. I used to have a -respectable half-guinea practice in Norfolk, -and then I was doing eight hundred, and -spending it all on dog-carts and -dinner-parties. Here I have no expenses at all, -except in the matter of top-hats; they insist -upon top-hats. And I like the place: I am -charmed with the people. Do you like -smoked salmon and cold duck?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then come inside, and have some. And -have a look at James. James will do you -good. James is unique. And I can give -you a bed, and I can tell you stories, and -show you some fun, too—sideways sort of -fun—at sixpence a time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sixpenny pieces," I suggested, as his -key turned in the lock.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="concerning-james"><span class="bold large">II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">CONCERNING JAMES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have confused impressions of that first -visit to the house of Dr. Brink. It was so -late when we entered, you see, and all within -the house was strange and unexpected, and -the duck and Burgundy were very peace-provoking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sort of house which I had expected -the doctor to inhabit was not at all the sort -of house he really lived in. I had, perhaps, -no very definite ideas at all. One knows -the </span><em class="italics">ordinary</em><span> doctor's house: a cool and -studious consulting-room, having leathern -armchairs and a telephone and a stethoscope -and some framed engravings after Landseer -and a silver goblet which he won at tennis -in the eighties and a case of text-books and -a mule canary and claret plush curtains and -the centenary edition of Sir Walter Scott. -And a very quiet and lofty waiting-room, -containing all the illustrated papers for last -April and a reading-glass and a stereoscope, -besides a decanter of water and three clean -tumblers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One knows that sort of house, I say, and -likewise the gentle, murmuring press of -sufferers which lays siege to it. But the -spot-cash practitioners of Mile End Road -are rather strange and foreign to us. We do -not go into their little, weird -consulting-hatches nor sweat amid the tumult of -their vulgar patrons. We can imagine -what the thing is like: and there are -some of us perhaps who imagine truthfully. -I didn't.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My imagination did not run to Japanese -colour prints and pastel studies, and neatly -framed examples of the art of Mr. Nicholson. -And yet these things were hung upon the -white distempered walls of Dr. Brink's -infirmary. I figured the tumult as gazing -speechlessly upon these curious East End -substitutes for Landseer. "What do they -think of them?" I asked the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are much amused," said he. We -were standing before a pastel when he -spoke—a thing of heavy shadows with purple -deeps, wherefrom there stood forth dimly -the figures of a crippled man and an old -sick woman, and the face of a child with -brazen eyes. "Out Patients" was the title -of this drawing, and it preached of a divine -torture. "They are much amused," said the -doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But this was in the morning. That night -we did not look at pictures, nor at patients. -We sat above and supped off duck and -Burgundy. I saw confusedly—it was a -pleasant confusion—that there were many -good pictures in the house, and that books -were everywhere—everywhere. And the -bottle was a full one. And we spoke of -olives and the Norfolk women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he took me to a little brown room -with more books in it, and a bedstead which -was of oak and carven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night," said the doctor. "You -shall see old James to-morrow. You will -like old James. Good-night."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When morning came, I had the pleasure -of viewing Bovingdon Street in the sunshine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a queer sort of sunshine, to be -sure—weak and uncertain and rather dirty: -a sort of actinic heel-taps. But I remember -thinking that any less shabby form of -sunshine would have carried with it an air of -disrespect, as though it had come forth to -mock at the gloom and ugliness of the thing -beneath it. A gloomier, sillier, dirtier street -than Bovingdon Street I do not wish to see. -But I have seen such all the same. Indeed, -I have looked upon some filth and squalor -beside which Bovingdon Street is as the -Mall compared to Worship Street. So much -I must admit in common fairness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was at least no actual squalor in -the street on which I looked: only dirt and -gloom and ugliness. The houses which -faced me were comparatively new, and they -were small and neat, and of a square and -thick-set build. But there happened to be -one hundred and sixty of them, each exactly -like its neighbour, and having each before -its doorway a small pale or enclosure -containing—cinders and rags and pieces of -paper and battered cans and smudgy babies -and hungry cats. And there was grime on -all the windows, and in front of them a very -vulgar man was selling bloaters, loudly. -Also, in all that soot-brown avenue there -was one white thing: a hawthorn tree in -bloom, which shuddered gently in the -fog-shine like a discontented spectre. And those -ridiculous fat houses stood there stoutly, -shoulder to shoulder, one hundred and sixty -of them, eyeing her with dolour. And a -voice beneath my window made speech, -saying loudly: "You give me my daughter's -combings back, ye thievin' slut." So I left -the window and lighted a pipe and crawled -back into bed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And then, as the story writers say, a strange -thing happened. There came a sudden tap -upon my bedroom door, and without further -warning there entered in a—a lady. She -was rather a young lady, to be sure, some -fifteen years of age, perhaps. And she -was wearing a petticoat—a striped petticoat—and -her hair was dressed into innumerable -pigtails, and her top was covered by—by -a—a—don't they call it a camisole? And she -bade me "Good-morning," very calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"G—G—Good-morning!" I responded. -I hoped to heaven that I was not blushing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't trouble to scream," said the lady, -in an off-hand manner. "It is all right: I -have come for my stockings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really," I began, a little hotly, "</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> haven't -ta——" And then I stopped. A horrible -thought presented itself to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Brink no doubt combined the -practice of alienism with that of spot-cash -cures. And this lady was doubtless an -"inmate." And——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The voice of the inmate interrupted me. -"It's quite all right, really it is. I'm not -accusing you of theft or anything else. I -only want to get my stockings from this -cupboard. Mrs. Gomm, our 'char,' she -mixes things up so. And I want a brown -pair, because this is my day for being -respectable with my aunt at Ealing, and you -wear your brown dress and a neat toque -for that sort of thing; and where the devil -that woman has—oh, here we are. Want -darning, of course. Damn!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Swearing seemed to be a widespread -habit in this unusual household. I -coughed—the sort of cough you use when children -are present and your deaf Uncle David is -reviving his recollections of India in the -sixties.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," protested my visitor, "you really -needn't look so worried. It's all right, really. -This is my room, you know; theoretically, -you know. Only I always sleep in the -bathroom (we've got a bath-room, you know, -and there's a lid to it, and I sleep on that), -and I always sleep there because it's a long -way from Fatty, and I can't hear him raving -when the night-bell rings. And Fatty——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me," I cried, "but who is Fatty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady looked at me a little blankly. -"Who is Fatty?" she repeated, but then -broke off, a light as of understanding in her -eye. "I was forgetting," she said. "Of -course, you wouldn't know. Well, it is -like this, you see. This house belongs -to a man called Brink, who is a doctor -and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know all that," I assured her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you do know all about it, then," -quoth she; "I wasn't sure, you know. Most -of the strange people that I find in my -bedroom if I happen to look in for anything -don't know anything at all about us. Fatty -finds them—gathers them up, you know—and -brings them home and feeds them and -converts them to Socialism and puts them -to bed, and when they wake up in the -morning they have to have it all explained -to them. Fatty is Dr. Brink, you know. -One always calls him Fatty, because his -proper names are Theobald Henry de la -Rue, and you simply haven't time in the -mumps season. You're a reformer, I -suppose? What do you reform?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reform!" I cried, "what do </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> reform? -Why, I don't reform at all. I've never -reformed a blue-bottle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But surely you're against something or -other. You </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> be against something!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," I answered, "if it comes to -that, I—I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so," assented the lady. "Don't go -into particulars. They </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> particularise. I -could stand much from you—more than -usual, I mean—because you are clean-shaven, -and that is such a change from most -of the other powerful thinkers whom one -finds here in the morning. They are staunch, -you know, and sound on the Education -Question and all that sort of thing, and they -are a useful hobby for Fatty to take up; -but they're rather old and solemn, as a rule, -you know. And they </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> go into details! -Now </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> seem rather jolly; and when you've -got up and we've been properly introduced -and I've boiled your egg, I'll show you my -white rats. Do you like white rats?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I adore them," said your servant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. And, I say, I hope you won't -mind, but you'll have to toilet yourself in -the kitchen sink. Our 'char's' such a rotter, -you know, and I see she hasn't filled your -jug—she never does—and she doesn't come -till ten, and I've got to finish dressing, and -Fatty's out on a call, and there's all the -breakfast to get; and when you've done -your toilet </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you mind just putting a match -to the gas stove and sticking a kettle on? -Thanks awfully." ... My fair guest flung -herself upon the door. All of her, save -a corner of the stripy petticoat, had -disappeared, when I put in </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> important question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," I cried, "who </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me," cried a voice from behind the -door—"me? Oh ... I am James."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="first-impressions"><span class="bold large">III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">FIRST IMPRESSIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>With breakfast came the opportunity of -renewing my </span><em class="italics">entente</em><span> with James. That young -lady appeared now fully clothed in the -conventional garments of her age, even to a -pinafore with seven pockets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you put in all those pockets?" -I inquired, as she tripped in with the bacon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most of them," she answered, "contain -white rats.... I thought," she added, -eyeing me closely, as I drifted in a thoughtful -manner to the far end of the table, "I thought -you </span><em class="italics">adored</em><span> white rats?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is quite so," I responded. "The -dear, dumb creatures! I—I idolise them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Why</em><span> do you idolise them?" demanded -James, putting on a very subtile smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," I answered, "because they—they -are so dumb and—and so white."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why do you shudder at them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I explained my attitude towards white -rats. "It is not fear which makes me -seem to shrink," I pointed out, "only a -sense of—of—well, you see, the white rats -which I have previously adored were -confined within a cage, which contained a sort -of treadmill, which they worked with their -feet, and you watched this talented display -from a distance, and wondered if they never -grew tired. But——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those wheel-cages," interpolated James, -"are the most damnable contrivances which -were ever invented. Whenever I see one I -buy it and burn it. That is one reason why -I happen to have so many rats. I think that -the people who make those things ought to -be devoured by locusts. I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You also have the spirit of reform, then?" -I ventured to suggest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reform!" echoed James, with a bitter -laugh. "Because one hates to see things -tortured? </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> call it common decency. All -of Fatty's friends have got some wonderful -new name for being decent. One of Fatty's -most particular friends is a rather awful man -named Boag, and he is a public accountant, -and he wears spats, and he calls himself a -Conative Meliorist; and if you ask him why, -he says it is because he believes in making -people happy. 'Conative Meliorist'! Think -of it! Sounds so expensive, doesn't it? He -pronounces his name in two jerks—Bo—ag, -and it always reminds me of Asheg, Mesheg, -and Abednedgo.... He looks exactly like -them, too! 'Conative Meliorist'! It is much -easier to call yourself just James."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you call yourself 'James,' by the way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us stick to the point," responded -James. "It is so like a man to dodge your -arguments when he can't upset them. What -was the point?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Conative Meliorism," I suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was merely a passing reference. -There was something else which reminded -me of Mr. Boag. Something which reminded -me of something which reminded me of -something which remind—I remember now. -We were talking of white rats. You were -pretending not to hate them. You were -trying to deceive me. Your pretendings -don't take me in the leastest bit, so you may -just as well chuck them up. Be honest. Be -a man. Stand up like an English gentleman. -Say what you feel about them. Do -not fear to shock my virgin ears because——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How old are you, James?" I hoped that -my simple, honest, obvious wonder would -disarm the question of its point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady gazed upon me with an air of -bland surprise. "That is a question," she -answered, with great gravity, "which I never -discuss. It isn't fair to Fatty. </span><em class="italics">Do</em><span> sit down. -Was it sugar and no milk, you said; or milk -and no sugar? And will you have hysterics -if Sunshine joins the circle? He always -breakfasts with his mother. Oh, de minna, -tinna, tooney Sunshine, den."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sunshine was a rat—the whitest and -roundest and fattest of them all.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I, nevertheless, contrived to breakfast well. -Sunshine's mistress was thoughtful enough -to curtail the radius of that minna, tinna, -tooney animal's accustomed beat: with the -result that I was able to keep my seat. And -his mistress stayed him with dainties and -prattled cheerfully upon a variety of strange -subjects. It was no good waiting breakfast -for Fatty, she explained, because Fatty's -"call" was a "midder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what in heaven's name," I -demanded, "may a 'midder' be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," explained James, "is what Fatty -calls an 'obstetric term.' When people have -babies, you know. Do you know what -'B.B.A.' means?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I didn't.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's another trade expression. It stands -for 'Born Before Arrival,' and it's what you -always pray for, because it saves a lot of -time, and they have to pay you just the -same. Our fee is half a guinea, and you can -pay it by instalments if you like. But if it -is your first baby we charge a guinea, because -your husband is a lot more trouble to us, and -he is not always sober. And whatever the -fee, we do our very best for you, and pride -ourselves on our results; but as we get about -seven 'midders' every day, we are not able -to make so many compliments as we did in -Norfolk.... Fatty calls it his Automatic -Delivery System."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl, as she spoke, looked very "nice" -and English: she was feeding Sunshine -from a fork. I began to wonder whether it -was actually possible that she did not realise -the horrible impropriety of her conversation. -As an Englishman, I knew my duty. That -duty was to represent to her in suitable terms -that her conduct was abandoned and impure. -But the religious duty of causing maidens to -blush is one which is best performed by the -Righteous, who perform it so well and often.... -I concealed my horror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the maiden prattled on. "Some of -them are fearfully grateful. Do you see that -old stuffed owl in the dusty case, there? -That's a present—to me. It only came -yesterday, and it's a token of gratitude from -a Jewish lady in the fish trade. This is her -sixth, and the first five were all girls. She -used to deal with our opposition—Dr. McWhite—but -when the fifth female came -along they changed over to Fatty, and this -stuffed owl is what he calls a tribute to -professional ability. And there's Fatty's key in -the door. Seize his bacon, will you—it's in -the fender."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was rather annoyed with Dr. Brink -for returning just then. I had mapped out -a series of leading questions designed to -elicit James's age and identity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when the little hungry man came in, -I felt that these questions were unimportant -and could wait. It was interesting enough -to help that busy scientist to mustard, and to -hear him curse the Liberal Government -with his mouth full of bacon, and to watch -the quiet motherliness of James.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Regular multitude in the waiting-room," -announced the doctor, as he gulped his -coffee. "Got to get back there quick. -You'd better pop down with me, youngster, -and get a squint at it all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You sit on the gas-stove in the kitchen," -explained James. "There's a window just -above it which gives on to the consulting-room, -and it's painted on the kitchen side, -and I've scratched a little squint-hole in the -paint.... I often go down there when the -drunks come in—the </span><em class="italics">funny</em><span> drunks, I mean. -Sometimes they are not funny. And Mr. Boag, -the Conative Meliorist, sits there by -the hour. He calls it 'supping with misery.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll spend the day with us, I -suppose?" suggested the little doctor. And, -as it was Saturday, and therefore a holiday -in my trade, I supposed that I would.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then they introduced me to the gas-stove.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sixpences"><span class="bold large">IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">SIXPENCES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I sat on the gas-stove, with James beside -me, and we applied our eyes in turn to the -squint-hole and beheld the Doctor earning -sixpences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Item:</em><span> A young gentleman with the -hiccoughs. Was feeling suicidal. How was -his appetite? Shocking, shocking! -Digestion in good order? On the contrary, it -was shocking bad. What sort of nights? -Shocking! Spirits low? Shocking low. -Did his head ache? Shockingly. Food -taste dull? Absolutely shocking. Young -gentleman receives some advice on the -subject of alcoholic excess and a bottle of -water, fortified by harmless colouring matter. -Young gentleman departs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Item:</em><span> Tired woman with baby in -convulsions. Baby's dietary discussed. Woman -indignant. "Why," she declares, "'e 'as -the very same as us!" Baby dismissed with -a powder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Item:</em><span> Slow-spoken man with a jellied -thumb. "Door jamb," he explains. "Want -a stifficut. Works at the Brewery. Want -another stifficut for the Insurance. 'Urry -up. 'Ow much? Good-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then an old woman came in—a very old -woman, with rosy cheeks and a clean apron, -and querulous, childish eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want some morphium," she says, "to -soothe meself down. Not that I got a right -to look for much—at my age."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor became jocular. "What!" -he cried. "A fine woman like you? -Morphia for you? What? With those cheeks? -</span><em class="italics">What?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't got no happetite," said the old -woman. "And there's shooting pains in -me 'ead, and I don't sleep proper, and I -seems to feel lonesome, and I wants some -morphium to soothe meself down with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's your favourite dinner dish?" -inquired our inconsequent wag of a doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't got no favourites," replied the -woman. "I'm old, I am; what should I -do with favourites at my age? I want -some morphium to soothe meself down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> your age—sixty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall never see sixty again," said the -woman. "Nor I shan't see seventy. Nor -eighty. I'm old."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you mean to tell me," cried the -doctor, with sudden heat, "that you do not -care for tripe? Good tripe, mind you—tender -tripe, very well boiled, with just a -flavouring of onions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I did," protested the woman, -"who's to cook it for me? There's so -many young women to get the favours now -I find, and me so old. Can't I have a little -morphium, Doctor: the brown mixture, ye -know? To soothe meself down with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The young ones get the favouring, eh? -Do you live with a young woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I lives with two on 'em—worse luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Daughters?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Daughters? Me? No, sir. I'm a -maiden, I am.... It's me landlady what I -lives with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doesn't she cook for you? I've got -some tripe in the kitchen, and I thought—but, -of course, if it can't be cooked, -why—— What's all this about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rosy-cheeked old maiden was crying, -"I'm too old," she sobbed; "it's the young -ones gets the favouring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said the doctor, "and so your -landlady is unkind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not unkind, sir," said the woman, gently -swallowing the doctor's bait; "she's a good -woman, as they go, only I'm growed so old, -and a young woman has come into our house, -and I'm sorry to say, doctor, as she has -'leniated my landlady away from me. She -is a young woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you get some other lodgings?" -suggested the doctor. "You oughtn t to -be neglected."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not say I ham neglected, Doctor. -That would be huntrue. I am not blaming -anybody. I honly say I'm old. And this -new lodger she's 'leniated my landlady away -from me. She's young, you see. Well -under seventy, she is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They're all alike, these minxes," said -the doctor, with a wistful smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got nothing to say agin her, mind you," -protested the old woman. "Not agin neether. -My landlady, she was very good and kind -to me at one time; but now this young one -'ave come, and I ham sorry to say as she -'ave 'leniated my landlady away from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't fret about the matter, -anyhow," suggested Dr. Brink. "You'll make -friends with your landlady soon again; I'm -sure you will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We was never bad friends," explained -the woman. "We're friends to-day, on'y -not </span><em class="italics">sich</em><span> friends, if you understand me. This -new lodger, you see, she has 'leniated my -landlady away from me. That's what it is. -She 'ave leniated her. She's a </span><em class="italics">young</em><span> woman, -you see! ... Will you give me some -morphium, Doctor; just to soothe meself down -with?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The maiden got her morphia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The maiden was succeeded by another -woman—a mother. She carried a bundle, -partly occupied by a baby. She was a lewd -and dirty woman, and engaged my friend in -the following dialogue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: I warra soothin' surrup for my -baby yere. 'E's fidgety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: How fidgety?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: Well: look at the little blighter. -'E's got the blasted jumps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Of course he's got the jumps. -He's dying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: Warra mean—dyin'?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I mean that he will soon be dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: Whaffor?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Because he's starving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: Warra mean—starving?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I mean that he is squirming mad -from hunger. Breast fed, of course?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: Warra mean, ye bleatin' image?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Breast fed, of course?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: Ye bleatin' image! 'Oo the 'ell -you think </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> are?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Breast fed, of course?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE (</span><em class="italics">weeping wildly</em><span>): Me starve my -baby? Ow, ow, ow, ow!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Breast fed, of course?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: Ow, ow—why cert'nly 'e's breast -fed! 'Ow else d'ye think a pore workin' -woman's goin' ter manage? And 'im not -five months old. And one of yere own -deliveries. Cert'nly e's breast fed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: That's the trouble, you see. No -baby can be nourished on gin and stout. -He's starving, I tell you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: And I tell ye it's a dirty lie. -I'm for ever feedin' 'im. 'E's for ever -worryin'. Sich a happetite this little -beggar's got. Warra mean, me starve 'im? -Warra mean, yere gin and beer? I suckle -the little dear meself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: And what do you feed yourself on?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: That's my business, ain't it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: It's my business, too. If you -want that baby to live, you'd best look sharp -and feed him. Get sober. I can't cure the -baby. The only person who can cure him -is yourself. And to do that you must leave -off getting drunk. You must eat some -decent food. You're living on alcohol at -present. No baby can be nourished on gin -and stout.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FEMALE: S'elp me Gawd, Doctor—s'elp -me Gawd, young man, if I die this minute—s'elp -me Gawd I ain't 'ad only two 'arf-pints -since yisterday. I take them a-purpose for -the boy's own sake, young man. 'E don't -seem to fancy it, some'ow, unless I 'as me -drop o' stout. See what I mean, Doctor? -I takes what I do for the baby's own sake: -'e </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> 'ave it, bless 'is little 'eart.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-hypocrites"><span class="bold large">V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE HYPOCRITES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>During a lull in the sixpenny battle -Dr. Brink held parley with me, standing on the -seat of his official chair and peering through -the top of his consulting-room window. -"Are you comfortable on that gas-stove?" -inquired the learned doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The gas-stove," I said, "is very well; -but—er—comfort, you know, is not exactly -the word. It—it—I say, you know, that -woman with the dying baby was rather -quaint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This," said the doctor, "is a quaint sort -of gas-stove. We often roast chaps on it. -Do you like beer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much," I answered, "but my -brother plays the flute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," pursued my host, ignoring -this effort at repartee, "my consultations are -nearly over for this morning, and then I am -going my round, and that is a short one, and -I shall be back here by one o'clock, and after -that I propose to brew some beer. Would -you like to help me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The proposition was not without a certain -suddenness, but I was getting used to this -household, and did not betray my surprise. -Also, I accepted the invitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Righto! Come about yourself? How's -your appetite?" said the doctor, in one -breath, as he disappeared from the window -and readdressed himself to business.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And in the afternoon we duly did this -brewing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One brews in Baffin's studio," explained -the doctor, with a slight yawn, as he led -me through the kitchen door into his little -yard, all bright with tulips. "Baffin's studio -is really our washhouse, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who is Baffin?" I demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the Leicestershire Baffins," -replied the doctor gravely. "His mother -was a Pillbrook. His uncle——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I begged the doctor to restrain his gift -of humour. "Where is Baffin? What is -he?" I demanded again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said the doctor, "if you are really -commonplace enough to be interested in a -man himself when you ask, "who he is," -I will expound this Baffin to you. He has -red hair and freckles, and he is one of the -Leicestershire Baffins, and he hates the -Leicestershire Baffins, and he is a youth of -great talents, who is supposed to live here, -but at present he is reforming the Royal -Academy, and reviving poster art in -England. And he never puts anything where -he will find it again, or shuts a drawer or -folds his clothes. He is a genius. -And—— Look out, I say, that's Baffin's bag."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> Baffin's bag, and it assisted your -servant in the performance of a complicated -somersault. Baffin had left it on his doorstep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin's doorstep led into quite the wildest -washhouse which I have ever viewed. -Baffin's bed, consisting of three brown -blankets strewn oddly upon a damaged -ottoman, occupied most of the foreground, and -behind this object lay, in some confusion, -waistcoats, and easels, and broken chairs, and -bas-reliefs, and unclean collars, and -portfolios, and fencing sticks, and a rusty helm -and vizor out of Wardour Street. And the -walls were covered with crayon drawings -and printed posters, all of them attached to -the plaster by means of one corner and a -pin, and all of them being curled at the -edges and tanned with exposure. It was -noticeable, also, that a bust of the Blessed -Virgin, after Cinquevalli, was situated within -the font or cavity of the copper. We -removed this object in order to make room for -the beer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I observed also that Mr. Baffin's studio -was beautified by one mural design of a -permanent nature. This consisted of a sum -in compound arithmetic, performed by means -of charcoal. I studied this inscription with -interest. There was</span></p> -<pre class="literal-block"> -<span> £3 5 - 20 - ----- -£65 0</span> -</pre> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A fairly obvious, if unconventional, piece -of mathematical deduction. We were then -faced with a new problem, somewhat more -mysterious in its workings. Thus:—</span></p> -<pre class="literal-block"> -<span> 65 - 98 - -- - 13)163(12 Carry 3 - 13 - -- - 33 - 26 - -- - 7 - 12 - ---- - 12/7 - ---- -Total £1 12s. 7d.</span> -</pre> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I must own to being strangely touched -by this pathetic effort on the part of Baffin -to solve the mysteries of an alien art. I -also reflected that the result of his -calculations, though wayward and inscrutable in -itself, was probably touched with a profound -and poignant importance to Baffin. It -represented cigarettes and dinners—£1 12s. 7d. worth, -more or less. A fellow-feeling made -me fear it must be less. There was a -hurried, insignificant, shamefaced look about -the figures wherewith Baffin had recorded -his results. They indubitably pointed to a -debit balance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Mr. Baffin himself strolled in, -and we were presented to each other, and -he helped us boil the beer. He helped us -in intention rather than effect, for Mr. Baffin -possessed a thoughtful, halting, introspective -mind, and, as Dr. Brink had observed, he -did not put things where they could be -found again. Also, he was rather wrapped -up in me. "I say, you know," he had -observed, "I wish you would sit for me. You -would make a splendid model for my oyster -seller. I am doing the New Cut by night, -you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you in love?" demanded Mr. Baffin, -a little later. I said, "Of course." "Will -you bring her round, then?" continued -Mr. Baffin. "And to what end?" I said. "I -am collecting lovers," explained this talented -and candid youth. "I want that rapt look. -Paid models are no use at all, you know. -Amateurs aren't much better, of course, -because they all have prejudices against -yearning in public. But I am hoping to find -the exception in time, and you have a natural -sort of expression—rather—and so I -thought—I give you tea, you know, and drinks -when there are any. All you have to do -is to sit on the throne and embrace. I hope -she's dark. Next Tuesday would be a good day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I promised Mr. Baffin that I would submit -his proposition to all the ladies with whom I -happened to be in love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the liquid in the copper arrived -at a perfect temperature and we became all -silent in the pursuit of brewing. And James -came in to help us, observing that the -attractions of brewing transcended those of her -aunt at Ealing, and that she had postponed -her visit to that respectable lady. And some -of the doctor's friends looked in, including -Mr. Pudsey, the lyric poet, and Boag -(conative meliorist), who invited me to dine with -him, and Jenny Brown, the painter, and -Miss Blick, of the Women's Social and -Political Union, and Mr. Webb, the local -curate, who explained to me, with an air of -bold originality, that Christianity and -Socialism had points in common. And we partook -of tea from Breton mugs, and were secretly -amused at each other. And in the midst of -it all a gas engine arrived at the surgery -door, and said "Honk! Honk!" And the -doctor rushed out and came back looking sad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Lady Budge, the new member's -wife," he said with dolour; "and she has -come in her motor to discuss the poor. -James, old girl, I am awfully sorry, but you -have got to be respectable. Her ladyship is -waiting upstairs now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A period of wild excitement followed, -while we all helped James to comb her hair -and climb into the speckled pinafore of a -blameless life. "I will do my best," said -James; "but I am sure I shall forget and call -you 'Fatty.' Is it father or papa to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her ladyship," responded the doctor, -"is, I think, the kind of ladyship who would -prefer papa. Let her do all the good she -wants to. Mention that we've got a curate -here. Webb and I will come up in a little -while and collect the cheque. Don't harrow -her. She's the kind of ladyship who likes -to do business with </span><em class="italics">respectable</em><span> poverty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When, a little later, we went upstairs, -James was sedately sipping more tea from a -cup. And her ladyship was talking, and -James was viewing her with eyes of -innocence and wonder. "I quite agree with you," -said James, "that alpaca is the most sensible -thing for people of that class."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin was dragged in, and the doctor -loudly proclaimed him as being of the -Leicestershire Baffins, and her ladyship suddenly -looked interested and human.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an artist?" she said. "How -very charming!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin, who had done very well up to then, -became suddenly ponderful again. "I say," -he blurted forth, at last, "couldn't I persuade -you to sit for me some time? You are the -very thing I have been looking out for. For -my angel's back, you know."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="conatus"><span class="bold large">VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">CONATUS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I accepted Mr. Boag's invitation and dined -with him—at the National Liberal Club. -They wine you at this place in a manner -which is singularly perfect. I cannot, at this -distance of time, state exactly what topics -formed the subject of Mr. Boag's improving -conversation; but I can say that, regarded -from the standpoint of Meliorism, his dinner -was an emphatic success. And when it was -quite over I found myself upon the Thames -Embankment smiling cheerfully, as was -becoming to the happy circumstance of my -conversion to Mr. Boag's cheerful doctrines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And thus it was that I came to take part, -unofficially, at another dinner party; a repast -</span><em class="italics">à deux</em><span>, with epigrams, and incident, all in -the most approved style of romance. The -</span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> is consecrated to literature by a -thousand charming precedents. I shall -certainly offer no apology for submitting this -one to your indulgent consideration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were dining off alabaster—or was it -granite?—at the foot of Cleopatra's Needle; -and I remarked particularly the singular -blueness of Strephon's fingers. The glorious -revelation, recently vouchsafed to me, of -Conative truths, had so warmed my heart, -had set up such a tingling within my veins -(which were themselves protected from chill -by several layers of wool and cambric) that -the few degrees of frost prevailing at the -moment had not yet become evident to my -senses. Strephon, of course, was in another -case, being appropriately clad in garments -partaking of the nature of gossamer. And -he, besides, had not been privileged to -receive the truths of Meliorism. Wherefore, -he must blow upon his nail, and pinch his -scrubby cheek, and utter blasphemies, crying, -"Christ, mate, but this wind ain't 'arf a -nipper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she (the Chlöe of this story: the one -whom he addressed as "mate") made answer -thus: "Then do as I tell you, an' drink that up!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But 'ere, 'old 'ard!" cried Strephon, as -she poked a little bottle at his lips—"that's -your share, ain't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not be rights," said the woman, blushing -a little—or seeming to blush; for she was a -battered, sodden thing, and her cheek had -lost its quickness. "It ain't my share, be -rights. I—I 'ad a sip at yourn. Besides, -I've lorst me liking fur that Irish stuff. Give -me Scotch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> Scotch, ain't it?" said the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is, bad luck to it," replied the woman -quickly. "I've lost me likin' fur it, I tell -you. Give me Irish!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said the man, and he swallowed -her share.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pocketed the empty bottle with a little -shiver of contentment. The woman shivered -also, and plucked at an imaginary shawl. -"Now then, boy," she cried, with sudden -cheerfulness; "wake up, you ain't 'arf a -eater. Why don't ye punch into that other -'am bone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I shall," responded Boy, with a full -mouth, "when I done this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Righto, dearie," said the woman quietly, -with a sideways look at the ham bone and -another little shiver. Then she drew closer -to her companion and looked at him silently, -with pity in her awful eyes. "It's a funny -thing about you," she said at last; "you to -be on the rocks at your age—a boy like you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm rather independent in me nature," -explained the "Boy." "I've stood fur me -rights and suffered by it. 'Ad some good -jobs in me time. 'Ad some money too. I -was a bit lucky over cards. Retired for a -year an' done it in. Ain't 'ad no luck since."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Funny, ain't it," said the woman, still -with that strange softness in her shameful -eyes. "Funny, ain't it," she repeated: "a -boy like you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so much o' yere 'Boy,'" protested -Strephon; "I'm twenty-four."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" cried the woman, crouching closer, -"what price yere 'umble then? </span><em class="italics">I'm</em><span> turned -forty-four."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Strephon looked lazily at her, munching -his ham bone steadily. She made a queer -figure, strange to see beside that world-old -monument, with her swollen, bloodless face, -and button nose, and greedy eyes, and -ravelled, rusty hair, the colour of an old -dog-fox's pelt. And that which was upon -her head, a time-worn sailor-hat, set at a -ridiculous angle, increased the queerness of -her. "What price yere 'umble?" she cried -again, with a shrill little creak of laughter; -"turned forty-four, I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yus," said Strephon simply, "and you look it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He continued to munch at his ham bone, -and she continued to leer at him, showing -neither anger nor surprise. But the flat smile -on her face grew gradually flatter, and again -she shivered, plucking at the shawl which -was not there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the man looked up from his ham -bone and spoke to her. "'Ow much did 'e -give you for it?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman uttered a sequence of scalding oaths.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The stingy swine," cried she, "'e give -me a tanner; that's what 'e give me—a lousy -tanner. See if I don't jolly well pop back -there and 'ave a shawl's worf out of 'is stinkin' -till—the stingy Jew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" said the man, evincing a sort of -interest. "Are you in that line, then? Tills -and ceterer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm in any blessed line, I am," said the -woman, "s' long as there's the price of a fag -in it. Never 'eard o' Nottingham Kate, I -suppose? That's me. I was well known -in me time. 'Twas I what done that -drugging affair at Weedon, when we put them -orficers through it. They made a lot of that -job at the time. I done five year for that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," commented Strephon, still gnawing -patiently at his bone, "it ain't much -to yere credit. I'm on the straight ticket -meself. Per'aps if I'd knowed the sort of -character you—but there: you ain't so bad -as some on 'em. Harlot, or thief, or what -not, you've treated me quite fair.... -Gurrr! ... Christ, but it's cold!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chronic!" said the woman, pressing her -senseless fingers to her neck, in the way -which women have.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 'am," reflected Strephon, "just -sooted me all right. Wish I 'ad a fag now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without a word, the woman struggled to -her feet, and descended the steps of the -pedestal, half walking, half crawling, like a -child. She peered into the darkness, and -must have beheld a figure there; for she at -once came forward, with stiff, uncertain steps, -and having spoken to him, returned to her -pedestal the possessor of all his cigarettes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Strike me now," cried Strephon, beholding -her treasure with incredulous eyes; "you -</span><em class="italics">are</em><span> a deep one. You don't 'arf know the -ropes. Take one yerself, won't ye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Chlöe took a cigarette and lighted it; but -Strephon, after fumbling hopelessly with a -matchbox, threw the thing away from him -in petulant despair. "See here," cried he. -"Look at them things, there! Them's my -'ands; was once. Look at 'em. Gawd -'elp me, look at 'em. I can't bend 'em; I -can't move 'em; Gawd 'elp me, I can't ser -much as lift 'em. I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Chide, taking the cigarette from her lips, -placed it between his, which silenced them. -And then she took his hands, and with a -little laugh—the same old creak of a -laugh—she widened the gaping juncture of her -bodice, and placed his senseless hands within -it, where they lay warm beside her bosom. -The sudden contact of the ice-cold substance -forced a little shriek from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a good idea, mate, that is," declared -her Strephon. "'Ope you won't catch cold?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Co-old?" cried the woman, with a little -tremor. "Co-ld be damned. Us women -is different from you blo-o-kes. We kin -sta-and more cold. We got more warmth -be na-ature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Strephon, and he blew forth -a fat, contented cloud of cigarette smoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a silence, disturbed by the -chattering of the woman's teeth. Then, at -last, with a sudden catching of the breath, -she spoke again—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere," she said, "'ere"—and she uttered -the familiar creak—"I'm doin' this because -I like you. Wonder if you like me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho," reflected Strephon, "you're all -right—considering what you are."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="on-the-properties-of-water"><span class="bold large">VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">ON THE PROPERTIES OF WATER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Doctor ... can you tell me if water is a -safe thing for anybody to drink?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was a wizened, alert little woman, -having bright eyes and an eager face. The -back of the doctor's neck, which I spied -through my peephole, grew red under -pressure of the secret emotions occasioned by -this question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to that," replied the doctor, -"I—ahem—er—I—well, in fact—er—ahem—you -see, er—Mrs.—Mrs.——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Skelp, sir," interpolated the caller. -"Mrs. Skelp, of Peacock Street. You must -remember me, sir. I've 'ad you in for me -last three."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, of course, I remember you, Mrs. Skelp," -responded the shameless physician; -"your name had slipped my memory. And -how are they all doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nicely, thank you, sir," said Mrs. Skelp. -"Excepting," she added, as if with a sudden -afterthought—"the pore little thing what -died. Although I'm sure, doctor—and -many's the time I said the same to Skelp—I'm -sure you done </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> best. Though 'ow -you made seven visits of it when the child -was on'y ill five days is a thing I never -could—but, there, let bygones be bygones. About -this water now. You think that water's a -safe sort of thing for anybody to drink, -Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's—ahem—it's a—er—a natural sort of -drink, you know," suggested the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, cert'nly, Doctor," admitted -Mrs. Skelp. "On'y ... Well, so far as that -goes, you could say the same of milk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could," assented Dr. Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet," pursued his patient, "it is well -known to all of us what milk will do for the -system. Look 'ow it puffs you out. Look -at that baby of mine, the pore little thing -what died. You did your best, Doctor, we -all know, but we've often thought since as -milk was at the bottom of it. It doesn't do -for the likes of us to set ourselves up against -the doctor, but you'll remember yerself that -I had my suspicions about you ordering so -much milk. 'What </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> think she wants,' -I said, is one of your biggest bottles of -good dark red, and—— But there, let -bygones be bygones. What I really come 'ere -for is about this water question. I says to -mine last night, I says—'e's a drayman, -you know, Doctor.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Doctor nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," suggested Mrs. Skelp, "you know -what </span><em class="italics">draymen</em><span> are. Water's no drink for a -drayman, Doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I suppose not," ventured the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And mine, 'e's a 'eavy, full-bodied build -o' man. And so I says to 'im—but what's -the good o' sayin' </span><em class="italics">anythink</em><span> to 'im. The long -and the short o' it is, Doctor, as 'e's took to -the water 'abit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I meantosay," continued Mrs. Skelp, -having marked the doctor's grin, "I -meantosay as 'e's sworn off 'is licker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E's a great reader is mine, you see. -'E sets up in bed for hours o' a Sunday -morning and gets through as much as -three-pennyworth o' papers at a setting. Not that -I 'olds with so much readin', mind you. -'Moody boys an' readin' gals,' we used to -say—well, you know the rest, Doctor. It's -a thankless 'abit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, at the same time, mind you, I -believe in the notion that Sunday is a day -of rest. A man's 'ouse is 'is own of a -Sunday, I always say. And so I ain't never -raised no objections to mine amusin' 'isself; -and I can't say that no 'arm 'as ever come of -my good nature. Not till now. But now -we see the fruits of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Doctor, 'e's bin reading up the -subject o' his vitals. And the long and short -of it is as 'e's took to what 'e calls 'is nature -treatment. Not a tea-cup full o' beer will 'e -'ave inside the 'ouse, Doctor. Not a -spoonful. It's water—water, always water. That -an' cocoa. Fancy a drayman drinking cocoa, -Doctor!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cocoa is a very wholesome drink," asserted -the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For supper—yes," assented Mrs. Skelp. -"I agree with you there, Doctor. But -'ooever 'eard of cocoa for breakfast and water -for dinner and water for tea? And not -a drop of beer from one week's end to the -other? Fancy a drayman without 'is beer, -Doctor!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is probably much better without it," -suggested Dr. Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Better</em><span> without it?" echoed the visitor. -"Without beer? A drayman? Workin' -ten an' twelve hours on the stretch? You -</span><em class="italics">live</em><span> with 'im, Doctor, and see if 'e's better -without it ... Not that I wish you no 'arm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what," said the doctor, looking -earnestly at his watch, "and—er—what——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Doctor," interpolated Mrs. Skelp, -"I really come to see if you could give me a -stifficut. We must do something-."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A certificate of what?" demanded the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To say 'e needs it—fur the good o' 'is -'ealth, you know. We can never go on like -this. A little stifficut, Doctor, to say 'e -needs it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Needs what?" exclaimed the doctor, -yawning wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The beer," responded Mrs. Skelp. "This -water will be the ruin of 'im, Doctor, and -me, too. 'E gets so down'earted, Doctor, -so solemn-minded, so short-spoken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have already told you, Mrs. Skelp"—the -Doctor put on his heaviest consulting-room -manner—"I have already told you that -your husband is probably better off without -the beer. How, then, can you expect -me—especially since I haven't seen him—to give -you the certificate which you ask for? And -what difference would it make if I did?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E wouldn't go against the doctor's -orders, sir. Skelp is not that sort of man. -'E knows 'is place, sir. I on'y got to show -him a brief from you, Doctor, to say that -what he wants is so many pints to nourish 'is -system, and there would be a end to all -this nonsense. A drayman must 'ave beer, -Doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A drayman must have nothing of the -sort, Mrs. Skelp. What a drayman must -have is plenty of rump steak and jam roll -and a quiet life and a jolly time. Why do -you want him to have this beer? Are you -any better off when he does have it? The -more he spends on beer the less there is for -the home, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine ain't that sort," asserted Mrs. Skelp, -with a touch of asperity in her tone: -"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> keep Skelp's money. What he wants—is -beer. The man's got that down-'earted 'e -isn't fit to live with. A drayman must 'ave -beer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Brink inspected his watch again. -"Well, Mrs. Skelp," he said, "you've had -more than your share of my time. Send -him round to-morrow evening, and I'll tell -you what I think about it. Good-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My own idea, Doctor," said Mrs. Skelp, -as she made her exit, "is a pint an' a -'arf—let us say two pints—of stout and bitter. -But I leave the particklers to you, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she had really gone the doctor saw -some other patients—droves of them. And -the last of the drove was a large red man, -who had called in to discuss his "constitootion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's run down, Doctor," he explained. -"That's what it is. Me constitootion is run -down. Whenever I draws a slow, long -breath, it is the same as if there was snakes -and scorpions inside me. Very painful it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then take a quick, short breath," -suggested Dr. Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The patient ignored this obvious response. -He did not pay his sixpence to be treated to -the obvious. "Also," he continued, "it 'urts -me when I whistle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then don't whistle," said the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The long and the short of it is," pursued -the patient, again ignoring the voice of -science, "that my constitootion is thoroughly -run down.... I ... I was wondering, -Doctor.... Can you tell me if water is a -safe thing for anybody to drink?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Doctor started. "Water is Nature's -beverage," he observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But don't you think, Doctor," suggested -the invalid, "that when a man 'as got 'is -constitootion into a thoroughly onnatural -state, the same as what mine is, that a pint -or so of onnatural licker——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh ... a pint or so ... yes," put in -the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I bin drinking a lot o' water lately," -continued the patient. "I thought I would give -it a trial, Doctor, being Nature's beverage -and what not, and so highly spoke of in -the papers. But I come to the conclusion, -Doctor, as it don't get on wiv my constitootion. -I got a very peculiar constitootion, -Doctor, and it is very much run down. -Whenever I turn me eyes up, Doctor, a -'orrible sickly feeling comes over me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Turn 'em down then," said the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't approve of all this water, -then?" inquired the patient. "You think, -per'aps, a pint or two of ale——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A pint or two of ale? Oh, certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or stout, Doctor? Say stout and bitter. -A couple o' pints o' stout and bitter, Doctor; -what? To brace up me constitootion like. -What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stout and bitter," pronounced the doctor, -"has, in certain circumstances, a high tonic -value."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Doctor. Would you be kind -enough to put it in writin', Doctor? I'm a -family man, ye see, and seein' as I shall be -takin' this tonic for the good o' my constitootion, -I thought per'aps—you see my meanin', -Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite," said the doctor, reaching out for -a half-sheet of notepaper. "Your name and -address?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Skelp," responded the patient. "Samuel -Skelp, of Peacock Street. My missus is one -o' your oldest customers."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-way-of-the-east"><span class="bold large">VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE WAY OF THE EAST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We had eaten a belated supper and drunk -of a belated cup, and the doctor, yawning -cheerfully, had doffed the vestments of -respectability, when there came a ring upon -the night-bell. The doctor's comment on -this happening is of no historical importance. -It possessed but a topical interest. Myself, -I stumbled down the darkling stairs, and, -upon opening the street door, was confronted -by a respectfully intoxicated giant, who gave -the name of Potter. "Potter, of Mulberry -Street," he added, as a more explicit -afterthought. He demanded Dr. Brink, explaining -the urgent requirements of Mrs. Potter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you your card?" I inquired in -the cold, commercial tone which this occasion -warranted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Potter removed his cap—a peaked -object, of nautical aspect—and from the -lining of this he extracted a square of pink -pasteboard. This voucher represented at -once a receipt and a warranty, being in the -first sense an acknowledgment of the sum -of ten shillings and sixpence, paid to -Dr. Brink in anticipation of certain services, and -recording, secondly, a promise from the -doctor duly and solemnly to render and -perform those services. "And beggin' yere -pardon, young man," said Mr. Potter, in a -voice of gloom, "I was to tell you from me -aunt that the pains is comin' on a treat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had scarcely conveyed this joyful -intelligence to Dr. Brink, ere that gentleman -announced himself as being ready to embark -upon the enterprise demanded of him, having -clad himself in a fanciful costume consisting -of unlaced boots, slack trousers, a pyjama -jacket, an overcoat, and the inevitable top -hat. He cheerfully accepted my offer to -bear him company upon his journey through -the night-bound alleyways, and together we -sallied forth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when we came to the first dim street -lamp a sudden monstrous shape appeared -within the circle of its radiance, and fawned -upon us silently. I wondered, not too -hopefully, whether the things which rattled within -the doctor's bag were of sound and sterling -substance. For we were not regularly armed, -and this monster—but he spoke, and thereby -set my doubts at rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is only Potter," murmured the monster, -with an apologetic shuffle. "There's some -funny birds as stands abaht the corners yere -be night, and Mulberry Street is rather a -confusin' street to come at, and I thought -per'aps as you would be alone, Doctor, and -so I took the liberty. It is a cold night for -the time o' the year: what? I was to tell -you, Doctor, that the pains is comin' on most -beautiful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Potter committed other information -to our confidence. He was a stevedore, he -said; and he described the trials of that -calling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a 'ard life, a stevedore, what with -the 'eat and 'urry and all. Me and my -mates, we shifted two 'underd an' twenty -tons o' sugar this very day. But I'm 'oping -for a wink o' sleep to-night. What with the -pains so good and all. I could do with some -sleep. Not that I wish the pore woman no -'arm. She bin a decent wife to me. But I -seems to want some sleep. We shifted two -'underd an' twenty tons o' sugar to-day, me -an' my mates. I see you brought your tool -kit, Doctor. I find it cold for the time o' -the year. Christ, but I do feel sleepy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think that I can promise you a wink -or two," replied the doctor cheerfully. -"You'll be in bed and asleep before two -o'clock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Much obliged to you, Doctor, I'm sure, -Doctor," said the stevedore gratefully. "Me -aunt is certainly of opinion that the pains -look very promising. I could do wiv a few -hours' sleep. Bin shifting sugar all the day. -Two 'underd and twenty ton we moved, and -there's as much standin' by what I got to -punch into termorrow. I'm 'opin' fur a gel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We came to Mulberry Street, wherein the -residence of Mr. Potter could be immediately -detected, by reason of the fact that its -door stood open—a certain signal in this -land of an expected visit from the doctor. -We entered the open doorway, and were -greeted cheerfully by auntie—an old, untidy, -work-stained woman, very drunk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stevedore conducted me into a -dishevelled kitchen, musty and cramped and -cobwebby. He accepted a cigarette, and -spat into the fire, and looked at me stupidly. -"Two 'underd an' twenty ton!" he -exclaimed. "Don't I deserve some blessed -sleep?" And there came from some -adjacent place an answering moan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked through the door of the kitchen -and into the grimy little passage beyond it, -wherein an open door gave access to another -room. The doctor was in this room, and -auntie, and also, I supposed, the stevedore's -wife. There came from this apartment -certain sounds as of joy and suffering -commingled. It is but fair to state that most of -the joyful sounds appeared to be uttered by -auntie. Auntie had chased away dull care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was, indeed, a perfectly refulgent auntie -who subsequently lolloped in upon us, -carrying a bundle. "'Ere y' are, ole glum-face," -chirruped auntie; "take young Joe. An' -mind as 'e don't 'oller. Where you put that jug?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Potter seized the bundle, and, loosening -its folds, exposed a rather maculate small -boy, having the paternal cast of feature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at 'is chest," observed the father -simply. "This is ye're sort for punchin' -into sugar. Auntie, where's the other one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alf," responded auntie, "is all right -where 'e is. Alfie's old enough to be'ave -'isself. Mind young Joe don't 'oller. Where -you put that jug?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Joe's reply was drowned by a pitiful cry -which came from the other room. But -auntie found the jug all right. "'Ere's to a -gel, ole dear!" quoth auntie. But ... there -came that cry again.... At which the old -woman regretfully parted from us and the -jug and returned to her pious duty of -hindering Dr. Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Mr. Potter once more directed my -attention to the physical perfections of his -offspring. "I'm proud o' this bloke," he -said. "My on'y longin' is to see 'im grow -up straight and punch the coal abaht. I do -not grudge 'im nuthink. Y' oughter see 'im -of a Sunday: 'e ain't 'arf a nib o' Sundays. -Velvets and all, ye know. I 'ope the Doctor -'ll look sharp. I got a 'eavy day termorrer. -My missus is a decent woman, and I don't -wish 'er no 'arm; but Gawd knows as I -want some sleep be this time. 'Ere's Fred."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fred was a listless youth, kin to the -stevedore. And he came in tired and pale, having -"done a whack o' overtime at the pickle -works." And he said no word to anybody, -but set a saucepan on the sullen fire and sat -beside it, stupidly, waiting for an egg to boil. -"She don't 'arf sing about it." "What?" -demanded the husband, almost savagely. -"Ah!" responded Fred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then there rang out another sound—the -voice of auntie, raised in raucous laughter. -"My Gawd!" she cried, "'ow's that for a -beauty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Potter shook the drowsy, silent child -upon his knee. "Cheer up, Joe," he cried; -"you're cut out now, me lad. You ain't the -baby any more. D'jeer? Then gimme a -bleedin' kiss."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Auntie appeared for a moment in the -doorway. "Boy," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Potter's joy was, for a moment, -modified by this announcement. "It was a gel I -wished for," he said. "It was a gel we -wanted." He rubbed his chin upon young -Joseph's yellow head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," he continued, beholding suddenly -a pleasant truth, "we shall get some blessed -sleep at ennyrate.... Ain't it time that -little beggar started in to cry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the boy Fred, to whom Mr. Potter -presumably addressed himself, offered no -reply. He was engaged in boiling his egg.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">should</em><span> like to 'ear the beggar cry, -though," said Mr. Potter wistfully, after a -pause. He rubbed his chin on Joseph's -head again. The boy Fred stirred his -saucepan. "Funny, ain't it," mused the stevedore, -"that the little chap don't 'oller?" But as -he spoke, the little chap responded. "That's -done it," cried the stevedore, and rubbed his -chin on Joseph's head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then I clearly heard the voice of -auntie. "That young man what's with you, -Doctor, is 'e a doctor, too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not exactly a doctor," responded Brink; -"but he knows quite as much about medicine -as any doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," pursued auntie, "the young -man might like to step in and see this baby. -It's the biggest baby ever </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it is," assented the doctor. "So he -would."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought, God help him, that it would -please me to see inside that room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so he called to me, and I stepped -forward and found myself in front of a reality. -You know the thing, of course: a poor, white -woman in a poor, white bed. And—— But -need I describe it? You know it all, -don't you?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You do not know it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I know it—now. I know what is the way -of the East. I will tell you what I saw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I saw a bare brown mattress, and on it lay -a moaning woman, fully dressed: </span><em class="italics">entirely</em><span> -dressed. And at her head there lay the -new-born babe, and at the baby's head another -child—a child of six. And when I entered in -this child made speech. "Auntie's gointer -dress him soon," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This, my pure young friend," said Doctor -Brink, "is a typical </span><em class="italics">mise en scène</em><span>. Every -detail is correct."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Correct?" squawked the triumphant -auntie. "It's a double-adjectived marvel -... You're a genelman, Doctor!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I ran away from this sick-room. I ran -out into the rain.... I observed, as I ran -past him, that the boy Frederick had boiled -his egg and was eating it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-pothecary"><span class="bold large">IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE 'POTHECARY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The curious establishment of Dr. Brink -contained one curiosity which I have not yet -described to you. His name was Gilkes—Samuel -de Quincey Gilkes—and he was -poor and unwashed, and angular and polite, -and full of wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was Dr. Brink's dispenser, or, as the -natives preferred to have it, the 'Pothecary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gilkes was a tall man, especially for a -'Pothecary, the races of 'Pothecaries being -commonly little and round and complacent. -But Gilkes was a giant of his species; -albeit, he was timid and obliging, and -carried his stature with an air of not -wishing to create comment. He had long -brown hair and a vague mouth, and very -lean hands, with which he stroked the -furniture when he spoke to you. His eyes were -blue, but of an exceptional paleness, and -they were restless, seeking eyes, which -looked beyond you, as if they saw the sea -with ships upon it. I think that Mr. Gilkes -deserves a little paper to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I should have told you that he was not -a very young man, having reached, perhaps, -his fortieth year. But his heart was filled -with a serene and youthful hope; for he -cherished the belief that he would one day -pass his final examination in surgery and -medicine, and would take his degree and -figure upon the rolls as a fully licenced -practitioner. In the meantime he was humble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have often listened to his sorrowful -reproaches when Dr. Brink, weary of the -delays occasioned by his apothecary's interest -in distant ships, would hurl himself into the -little dispensary and concoct the bottles of -light brown with his own hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shouldn't, sir," the 'Pothecary would -say; "you shouldn't. You mustn't. It isn't -fitting, sir. It isn't proper. It isn't the -thing. I know I'm remiss. I know I'm -slow. You ought to discharge me. You -ought to discharge me. I must pass my -final. I certainly must. You oughtn't to -do it. Two grains calomel. Two grains -calomel. I certainly must. Certainly. -Certainly." And then, his utterance growing -fainter and finally ceasing, the 'Pothecary -would rest his chin upon a hand and look -out once again upon the ships at sea, and -somebody would go without his calomel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Gilkes had also the habit of rising -late—a detestable habit. And it therefore -happened that the doctor's waiting-room -would be filled with impatient women before -his dispenser arrived to make up the "light -browns" and "dark reds," upon which they -lavished so much faith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when the 'Pothecary did arrive there -was always an apology upon his lips—the -same apology every time. "I'm late again, -sir; late again. Forty minutes late. I'm -awful, sir; awful. You will have to -discharge me. I'm always late. I'm awful. It -won't do. It isn't fair. I shall have to go. -I must pass my final. Sach. Ust. For -Mr. Jenner, sir? Yes, sir. Sach. Ust. -Sach. Ust. I'm awful; awful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor and James invariably observed -the form of asking him up to tea. But with -equal regularity he would reply with a formula -of plaintive, almost passionate protest. -"Impossible, sir. Not for a minute. You mustn't. -You can't. I'm not worth it, sir. It isn't -usual, sir. It isn't the thing. When I've -passed my final, sir—perhaps then. Perhaps -then. I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> pass my final, sir. I must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Mr. Gilkes would sight a sail and -watch it eagerly with a little fluttering smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He always dressed himself in shabby -black. This emphasised his stature and the -exceeding leanness of him. It also served -to disguise the unnatural colour of his linen, -He did not smoke, and they naturally say -that he drank. But I never saw him drunk. -He would sometimes look out upon his ship -with the gaze of one who is intoxicated with -the splendour of his visions. But this is not -the same as being drunk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered, his successor in the post of -'Pothecary (for you will understand that -Mr. Gilkes became impossible), has placed on -record that "Gilkes fair give you the 'errors, -a-talkin' to 'isself the livelong day and strokin' -the bottles and seein' snakes." But Wilfered -is young and strenuous, and efficient. His -heart is in his work. He adds the water to -the sugar with extreme exactitude, and, not -being versed in the language of pharmacy, -he is convinced that not merely the -reputation of Dr. Brink, but the very lives of all -his patients are bound up in the exact and -scrupulous decoction of the liquids -committed to his care. But he does not interest -himself in distant ships.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For myself, I am sorry that Mr. Gilkes -became impossible. I like dumb animals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shall always remember the evening when, -coming unexpectedly to the house, I saw -him sitting by a window with the light from -the setting sun upon his face and shabby -coat. He was talking to James. And -James has the knack of making people talk much.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He writes, does he?" said the 'Pothecary. -(I think that the question must have -applied to your servant.) "He would. Of -course he would. Quite naturally. Just so. -Of course. Some people can write. They -have the trick. Some people can do -anything. Anything. I must pass my final. -They thought I was going to be a writer -myself once. To write poetry, I suppose. -'He's half a poet,' they use to say, 'half a -poet.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I wasn't worth the compliment. -I couldn't find the rhymes, you know. I -could see it all—sometimes, you know; but -I couldn't find the rhymes. Once I nearly -reached it, but only once—only nearly. -You see, I—I haven't even passed my final. -Not yet. But I will. I must. I nearly -did it last time—nearly. Nearly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice dropped low; so low that you -could hardly hear it. And he looked out -to sea again; but not with gladness. I -think he saw some sort of hulk or derelict.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-mother-s-trade-union"><span class="bold large">X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE MOTHER'S TRADE UNION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"My motter," said 'Ost 'Uggins decisively, -"is 'Live an' let live.' We won't deny but -what the young woman 'as acted wrongful. -She 'as broke an important commandment, -as we all know, besides puttin' my 'ole -establishment to expense and inconvenience. -Besides upsettin' my good lady. Besides -disgracin' 'er fambily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But at the same time I can't forget that -my mother's father was 'isself a fondling. -And we live in a Keristian age. And the -one as is most to blame is the </span><em class="italics">man</em><span>, 'ooever -'e may be, the ugly 'ound. What'll you take, -Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ginger b——," began the doctor, having -knowledge of the Mile End drink traffic. -But he checked himself, yielding, I suppose, -to the reflection that duty called for a more -enthusiastic response to 'Ost 'Uggins's -hospitality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will have a glass of—of whatever you -drink yourself," said the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>'Ost 'Uggins favoured us with a heavy -wink. His face and figure as he stood there -behind the marble counter of his "saloon -compartment" suggested coarseness and -obesity and vulgarity and opulence and -ignorance, and—and manhood.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>They used to say that pigs could fly,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Oh, aye, oh!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>They used to say that pigs could fly</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>A hundred years ago.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is certain that </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> pig could fly. For -"Live and let live" was his motto. The -pig is an animal which is held in -unwarrantable disdain by pious men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having concluded the wink, 'Ost 'Uggins -inserted a ponderous hand into a nook -concealed by a framed portrait of himself—it -represented Mr. Huggins in the costume of -an Arch Grand something or other of the -Ancient and Vociferous Order of -Somebodies—and produced therefrom a special, -private, and particular bottle. This vessel, -'Ost 'Uggins was at pains to make clear, -contained "real licker." He did not pour -its precious golden drops into the muddy -stream of commerce; but, on the contrary, -he kept them tightly corked, and in strict -reserve for the appreciative palates of his -kindred and convives. "This is the real -thing," said Mr. Huggins; "no sale for it yere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere's to your 'ealth, Doctor," pursued -'Ost 'Uggins, "and to this young man's as -well. And 'ere's wishin' that foolish young -female well over 'er whack o' trouble. What's -the missus 'ad to say to you </span><em class="italics">to-day</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Same as before," replied the doctor. -"She says the girl's a hussy. She says she -always knew it. She says you are pig-headed -and obstinate, and she </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> be mistress in her -own house, and why don't you put up a notice -saying, 'Beds for lying-in kept here,' and be -done with it. And if the girl had done her -duty and attended to business and kept the -glasses washed instead of for ever gossiping -with the Jew boys on the saloon side, this -thing would never have happened. And if -girls are to be petted and pampered for being -bad, what is the use of having marriage lines -and living decent? She also intimates that -your attitude in this matter is not becoming -to a married man. If she were a jealous -woman she </span><em class="italics">might</em><span> begin to wonder if——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Huggins smiled broadly. "My good -lady, as the sayin' goes," quoth he, "would -talk the 'ind leg off a donkey. But we -understand each other, 'er and me, and ... we've -buried three. I bin in this business for forty -year, man and boy. I know life. We -understand each other, Doctor. What? 'Ave -another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Live and let live' is </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> motter. She -bin with us three years, that silly kid. She -could go further with the eighteen gallons -nor any young woman as ever served in my -bar. Where's she to go if my wife as 'er -way? And the kid? We buried three -ourselves, which is a thing what you might think -would soften a woman's 'eart. But it don't, -not in circs. like this. These good women -they </span><em class="italics">got</em><span> no 'eart—not when it comes to bad -women. It's a sort of—a sort of——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trade unionism," suggested Dr. Brink. -And 'Ost 'Uggins, who at first looked solemn -and inquiring, gradually smiled his assent to -Dr. Brink's suggestion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I s'pose poor Phoebe </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> a blackleg," he -mused. "But my motter is 'Live and let -live.' She was wonderful coaxing with the -disorderlies. What else my missus say to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said you were looking for trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said, 'Minx!' 'Damned devil!' -'Disgraceful slut!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anythink else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said that either the hussy or she -would leave this house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> say, Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said that the girl was not fit to be -moved, and that SHE couldn't be spared."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did she say to that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said that we had made up a fine old -tale between us, I and her old man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that the lot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the lot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well then," commented Mr. Huggins. -"Do you know what I shall say to it all, -Doctor? I shall say: 'Tut, woman; tut!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning?" queried the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning?" echoed 'Ost 'Uggins, as he -thumped his fist upon the counter, not -without menace to its marble surface, "meaning -that I am a man of few words: that I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> -be master in me own 'ouse: that my motter -is 'Live and let live.' That I won't see a -pore girl drove to ruin not for all the -cantankerous whims of all the cantankerous -wives in all——.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Below there! 'Ush!" he added, with -a sudden dropping of his voice. "'Ere </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> -the missus!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Where you gointer, you George?" demanded -the missus, as George prepared to -leave us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goin' to find that fat-'eaded boy, my -dear," responded George. "There's a barrel -wants tappin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a lot more than barrels wants -tappin' in this 'ouse," said Mistress Huggins, -with an air which was evidently intended to -be significant of much. "What you done -with that gel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me, my dear?" responded the fist-strong -Huggins. "Me? </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> ain't moved 'er."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Time you did, then. When's she -gointer leave this 'ouse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>'Ost 'Uggins gently but firmly retreated. -"I bin discussin' it over with the doctor, my -dear," he explained, upon gaining the little -glass door which led into their private -parlour. "'</span><em class="italics">E'll</em><span> tell you all about it. That's -right, ain't it, Doctor? You'll tell 'er all -about it. Don't forget my motter, Doctor." And -Mr. Huggins obliterated himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Huggins, upon the contrary, and as -it might be, intensified herself. "Look here, -Doctor What-its-name," she said, "I kin -spot the little game what is bein' played -between the landlord an' you, same's if I -was partner. You are gettin' up a -conspiracy. See? </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know it. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can't be -fooled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Muggins was a mud-coloured woman, -with a smouldering eye. She had rings on -every finger and more knuckles than rings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can't be fooled!" she repeated. -"What you doin' with that gel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leaving her where she is," responded -the doctor. "She really isn't fit to be -moved." He added this information in the -tone of one imparting confidences to a friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fit or not fit, do you suppose I'm gointer -</span><em class="italics">let</em><span> 'er stop there? A low, ondecent 'ussy -like what she is, to lie between my honest -sheets! Take the gel away, I tell you! -Do you want to make trouble between a -man and 'is wife? Take the gel away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Brink assumed a highly authoritative -tone. "It is my duty as a doctor, madam," -said he, "to warn you that the girl is not -fit to be moved. And your husband, who in -law is the responsible head of this house, -agrees with me that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why ain't she fit to be moved? Answer -me that?" rasped the woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," said the doctor, as 'Ost -'Uggins's expressive features came peeking -round the doorpost, "because a poor girl of -twenty who has just given birth to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Given birth!" shrieked the woman. -</span><em class="italics">"Given birth</em><span>! And in my 'ouse!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The disgraceful, shameless thing! And -me to be kept in ignorance! And now I -think of it, I did seem to think or fancy as I -heered a squallin'. In </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> 'ouse above all! -May the Lord—— 'Ssh! What's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," explained 'Ost 'Uggins, obtruding -a further portion of his face, "is the little -bleater callin' for 'is vittles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Muggins's face grew strangely red, -her lip grew strangely tremulous. "It's a -funny thing to me," she said, "to think as I -wasn't allowed to know.... 'Oo's with 'er?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Tuck, from the cabyard," responded -'Ost 'Uggins, "'as laid the fondling -out an' that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Huggins stamped a foot. "You -clumsy fool!" she cried. "What do we -want your Mrs. Tucks for? A drunken -piece like she is! Ain't you got enough to -do in the bar without pokin' your nose into -a woman's business like what this is?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And me the last to 'ear of it! In me -own 'ouse, too! Me that has buried three.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Tuck! Fools! Let me pass, you -George! That child 'll 'ave convulsions in -a minute! ... Mrs. Tuck in my 'ouse!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I wish," murmured the doctor hopelessly, -as he mopped his forehead, "that I -could understand the rules of their Society."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-diagnosis"><span class="bold large">XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE DIAGNOSIS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have heard it said by the enemies of -Dr. Brink that he is surly, or, as some prefer to -have it, brusque. I cannot too strongly -express my disagreement with this view. I -know the doctor intimately, and I can assert -with confidence that in private intercourse he -is the soul of courtesy, exactitude, and -punctilio. If, during business hours, he becomes -what Mrs. Duke calls "crisp"—and I won't -deny that this thing sometimes happens—it -behoves us, as an audience of Christian -people, to view this failing with the eye of -charity, and to think of the temptations which -the poor man has to face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bovingdon Street has many graces; but -gifts of mind are not conspicuous amongst -them. The capacity for giving evidence is -possibly an instinct and possibly an art, and -even more possibly it is both. But it is -a certain thing that working a mangle makes -you stupid. Which, of course, accounts for -Mrs. Rafferty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She called in yesterday—a little, -jug-shaped woman, having a limp fringe and -mysterious pains. She is a fine example of -the sort of temptation which is always luring -on the Doctor to display his horrible power -of crispness. She is a fine example of the -Bovingdon Street matron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I happened to be helping James to make -a pancake when she came along, and I was -therefore privileged to overhear the particulars -of Mrs. Rafferty's disorder. And if I -record exactly the dialogue to which I listened, -you will be able to judge as well as I or -Mrs. Rafferty whether the Doctor's sixpennyworth -of diagnosis was value for money. Behold, -the chronicles:—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. RAFFERTY: It's my pore back I come -to see you for, Doctor: that and a sort of -dizziness what takes me in the leg. And me -throat is sore. And I gits sich 'orrid -nightmares, Doctor, and I was goin' to arst you, -Doctor, do you think it right for anyone to -be always feeling thirsty? Because——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DR. BRINK: How long has this been -going on?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: I don't say as the feelin' thirsty -is a unpleasant feelin', mind you; but I -wondered if it was nat'ral. That's all I'm -wonderin' about, Doctor. You can't 'elp -noticin' anythin' like that, and anybody would -fancy it's a bit queer to be </span><em class="italics">always</em><span> feelin' -thirsty. And then the 'eadaches, Doctor! -They comes on all so sudden, Doctor—unexpected, -like; and if it wasn't——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: How long has this been going on?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: You can see yerself 'ow pale I'm -lookin', Doctor. I 'ad a drop o' stout for me -breakfast 'smornin'—no more'n would fill a -teacup, Doctor—and believe me or believe -me not, it brought on the pains that fearful -I was obliged to scream. What do you think -is the matter with me, Doctor?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I shall be better able to tell you -when you've answered a few questions. In -the first place, how long has this sort of thing -been going on?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: It's the pain more'n the longness -of it, Doctor, which I look to. And if -I close my eyes and touch anythink cold with -me 'ands I kin see a lot of funny green -things all in front—floatin', if you understand -me, Doctor. Me 'usband, when 'e was a -sowjer abroad in Dublin, 'e got took with -the same thing, along o' eatin' 'ysters in a -onfit state.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: How is your appetite, by the way?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: I was wonderin' if me lungs is -affected, Doctor. If ever I drink a cup of -very 'ot tea I kin feel a funny sensation -right down me froat. What I reely want is -change of hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Do you drink much tea?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: It's good tea what we 'ave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Do you drink much tea?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: And besides, Doctor, I don't -see as tea kin 'urt me, because me an' my -'usband we're rather partickler about the -class of——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Do you drink much tea?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: And then again, Doctor, why -should me 'air be fallin' out? I'm not a old -woman. Thirty-six is my age, and I ain't -ashamed to own it. It's a pity me 'air is -fallin' out because they say as I'm a -young-looking woman for my age. And——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: When did you first notice that -your hair was falling?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: I don't think that the state of -me 'air is anythink to be ashamed of, even -now, mind you. But still it ain't a very -pleasant thing, especially at my age. Is it -anythink to do with what I eat, do you -think, Doctor? I often wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: How is your appetite?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: It isn't the quantity I was -thinkin' of, Doctor, so much as the class of -food as we go in for. We both of us got a -taste for 'am an' bloaters, and so forth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Do you enjoy your food?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: But if me 'air is fallin' out on -that account——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Are you a hearty eater?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: Of course, Doctor, I on'y want -to know what's right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: You say that your appetite is good?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: I was sayin' about us bein' -partial to 'am and so forth, Doctor. If you -think I oughter stop it, I kin easy do so. I -on'y wanter do what's right. What's your -opinion about me, Doctor? You can see I'm -very ill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I'm giving you some medicine, -Mrs. Rafferty—you've brought your bottle, -I see—it's a strong tonic, and there are three -pills with it, which——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: I forgot to arst you, Doctor. -Do you think a drop of stout—as much as -you kin get into a egg-cup—would 'urt a -little boy of five years old what's got a -poverty of 'is blood? There's a neighbour -o' mine—a very nice woman—wh——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: About these pills, Mrs. Rafferty: -I want you to take one when you get in, one -before you go to bed, and one——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: Can I take a little slice of 'am, -Doctor, or must I live on slops and that?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: You can eat exactly what you -please. This medicine will put you right. -It is a very strong, dark red tonic. Do you -understand about the pills, now?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: She's a nice woman, and it's sad -to see her strugglin' along by 'erself wiv that -boy to keep. And so I told 'er——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Send her round to see me. You'll -get your medicine from the dispenser.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: About me wrists, Doctor: I find -that one is thicker than——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Come and see me again when -you've finished that medicine. Pay outside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: And, Doctor, is there anything -more besides the physic? I thought perhaps -you would give me a pill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I am giving you three pills. One -of them I want you to take when you get in, -another at night, and——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>MRS. R.: About the money, Doctor: I -s'pose as it'll do if I pay next week?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-tuskers"><span class="bold large">XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE TUSKERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It has not been the fortune of the present -historian to enjoy a personal experience of -the state of matrimony. But he has never -been lacking in awe for the wonders attaching -to that institution. It has always seemed -to him, looking upward, as it were, from the -mire of bachelordom, that the married mind -is subject to rare emotions, productive of a -singular philosophy which one must view -with astonishment, if not with envy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In illustration of my meaning, permit me -to cite the case of the Tuskers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Tuskers, as we were definitely -informed by Mr. Tusker, have been tasting -the wedded blisses for nearly eighteen years. -And Mr. Tusker called in recently at Doctor -Brink's in the matter, as he expressed it, of -"any old bottles, any old rags; old bones, -rabbit-skins, waste paper to buy," which -somehow looks wrong. Let us try again—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Any old bottles?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Any old rags?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Old bones,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Rabbit-skins,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Waste paper,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To buy!</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That is better. Mr. Tusker is nothing if -not lyrical.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Also, he is a massy-jawed person in a -muffler, having a dent over one eye and a -limpy walk. Likewise, he is accompanied -by an objectionable smell, arising partly from -his trade, profession, or occupation. It is an -impressionist sort of smell. The impression -it suggested to me was that Mr. Tusker had -been subjected to long, long years of solitary -confinement in an over-heated chicken-coop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Tusker, having recited his little poem, -was rewarded by a "Not to-day, thank you," -from Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" cried Mr. Tusker. "Not any -old bottles; any old rags?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," insisted Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho," quoth Mr. Tusker. "Right you -are, then. One minute, Doctor. The missus. -Ahtside. Can I trouble you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?" inquired the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know, mate," expounded Mr. Tusker. -"Below par. Orfer oats. See? Jes' -run the rule over 'er, Doctor; will ye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," replied the doctor, the light -of intelligence at last illuminating his eye. -"Bring the lady inside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Tusker accordingly repaired to the -roadway, where his barrow was in waiting. -It was a roomy barrow, filled to overflowing -with bulging sacks, one of which, being -pushed, came to life as Mrs. Tusker, and -walked into Doctor Brink's consulting-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was a tired old sack, was Mrs. Tusker, -much patched, even as to her face, -which was further distinguished by being -bruised in several places, a fact which -accentuated its native homeliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Below par. Orfer oats," repeated -Mr. Tusker, with a jerk of the thumb in the -direction of the old sack. "Jes' run yere -rule over 'er, Doc."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had a bad accident, hasn't she?" began -the doctor. "That plaster——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind the plaster," said the husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," repeated Mrs. Tusker, "never -mind that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Orfer oats, see?" prompted Mr. Tusker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't got no appetite," confirmed the lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Er system. See?" added Mr. Tusker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yus," assented Mrs. Tusker. "Me system."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jes' run yere rule over 'er," said Mr. Tusker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," mused the doctor, "want of appetite -doesn't produce itself, you know. I -mean to say—— Her face now. It's very -swollen. The lower part espec——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind 'er face, ole man," suggested -Mr. Tusker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the patient; "never mind me face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> done that, ye see," remarked Mr. Tusker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yus," replied Mrs. Tusker, "'e done that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Brink, after staring hard at -Mr. Tusker, resumed his inspection of the wife. -"I don't know what sort of appetite you -expect to have," he said, "with those four -bruises. Her face is simply pul——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" reflected Mr. Tusker, "them -marks is out o' date. They put me away -for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Tusker nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't quite understand," exclaimed -the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I done 'em of a Saturday night, ye see," -explained the husband. "And they put -me away to the Scrubs. Three weeks I was in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three weeks," repeated Mrs. Tusker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They on'y let me out s'mornin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This statement was audited and found -correct by Mrs. Tusker. "On'y this -mornin'," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the state I find 'er in," continued -Mr. Tusker. "Orfer oats. They put me -away. See? And there wasn't no one to -look arter 'er."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nobody to look arter me," agreed the wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her neck must be troubling her too," -began the doctor. "I see she's been rather -badly sca——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind the scalding," protested -Mr. Tusker. "Give 'er some physic, Doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yus," echoed Mrs. Tusker. "Gimme -some physic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see," explained the husband, evidently -determined that this important detail -in the history of the case should not be -overlooked, "I bin away. They put me -away for three weeks. And this is 'ow I -find 'er. She ain't 'ad no one to look arter -'er. See? Give 'er some physic, Doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So they had their physic, and they went away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I watched them passing up the road, -Mr. Tusker limping behind his barrow and this -peculiar old sack of his limping behind -Mr. Tusker. And Mr. Tusker, as he limped, -was declaiming a kind of poem—a rude sort -of piece; but I've no doubt that in the ears -of the old sack-thing at his heel, that which -he uttered was as the music of the spheres. -And the words of his poem were these:—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Any old bottles?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Any old rags?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Old bones,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Rabbit-skins,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Waste paper,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To buy!</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As they receded into the endless perspective -of Bovingdon Street, the sacks became -confused in my sight, and I wondered which -of them contained the rags and bones and -bottles, or which was occupied by -rabbit-skins and Mrs. Tusker.... Not that it -really mattered.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="art-lovers"><span class="bold large">XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">ART LOVERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mr. Clarence Gordon Prince appeared -first in the capacity of a patient. He came -to have a tooth out. "Three teeth out, to -tell ye the troof, Doctor," he added, and with -the air of a man who had given a liberal -order and knew it, he seated himself, -throwing back his head and shutting both eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Want 'em all out now—at once?" demanded -the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cert'nly," responded Clarence. "I'm a gunner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Brink evidently perceived the point of -this observation, for he made no further -speech, but drew the teeth forthwith. And -Clarence kept on smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He performed his subsequent ablutions in -silence, but, having completed them and -deposited three sixpences upon the -consulting-room table, he again spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Doctor," he said, "I'll say -good-night, and pop off," which he did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when he reached the door-step, -Baffin found him, and Baffin rejoiced in -the find. "You've been a soldier?" -exclaimed Baffin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gun-layer. 'Owitzer Battery, R.A. Nine -year. Invalided." Clarence smiled again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you," said Baffin. "Wait there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Prince accordingly waited, and his -patience was rewarded by the reappearance -of Baffin, with whom was Dr. Brink. "This -gentleman," said the doctor, "is an artist. -He wants you to sit for him. How tall are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Six-one-and-a-'arf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much round the chest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forty-two."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Round the arm?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Got a shovel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Prince's smile gave place to a suspicious -frown. "I could </span><em class="italics">get</em><span> one," he said, -at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring it along to-morrow," commanded -the doctor. "We want you to sit. You'll -be well paid. You're out of work, I -suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm out of work all right," responded -Mr. Prince. "But—but ... what you want -me to do?" demanded Mr. Prince.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind that," he was told. "Just -come along. And wear your oldest clothes. -And bring the spade."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the surprise of both Baffin and the -doctor, Clarence did come along, -accompanied by the spade. He was very out of -work indeed, it seemed, and had sold his -medals to pay for the comfort of having his -teeth out, and for subsequent treatment at -the "African Chief." He wanted work, and -was willing, but this yere sitting -game—"what was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin took him to the "studio," </span><em class="italics">née</em><span> -wash-house, and there he drank some tea, and was -confronted by an easel, and was induced to -seat himself upon the extreme corner of a -small chair, whilst Baffin pretended to sketch -him. This proceeding is technically described -as putting your model at his ease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of an hour the soldier was -asked to stand up and drink beer out of a -jug, a function which he performed with very -tolerable grace. He was then allowed to go -home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But come here early to-morrow morning," -said Baffin. "Do you think you'll like -the work?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Work seems all right," responded -Mr. Prince. "I'll come at nine o'clock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He arrived at the time stated, having -carefully attired himself in his Sunday "blacks," -and a white turn-down collar. He had -likewise operated with sand upon the metal parts -of his shovel, so that that instrument glittered -exceedingly. Also, he had perfumed his -hair. And Baffin ordered him to go home -again and reinvest himself with the -habiliments of toil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The spade we kept and improved upon in -a corner of the doctor's little garden—a -corner in which rare bulbs were buried. -Clarence returned to us looking natural and -dirty, and wearing a resigned expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he sat, or rather stood, in earnest, -whilst Baffin "studied" him in pencil and -charcoal and crayon, and in every other -sort of pigment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when the artist had tired of this -employment, Mr. Prince came down from his -platform and studied the pictures with an air -of cold reserve. He said that he thought -he might as well be going. And he went.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The subsequent sittings were in all -respects a repetition of the first. But at the -end of the week, a strange thing happened. -Mr. Clarence Gordon Prince permitted -himself to give utterance to a remark. He had -been paid his first week's wages—a -sovereign, and, having spat upon this coin and -donned his jacket, he tapped Mr. Baffin with -his knuckle and performed the feat in -question. "One day—me lad," he said, "I'll -show ye </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> pictures."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And on the last day of his engagement -he duly fulfilled the promise. He had spat -upon a sovereign and donned his jacket, -just as before, and he had walked towards -the door, but half-way there he stopped and -faced his late employer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," he said, as he quietly -divested himself of his jacket and waistcoat, -"look 'ere, ole man, you've acted very fair to -me, and now I'm gointer show ye my pictures."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With this preface he removed his shirt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wondering Baffin was then confronted -with a naked chest—a chest of many colours. -"The Duchess of Gainsborough," said -Mr. Prince. "There's eight weeks' work in 'er. -Done in Ceylon. I was soldiering in -Ceylon. If you look round the corner you will -see a picture of Eve bein' tempted by the -serpent. On me right arm there's 'Erod's -daughter, and on me left a photo of Jim -Sayers. 'Ow's all this for picture work?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was under the needle for pretty near a -twelve-month, and time I left the service -there was on'y one man in the battery as -could show the 'arf of what I can. I always -'ad a fancy for colour work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The model slowly resumed his clothes. -"I love a well-done chest, I do," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not, mind you, as I am one to turn 'is -nose up at a picture on the wall, same's you -might make yesself. Not at all. But me -own fancy is for breast and arm work. That -has always bin my fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I look upon you as a very fair and -civil-spoken young man, which is why I let -you see me. I'm a bit particular 'oo I show -my pictures to. I'll be getting along now. -Good-night, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the threshold of the door he paused again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One more thing, young man. I ain't -the sort of bloke to show me chest around; -but you've treated me decent, man to man, -as the saying goes. And, therefore, if ever -the fancy takes you to show me to your -friends, why say the word and—'ere I am.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll say good-night now."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="three-babies"><span class="bold large">XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THREE BABIES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>One of the disadvantages attaching to Dr. Brink's -profession is its stay-at-home character. -A doctor has not time to travel. And -it is a well-known fact that travelling -improves the mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Think, for instance, how my doctor's mind -would relish the improvement associated with -a short spell of travel on the London, -Tilbury, and Something Railroad! I travelled -on this system only yesterday—it is the direct -route to Dr. Brink's—and I protest that one -of my fellow-travellers—a baby—was really -</span><em class="italics">most</em><span> improving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This baby came into our compartment -head downwards, and advertised his -displeasure with this state of things by means -at his command.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A little pale-faced girl who followed Baby -uttered remonstrances, which were answered -by the little rickety boy who carried him. -I saw and heard these things but vaguely, -because our carriage was filled with noise -and smell, and its lights were dim. And -many people had breathed within it, and the -gentlemen about me were smoking shag -tobacco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little pale-faced girl expressed herself -with emphasis, coughing and gasping between -each adjective. There was a great deal of -fringe upon her forehead and a great deal of -feather on her head, and some broken teeth -within her mouth. She dug at her -companion with a bony elbow, as they stood -there, being supported in an upright attitude -by means of other people's knees and also -by means of a rack provided for light articles -only. "You clumsy tyke, you!" shrilled the -girl, by way of concluding her address.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hee-haw!" responded the youth, with -satire. It was made evident by certain signs, -such as the cheerfulness of his conversation -and a sort of </span><em class="italics">négligé</em><span> as to his fringe, that he -had spent his evening amid congenial -surroundings. '"Old the kid yeself, then," -he added. And his companion took the child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you done with them suckers?" -she then demanded; upon which the young -man brought forth bull's-eyes from his trouser -pocket. With one of these the little girl -essayed to comfort Baby, holding the evil thing -between his toothless gums. But Baby -continued, as before, to moan and writhe.... -"I fink that beetroot ain't agreein' wiv 'im," -said the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little rickety boy made no reply. He -was busy, having a handful of cigarette-ends -to strip and bind anew with paper. "Why -don't you stop 'is noise?" he at length -demanded, applying his tongue to the completed -"fag." "Call yeself a mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fact as to Baby's authorship I had, -of course, suspected. I perceived, -however, that our fellow-passengers did not -mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl did not allow the young man's -question to remain unanswered. "Never -trouble," she said, "what I call myself. -What do you call yeself? A man, I suppose. -Funny sort of man, ain't you? More like -a ape. More like a crab. Fine 'usband for -a person, ain't you? 'Usband, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An elderly man at my right hand removed -his pipe and grinned. The gentleman -opposite to him winked; and a woman in the -corner giggled rustily. You might have -supposed them to be tickled by a sense of -the deeper irony which underlay this mother's -sarcasm. But, as a matter of fact, the -reflections which moved them were not of this -character. The elderly man at my right -explained his sentiments publicly. "Puts me -in mind," he said, "of my fust. 'E were jest -sich a skinny one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Rickets spoke again. "Why can't -you stop the beggar's noise?" he demanded. -"Worse nor a waggon-load o' tomcats, that -row is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What," demanded the girl, "d'you expect -me to do? Put a muzzle on 'im? Why -don't you take an' stop 'im yeself? 'Andy -enough wiv yere tongue, you are. S'pose -you show us 'ow to do the business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My way o' stoppin' 'im would be easy," -said the boy, with a stupid grin. "I should -lay a strap acrost 'is back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His companion reapplied the elbow -treatment. "You do!" she squeaked between -the digs. "You do, you little ape. Let me -see you. On'y let me see you. There'd -be a strap 'crost your back blessed soon. -Not 'arf, there wouldn't. You baboon, you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked helplessly at nothing, -"hushing" the baby upon her breast by -means of sudden, horrible, little jerks. Such -a pitiful parody of rock-a-bye. She was too -young and pale properly to know or -understand the business of mothering, which is -a difficult business to learn in your spare -time, especially when they shut you out for a -"quarter" if you are two minutes late at the -factory. So that this London mother sucked -at a bull's-eye, and yawned, and jerked, -while the London baby lay in her arms and -moaned.... "I fink it is the beetroot," -reiterated the mother presently. "He looks -so cold, Sam."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's wind," pronounced the boy, bringing -forth a mouth-organ and carefully wiping it -upon his sleeve. "Give 'im a tap, same's I -told you. 'Seaweed,' mates." With which -announcement the husband and father -proceeded to wring out the melody of that -name. We all tapped time with our feet, -and the mother sucked her bull's-eye, and -the baby moaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He looks so cold," repeated the mother, -as the mouth-organ subsided. "Give us -'Cock o' the North,' Sam."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sam obeyed this summons with alacrity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will pardon me, young woman," -observed the elderly man at my right hand, -having duly applauded the soloist—"if you -will pardon me, young woman, I will take -the liberty of recommending a cold key. It -catches the breath, if you take my meanin'. -See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; I don't see," responded the mother -sharply. It resented the preferment of -counsel. This reflected upon its competence: -this offended its sense of dignity. It was a -married woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The husband readdressed himself to his -mouth-organ. But as he put that instrument -of melody unto his lips, the girl reached -sharply forth and stayed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"E—'e seems to be a-chokin', Sam," she -said. "I think—I b'lieve—I—what you -grinnin' for, you ugly ape? When'll we get -to Bow? 'Ow many stations? You old -'im, Sam: I b'lieve—I—he looks so cold. He -looks </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give 'im another bull's-eye," suggested -Sam. "There's peppermint in bull's-eyes. -Next station's Bow. What are you grizzlin' for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E—'e looks so cold," explained the wife. -There was a flame in her eye. A new -flame—a flame of fear and joy. It was as though -a match had been put to her soul. She was -learning the business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman in the corner left off giggling. -She spoke to the mother. "You run along -to bed with 'im, my gel. Never you mind -about 'is looks. Run along to bed with 'im, -so's 'e can be warm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the girl tightened her hold upon the -parcels rack; and swayed her body gently, -like a real mother. The boy, her husband, -drew forth a series of discords from the -mouth-organ. But she did not scream at -him as before. She stood there, dumbly, -rocking her baby like a real mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the baby did not moan. The baby -lay there on her bosom, silent and strangely -still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, with a jerk, our train pulled up. -And the girl let go of the rack-rail and -stumbled out. "Come on, Sam," she said, -"we gotter 'urry. 'E looks so cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till I light me fag, then," said the -boy. He struck a match on his boot-heel, -and followed her, whistling cheerfully.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Our train moved on. And the elderly -man at my right hand imparted a secret -to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's their fust," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded, patiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E lay quiet enough when the music -started. Did you notice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I said, "I noticed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're funny devils," said the man.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ingrates"><span class="bold large">XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">INGRATES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"DR. BRINK. Important.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"DEAR DOCTOR,—Ther is a lady keeps on -coming in a motor car, and her names is -Mrs. Dudenay-Jones, and she is always at our -place, and we think she 'as got a good -intention, but my husband says he has had enough, -and he thinks if we was to speak to you then -perhaps you was to speak to her so perhaps -she would stop it. She is a real lady, and -always civil and polite, but my husband says -we've had ennough. His mates has got to -hear about it, and they call him Gordon -Bennett, and he is a hardworking man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my daughter Kate she takes the -interest in, the same what you give the -light-brown mixture to for loosing her appetite. -She wants to put her in a home at Margate, -but my daughter has got a good home of her -own, and she do not want to be beholding. -And if a person goes to Margate you always -bring back vermin, and there is enough work -to keep a decent home without anybody need -go to Margate and bring back vermin. And -further and more, my Kate 'as got a bank -book of her own, thank God, and when she -wants to take a fortnight she can do it -independent, and her young fellar the same, him -what has the bottles of red from you for spots -on the face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so it is kindly to be hoped as you -will kindly talk about it to the lady, you being -reguly engaged by us for all these year, and -knowing well that we are hardworking and -independent, and not the kind as would wish -to be beholding. And she come 4 times a -week from Sat., and now it is only Tue., and -she has been twice. It is no wonder as -my daughter loose her appetite.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span> "And thanking with compts, -<br /> "Your faithl, -<br /> "SARAH BENNET, -<br /> 13, Markham Street, over against the Dairy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"P.S.—Boy got 6d. Please send a -bot. light brown for my daughter. Did my -daughter ought to drink a wineglass full of -vineger? They tell me it is good.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The lady has always acted civil, so I -hope you'll be the same.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>"S. BENNETT."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was this missive, reaching the doctor at -his breakfast table, which caused a beautiful -philanthropist to enter his surgery at -tea-time. She came in immediate response to -the doctor's invitation; she came with a rush, -having been carried hither by her -80-h.p. 8-cylinder light touring car.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, oh, </span><em class="italics">dear</em><span> Dr. Brink," she said, -"how simply charming it is to meet you! -One has so often read your bright little -speeches about this shocking poverty. One -simply yearns to do something. How one -envies you your strength, your power, your -splendid opportunities. How you must </span><em class="italics">revel</em><span> -in your work here, Doctor! It must be -simply charming!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About as charming," said the doctor, -"as keeping pigs and sleeping with them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The beautiful philanthropist broke into -appreciative titters. "</span><em class="italics">Pigs</em><span>, Doctor!" she -cried, with the archest look. "</span><em class="italics">Pigs</em><span>! -He! he! And you call yourself a Socialist! Of -course, I'm not a Socialist myself. One's -husband cannot be expected to approve of -such extremes as that. But one need not be -a Socialist in order to feel sorry for them. -Now, need one, Doctor? But when one is -a woman, it is all so difficult. Oh, Doctor, -can one do </span><em class="italics">nothing</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One </span><em class="italics">can</em><span>," replied the doctor; "but one -won't. That, madame, is the difficulty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't quite understand you," said the -lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ask me," explained the doctor, -"whether one can do nothing. I reply that -one can: that this is all we ask of one—to -do nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To do </span><em class="italics">nothing</em><span>? </span><em class="italics">D-o-c-t-o-r</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does sound revolutionary, perhaps," -admitted the doctor. "But it is really true. -We ask one to do </span><em class="italics">nothing</em><span>. We ask one to -be so kind as to sit at home and draw threads -out of teacloths. And to draw cheques. -But not to leave one's blameless hearth. -We ask one to keep away. The pig-stye is -a dirty pig-stye, and it's got to be cleaned -by dirty people. Nice people—manicured -people—-are best out of it. See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see that you want to be rude," said the -lady, "but I don't—— What is it all about, -Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This," said Dr. Brink. And he gave -her Mrs. Bennett's letter. And she read it -silently. And she stood up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Doctor," she observed, "one -doesn't quite know what to say. I'm sorry, -I suppose. I will write and apologise to -Mrs. Bennett. I'll go home and draw -threads.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't trouble to get up," she continued, -as the doctor rose from his chair. "Don't -trouble to get up. You are quite the rudest -man I've ever met. Please don't trouble to -get up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She reached the door, but paused upon its -threshold and turned to him again. "You -are quite the rudest man I've ever met," she -said again. "Quite the rudest.... I'll -send you some money for your pigs."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="baffin-s-find"><span class="bold large">XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">BAFFIN'S FIND</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Baffin came home one evening in a state of -wild-eyed exaltation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had found </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> face for his "Mist -Maiden." Its name was Prudence Croft.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was coming to sit next day, and certain -brothers of the brush were coming also to -inspect and criticise Prudence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin's panegyrics quite interested me. -I invited myself to join the party and my -invitation was accepted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So that I first saw Prudence under -romantic circumstances. She was sitting on a -sugar-box with her bodice off. The -combination of her charms and a red flannel -under-garment was startling to the eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence was occupied, it seemed, in a -proceeding called "sitting for the neck and -shoulders." The process was not a restful -one, for Prudence had "nerves" and "fidgets" -and a constant flow of anecdote. Mr. Baffin -made free with expressions of entreaty, -disapprobation, and despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For myself, I sat and stared at Prudence, -being consumed with a great wonder. It -wasn't the flannel which provoked this -wonder. Red flannel is a hideous material, and -highly moral and depressing at that. And I -am sure that the spectacle of a poor, anæmic -rat of an artist's model seated in "half-costume" -on a sugar-box is not (in itself) an -attractive one. But Prudence fascinated me -as no human being had fascinated me for -many days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If any of you have felt the poignant, -horrible appeal of Ophelia during the "mad -scene," you will know how I felt about -Prudence. Her spare, consumptive body -was crowned by a neck and face and head as -beautiful as any that ever were. But it was -a beauty that was monstrous in its perfection, -and that, therefore, hurt like some -monstrosity of ugliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence's beauty was the beauty of -imbecility—that which Rossetti loved so much -to draw. To look at her for long was like -looking at some exotic, over-nurtured lily in a -hot-house: one felt sick and restless and -unmanned, and fell to longing for some robuster -blossom on a hedgerow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had the genuine Rossetti neck—a -thing which rose and swelled and died away -in exquisite, maddening curves. She had the -genuine Rossetti nose—straight, and small, -and delicate, and sinful. She had hair, a full -arm's length, that crept and clung and strayed -and floated like the tendrils of a vine. She -had wide, inscrutable eyes: wondering as a -child's, yet filled with an awful something -that was not of childhood. She had, above -all else, a mouth which stung you with its -beauty—blood-red lips that were open and -moist and eager, like a lover's wound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To all these charms she added the mind -and speech of a mud-lark: the intelligence of -a backward infant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ow, Mr. Baffin," she was saying when I -saw her first, "ow, Mr. Baffin, you </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> frighten -me when you swear so. I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> keep still: I -will, reely. I won't fidget or move or -talk—I won't even breathe—for a 'ole ten minnits. -On'y I must tell you about me an' my sister -an' the penny-in-the-slot machine. Mother -give us tuppence, see, 'cos it was washin' day, -an'—— ... Ow, now you're angry, Mr. Baffin. -Down't be angry, Mr. Baffin. I am -a wicked girl, I know I am, an' I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> keep -still: an' Gawd knows what's to become of -me when my mother dies, an' everybody 'ates -me, an' I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> un'eppy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The remainder of Prudence's observations -were mingled with the sound of noisy sobs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Baffin, that eminent painter, put down -his palette and brush. "I'll wait," he said, -"until you are dry again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Down't be engry with me, Mr. Baffin," -moaned Prudence. "I'll be a good gel now—I -will, reely—if on'y yew wown't be engry -with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then," answered Baffin. "You -can begin to be a good girl now. I 'm not angry -with you </span><em class="italics">any</em><span> more, and if only you keep still -for five little minutes while I get in the curves -of the chin, I'll let you talk and wriggle as -much as you like for a whole ten minutes. -Now hold your head up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Prudence ceased her lamentations, and -held her head up—for five-and-thirty seconds. -At the end of that period an interesting -thought occurred to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll be Christmas in four months," she -observed, wriggling delightedly. "I'm -gownter give my muvver something </span><em class="italics">sow</em><span> nice fur -Christmas' I'm gownter give 'er a—— Ow, -Mr. Baffin, you're angry with me agen. I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> -a bad gel, I know I am; but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can leave off helping me for a minute -or two," said Baffin quietly. "I've got to do -some scraping here, so you can have the -wriggle now. What is this about Christmas?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got two guineas comin' to </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> fur -Christmas—per'aps. I sat to Mr. Baker fur -'is 'Birth of Wonder,' an' when 'e sells it 'e -is gointer gimme two guineas!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin looked at me, and I nodded in -appreciation of his glance. Everybody -knows, of course, that Mr. Wilberforce -Baker, the eminent Academician, disposed of -his "Birth of Wonder" last June. It was -his tenth annual contribution to that -remarkable collection of pictures now being formed -under a bequest of the late -Mr. Bantry—Mr. Wilberforce Baker himself being a -trustee of the fund bequeathed for that -purpose. Baffin excommunicated that -distinguished artist in dumb show.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't count on the two guineas," -was all he said to Prudence. "... How -long is it since you sat for Mr. Baker?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ow, </span><em class="italics">ever</em><span> so lung!" answered Prudence. -"Down't know why 'tis, I'm sure, on'y I -down't seem to be able to get now sittin's -</span><em class="italics">now</em><span>'ow. They all say I'm pretty an' that; -an' they all rave about me neck: an' they -all tell me to call agen; but nothink ever -comes of it. Can't make it out at </span><em class="italics">all</em><span>, I -can't?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are lacking in the quality of perception, -my dear," explained Baffin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beg your pardon?" queried Prudence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," repeated Baffin, "that you are -lacking—that you are damned slow at seeing -things!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ow, Mr. Baffin, you </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> a naughty man. -Fancy usin' such wicked words. My mother -says it is on'y bad people what uses words -like that. My mother cut 'er finger yesterday, -makin' toast. We got the drains up in -</span><em class="italics">our</em><span> 'ouse. Ugly things, them little kittens, -ain't they? I 'ates 'em when they're crawly, -like those."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence, making a wry face, pointed to -a basket beside the sugar-box. This -contained a family of illegitimate kittens which -James had adopted out of Christian charity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">'ate</em><span> cats," continued Prudence in her -childish, sing-song voice. "I ate all animals. -I like goin' to the theayter, though. I like -goin' to church too. I like——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would have provided us, doubtless, -with an exhaustive list of her enthusiasms; -but the door of the studio opened, and gave -entrance to those brothers of the brush whose -coming was expected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They looked upon Prudence, and were staggered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where in Hell did you find her?" they -inquired of Baffin, and discharged a volley -of most wonderful expletives in evidence of -their surprise and appreciation and envy. -And they hanked her off the sugar-box, and -turned her this way and that way, inspecting -her "form" in much the same manner as -that adopted by farmers when buying horseflesh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chin up, please; more to the right. -Now to the left. Ah! Get over there, -under that top light. Profile, please. Ah! -How about shoulders: salt-cellars, I expect; -they always have. Pull that thing down. -Ah! Not so bad as I feared. No good for -the figure, but—but that neck! Trust old -Baffin to find 'em, eh, John?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was to me something inexplicably -delightful in the utter sexlessness of this -admiration. To say the least, it was ungallant -and sane. And Prudence evidently shared -this feeling. The childish vanity in her eyes -was unmistakable, and she walked back to -her throne on the sugar-box with a strut that -real queens might have envied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin tried to resume work on the -picture; but Prudence's gifts of anecdote were -as yet unexhausted, and she found it -necessary to tell what Mr. Wilberforce Baker had -said to Mr. Jerningham Jukes, and what -Mr. J. J. had said to Mr. W. B., and what -she had said to both of them, and what -her mother had suffered under chloroform. -And she giggled, and she wriggled, and she -apologised, and she wept, and she wriggled -and she giggled again. And Comrade of -Brush No. 1 observed to Comrade of Brush -No. 2 that this sort of thing would not be -good enough at any price. Comrade No. 2 -sniffed assentingly. "And what the blazes," -he inquired, "does she want to wear that -beastly flannel for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" grunted No. 1. "I say, Baffin, -why does she wear red flannel? Makes -chaps sick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin referred the matter to headquarters. -"What do you dress yourself up like a sore -throat for, Prudence?" he inquired. "Why -do you wear red flannel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence's eyes were wide with amazement. -"Ow, Mr. Baffin," she tittered, "yew -</span><em class="italics">are</em><span> a funny men! ... I got pretty things -at 'owm. But what's the good o' wearin' 'em -out in the studios?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are lacking, my dear girl, in the -quality of perception." Baffin uttered these -words with an oracular air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Comrades made their adieux. "Not -if she </span><em class="italics">paid</em><span> me to paint her," whispered No. 1, -with a jerk of the head towards Prudence. -"But, Lord, </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> a profile! A tricky man -could work wonders with that head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pity she spoils herself," added Comrade -No. 2. And they departed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear what those gentlemen said?" -demanded Baffin, as the door closed.... "You -are too talkative, and you giggle too much, -and you wriggle too much. And you should -leave off red flannel, and make yourself -nice. You could make a lot of money if you -took care of yourself. Think of the nice -things you could give your mother then!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My mother's got a abscess," moaned -Prudence, "an' I believe she'll die, an' then -I'll starve, 'cause I'm a good-for-nothin' gel, -an' I wown't sit still, an'—an' me figure's too -flat. But I'm learnin' to croshy, an' I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> -be better. Shall I come termorrer, Mr. Baffin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on Friday," answered Baffin. -"And," he added, "come in a nice, -unwrigglesome frame of mind. You shall have -cream and tea and muffins if you are a good girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ooer!" cried Prudence. "I like muffins. -And I like cream, and I like claret... 'Ere"—her -face suddenly grew grave, grave as a -child's at play with toys—"'ere, Mr. Baffin, -do you believe in auctioneers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I believe in </span><em class="italics">what</em><span>?" shouted Baffin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Auctioneers," repeated Prudence, with a -pout. "Don't be angry with me; I won't -ask agen, if you don't like.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On'y ... what you want to look at me -so queer for? I can't 'elp bein' silly. I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> -silly. On'y ... I wonder if a auctioneer is -the sort of man that anybody ought to trust?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="mr-west-s-wife"><span class="bold large">XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">MR. WEST'S WIFE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Is this the young man?" said Mrs. West, -of Mulberry Street, sitting up in bed and -shading a very white face with a very hot -hand. "Oh, I daresay 'e'll do! 'Tain't much, -I'm told. No doubt 'e'll manage it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That task which Mrs. West, of Mulberry -Street, thus coldly confided to my -management was the witnessing of her will. -Dr. Brink had volunteered to execute this -document for her; and a sniggering youth had -haled me from the snugness of the doctor's -waiting chariot to come upstairs and sign.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After my formal presentation to Mrs. West, -there was an interval of silence, -broken only by the scratchy-scratchy of the -doctor's pen, as he hastily constructed a -form of bequest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I employed this interval in taking stock of -the testator's estate, the whole of which was -contained within her room. There were two -bedsteads, one (a little folding thing) being -devoted to the uses of the sniggering boy -who, be it stated, figured in the document -which was now being prepared as sole -legatee. The other bedstead—that on which -the patient lay—was obviously a veteran -bedstead which had seen much of the world. -It was a circumstantial, ponderous bedstead, -and wore still a pompous air, although its -ironwork was rusted and its lacquered parts -had quite lost their complexion. This -bedstead also bore a superstructure designed to -carry a canopy; but all that hung there now -were certain moth-eaten petticoats. There -was a chest of drawers among the assets, -and a cork model of the Tower of London, -and a wash-basin and two soap dishes, and -two dumb clocks and the mechanism of -another, and a work of art designed in -multi-coloured wools, and having reference to the -parable of the fig tree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Make it all over to 'im," said Mrs. West; -"all what I, the undersigned, may die -possessed of. I won't 'ave 'is stuck-up sister -touch a stick of it. 'E's bin a good boy to -me, Bert 'as. It'll be a 'ome for 'im.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's bin a near touch for me, what, -Doctor?" pursued the testator.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pooh!" murmured the doctor, still -writing rapidly, "you're not going this time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that," said the woman. "Not -as I take any notice what </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> say—you an' -your soft soap. But I know in </span><em class="italics">meself</em><span> as it's -all right this time. On'y you never know -what's gointer 'appen with the next attack, -do you, now? And it'll be a 'ome for -the boy. 'E's gettin' good money at the dye -works now. 'E'll be all right if 'e's got a -'ome. You ain't puttin' it so's </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> can touch -a share, I 'ope, Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Er what I spoke about—what calls -'erself my daughter. 'Er what's married -into the perlice. 'Er what's ashamed of 'er -own father!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am putting it," explained the doctor, -"so that you leave all of which you may die -possessed to your son Albert. It's quite -definite. You may sign now. This gentleman -and myself will witness your signature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lift me up, then," said Mrs. West.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She signed her name in a shaky but -accomplished hand. "Be careful, young -man," she admonished me, when my turn -arrived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the formalities being concluded, -Mrs. West sank back upon her pillow with a grunt -of contentment. "It'll be a 'ome for the -boy," she said. "And if 'is father </span><em class="italics">should</em><span> -turn up——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he got a father, then?" questioned -the doctor, rather, I think, with the object -of displaying an intelligent interest than from -any genuine curiosity. You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> apt to lose -your genuine curiosity when this sort of -confidence is thrust upon you ten times daily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Got a father!" echoed Mrs. West, with -evident amazement at the doctor's ignorance. -"Ain't you 'eard, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heard what?" demanded Dr. Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About my 'usband. The Midland Malt -Comp'ny, you know!'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, really now," replied the doctor, -looking painfully confused, "upon my word, -I </span><em class="italics">don't</em><span> know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must go about your business in a -very funny way, then," reflected Mrs. West. -"It's bin the talk o' Limus. 'E done 'em in -for eight 'undred quid—'im an' another man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Done 'em in!" repeated the doctor. -"Who? What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Midland Malt Company, same's I -told you," expounded Mrs. West. "'E was -night watchman, Mr. West was—'im an' -another man—an' they took eight 'undred -quid. 'E got away with 'arf of it, too. The -perlice 'as bin investigatin' ever since."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Brink still looked a little puzzled. -"You mean, in fact—do I understand that -your husband stole eight hundred pounds?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. West an' another man—yes," responded -the woman, quite without feeling. -"'Im an' 'is mate, they done in eight 'undred. -On'y 'is mate, I'm sorry to say, 'e never got -'is share. The perlice got that. They got -'im, too. But they never got Mr. West."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did he escape?" demanded the -doctor. And I held my breath. I wondered -that the desperado's wife could talk so quietly. -"How did he escape?" asked the doctor again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. West?" queried the woman. "Oh," -she said, with great simplicity, "'e went away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was like this yere," said Mr. West's -wife:—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was asleep, you see—in this bed yere, -an' it was dark—all in the middle o' the -night, you see. An' he struck a match an' -he woke me up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'What's that?' I says, with a start like, an' -when I see it was Mr. West I lay down again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ann,' 'e says, 'wake up. I've got some -money 'ere,' 'e says. An' 'e lights a bit o' -candle, an' I sits up, an' there on the table—that -very table—there was a 'eap o' sovereigns -what 'e'd rolled out of a sack. 'I've -took these from the company. I'm goin' -away,' says Mr. West.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' 'e gets into 'is Sunday shoot an' 'e -shaves 'isself. An' 'e puts a lot o' the money -more'n four 'undred pounds—into a little -brown bag, an' 'e puts the rest in the coal -cupboard. 'The perlice 'll come for that in -the mornin',' says Mr. West. 'Let 'em find -it there. An' you,' 'e says, 'you don't know -nothink.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'An' what about you?' I says.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'I'm goin' away,' says Mr. West. 'I'll -write you when it's safe. Give my love to -Rosa.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rosa is my sister's niece, what 'e'd always -carried on with—innocent like, in a jokin' -sort o' way, if you understand me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'An' remember,' says Mr. West to me -again, 'as you don't know a thing. They'll -find the money in the coal 'ole, so don't you -try to stop 'em.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' then Mr. West, 'e kissed me same -as usual, an' 'e blowed out the light. An' 'e -went away."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I suppose that the police turned up all -right?" suggested Dr. Brink, when he had -duly considered this simple story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The perlice," responded the woman, who -had talked more than was good for her, and -now looked paler, if possible, than before—"the -perlice was very rude an' rough to me. -They found the money in the coal cupboard, -an' they took it away. But that didn't satisfy -them. It on'y seemed to aggerivate them. -An' night after night they come round 'ere, -an' they was very rough to me. But they -ain't got 'old o' Mr. West.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E's bin gone a year now, all but five -weeks. An' they ain't caught 'im, an' they -never will. I believe it would please that -daughter o' mine—the wicked, vain, unfeelin' -thing—if they </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> to catch 'm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. West, 'e 'aven't wrote me, nor I -don't suppose 'e will. Mr. West is a careful -sort. I </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> send round the other day to a -place where I thought there might be noos -o' 'im; but there wasn't no noos o' 'im.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not that I worry meself about </span><em class="italics">'im</em><span>, if -you understand. Mr. West would be all -right, wherever it was. 'E's the sort that -kin take care o' 'isself, 'e is. It's the -boy—young Bert—I'm thinkin' of. Mr. West -would be very cut up, 'e would, to think as -Bert should come to any 'arm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This reference to the nice paternal feeling -of Mr. West affected us both strangely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," continued Mrs. West, "I'm leavin' -'im the 'ome, at all events. Bert can't come -to no pertickler 'arm so long's 'e's got a -home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. West 'isself was always a rare one -for 'ome. The boy takes arter 'im."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="three-dialogues"><span class="bold large">XVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THREE DIALOGUES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Mission of the Healer is a fine and a -noble one, and I have often confided this -original thought to my friend Doctor Brink, -who declares that such confidences are -helpful to him. And I now desire to record, -without comment, three dialogues which -drifted in to me at intervals one Sunday, -when I was sitting on the doctor's gas-stove.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>I.—MORNING</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: And 'e's ser fretful, Doctor, and -'is breathin's ser sick, and 'e don't appear to -'ave no appetite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Bring him to the light here. I -just want—ah!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: I give 'im a soothin' powder, -too, last night—a large one. I bought it at -the chimmis. They're supposed to be very -good, them Parker's soothin' powders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I'm afraid that this is rather -serious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Down't you think they're very -good, Doctor—them Parker's soothin' powders?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I'm afraid there's not much -doubt that this child has got diphtheria.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: I bin very careful with 'im, -Doctor. I give 'im a soothin' powder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Where do you live?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Fourteen Mulberry Street. It's -next to the oil shop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: How many rooms?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Was you gointer send 'im away -then, Doctor? Oh, down't send 'im away?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: How many rooms?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Down't send 'im away, Doctor!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I haven't said anything about -sending him away—so far. Answer my -questions like a sensible woman. You want -him to get better, don't you?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: I down't want you to send 'im -away. I kin look arter 'im meself. There's -on'y six of us, an' we got three rooms, an -the other two boys kin sleep with me mother -in the kitchen? Down't send him away!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I'm very much afraid, -Mrs.—ah—Mrs. Cooper, that it doesn't quite rest -with me whether the boy is taken away or -not. He's got diphtheria, that's certain, and -I'm legally compelled to report the case. It -is for the Public Health people to decide -whether they take the boy or leave him. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> -think you ought to be glad to let him go. -He'll be well looked after.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Down't send 'im away!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: But why not, Mrs. Cooper? -You want him to get better, don't you. -You can't possibly nurse him yourself. You -have the other children to attend to, and the -home to take care of, and your husband——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Yus, an' there's me 'usband, too. -'E won't let you take 'im.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR (</span><em class="italics">very patiently</em><span>): I've said before -that I don't want to take him. It is the -health officers who will take him if he's taken -at all. My duty is done when I've reported -the case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: What you wanter tell 'em for? -What you wanter put the little chap away for?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I'm telling them because I shall -be punished if I don't. But I think it's very -foolish and ungrateful of you to make this -fuss. I only want to do the best I can for -you and your baby. You want him to get -better, don't you?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Down't send 'im away! Let me -send me 'usband round to talk to you. Never -mind about the punishment an' that, Doctor. -My 'usband won't tell nobody. I'd like you -to talk to me 'usband, Doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: And I would rather like to talk -to your husband. I can explain things more -clearly to him, perhaps. Send him round at -once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Very likely it ain't the diftheria -at all, Doctor. I'm sure me 'usband won't -'ave 'im took away.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>II.—MIDDAY</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: And what can I do for </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: I come round yere to talk about -the boy Cooper. I'm 'is father. The child -ain't to be took away, see? 'E ain't got -diftheria at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I'm sorry to have to differ from -your diagnosis, Mr. Cooper, but the child -</span><em class="italics">has</em><span> got diphtheria. And I'm very much -afraid that he's got to be taken away. It -doesn't rest with me; I merely have to -report——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: If you wanter know the troof, -Doctor, we've called in Doctor Popham. -See? And Doctor Popham don't believe -as the boy 'ave got diftheria at all. And 'e's -sent the boy some physic. And 'e's gointer -'ave another look at 'im termorrer. And -we've took the case outer your 'ands, see? -So you needn't trouble to send in no reports -to nobody. That child ain't bein' took away. -You needn't trouble to interfere no more. -The boy is stoppin' 'ome, along of 'is lawful -parents. See?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Did Doctor Popham examine -the child's throat?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: What's that gotter do with you? -The boy ain't got diftheria. And 'e ain't -gotter be moved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: It has got this much to do with -me—that I </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> examine the child's throat. -I'm not suggesting to you that I think he has -diphtheria; I'm telling you that he jolly well -</span><em class="italics">has</em><span> got it. I </span><em class="italics">know</em><span>. When you go home -you can see for yourself. Look in the little -chap's throat and you will see a round white -patch about the size of a sixpence. That, -my friend, is diphtheria.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: The boy ain't gotter be moved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: That's not my business. -Somebody else will decide about that. But I -don't suppose he'll let you murder the child, -even if you are its father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: 'E's my child, ain't 'e? And 'e's -in my 'ouse. Nobody ain't gointer take my -child away without I tells 'em to. See?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: It isn't only this one child we -have to consider. What about your two -other children? What about all the other -children in the house?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Let other people look after their -own, same's what I'm willing to do fur </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> -own. A man's got a right to 'is own children -and nobody ain't gointer touch no child o' -mine without I lets 'em.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: You stand on your rights, do you?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: That's it. All the corpuscular -'ealth orficers in England ain't gointer take -my lawful child away from me. See?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I don't know whether it's ever -been mentioned to you before, but you are -rather by way of being a Social Problem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: It ain't your place to be saucy. -I know me rights, and neither you nor any -man is going to tell me as it's right to -rob a person of their lawful child. And I -don't want none of your sneers nor I don't -want none of your nicknames. You're out o' -this job, see? I've called in Dr. Popham. -You and yere Latin nicknames!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: I can put it into English if you -like. You're a pudding-headed fool. Good-day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: What about my child? Are -you gointer promise to leave 'im alone?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Of course I am. You can kill -your whole family for all I care. I've -sent in my report to the authorities, and -there's an end of it. Good-day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: You've reported, 'ave ye? Oh, -very well, then. We'll see. That boy ain't -gotter be shifted. See?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: All right. Get out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: We've called in Dr. Popham, -and 'e's weighed </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> up. See? The boy -ain't got diftheria at all. Nor 'e ain't gotter -be shifted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR (</span><em class="italics">in simpler terms</em><span>): May Heaven -administer to your requirements. Get out.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>III.—EVENING</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: If you please, Doctor, I come round -ere about the boy Cooper. I'm the father, -sir. We want you to come round and see -'im. 'E's very bad, sir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Made rather fools of yourselves, -haven't you?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: We ain't give 'im none o' -Dr. Popham's medsun, sir; not a drop. We -want you to come round, Doctor. 'E's very bad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: All right. I'll be round in half -an hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Can't you come round at once, -sir? 'E's very bad. 'E don't seem able to -swaller, sir, and there's lumps in 'is neck. -And the man from the 'ealth orfice ain't ser -much as bin near us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: That's your fault. I told him -you were going to make a fuss, and I suppose -he's busy and has put it off until to-morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Can't you make 'im come to-night, -Doctor? The boy is very bad. And -one of the other boys is sneezin', and the -other one 'e says there is a funny feelin' in -'is thumb. Can't you come at once, Doctor?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR: Wait one minute, then, till I've -written these prescriptions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>VISITOR: Go' bless you, Doctor. We ain't -ser much as looked at Dr. Popham's physic. -We ain't, straight. The boy is very bad. -'Is face 'as gone a very funny colour. 'Ot -this evenin', ain't it? Much obliged to you, -I'm sure, Doctor. Think you kin put it right? -The boy </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> bad. It's a 'ot evenin'. What -they playin' at in the 'ealth orfice, -Doctor—leavin' a man's child to die?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="curing-the-curer"><span class="bold large">XIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">CURING THE CURER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Yes, Aunt Isobel," said James—"I quite -agree with you. The silly old duffer ought -certainly to take an anti-something. He's as -down-hearted and high-tempered as possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," quoth Aunt Isobel—a thin -and very definite lady, with a wire-woven -manner—"</span><em class="italics">something</em><span> ought to be done. -Your father is looking very unwell. I -attribute his condition to overwork and -undernourishment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nourishment's all right, Aunt Isobel," -protested James. "He eats enough to fill -an ox."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Isobel winced and raised an arresting -forearm, as if to ward off some physical -menace. "You really do employ the most -trying phrases, my dear," she said. -"Personally, I am a stronger believer in -Anti-Nervo. Two tablets, three times a -day—one before each meal, and one after. It is -really a quite remarkable remedy. Poverty -of blood is one of a great number of -complaints for which the makers themselves -especially recommend it. Poverty of blood -is, of course, your father's chief trouble. He -is much under-nourished."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to see him walk into a steak," -said James.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If," pursued Aunt Isobel, "he really -does receive a proper quantity of food, then -I'm inclined to fear that it is food of poor -quality. If, indeed, both the quality </span><em class="italics">and</em><span> -quantity of his food should prove to be -adequate, I can only suppose that he is -suffering from insufficient sleep. Or is it -brain fag? It </span><em class="italics">might</em><span>, of course, be liver or -weak heart. Or some secret trouble, -perhaps. Anti-Nervo is strongly recommended -for all these complaints. He must certainly -be made to take some Anti-Nervo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He must certainly be made to do -something violent," admitted James. "He's -certainly got hold of a most phenomenal hump."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Isobel was again forced to push off -imaginary assailants. "Where </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> you learn, -my dear," she inquired, in a poignant sort -of tone, "to use such fearfully emancipated -expressions? Another remedy in which I -have the greatest possible faith is -Sal-Toxine. Do you know Sal-Toxine? But, -of course, you don't; it is quite a novel -remedy. I myself have only—why, here is -your dear father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And here, indeed, that gentleman was; -wearing the gloomiest possible air, and a -very dirty collar. He blundered heavily -through the door, and cast himself heavily -upon a chair. Having disembarrassed -himself of a hat and a stethoscope, he -delivered an original and entertaining monologue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May my bones burn in hell," he said, -"if I conduct this profitable enterprise for -another damned minute. I've got the largest -and dirtiest and sickest collection of common -drunks in London. I've got all the Phthisics -from here to Limehouse. Every pre-ordained -son of a witch of a bricklayer within hail of -the parish has broken his bandy leg, and -called me in to set it. Every single woman -that ever worked in a jam factory is -'expecting' to-morrow, and there isn't a pint of -milk or a handful of coal between six of 'em. -I haven't slept a wink since yesterday -morning, or sat down since last night. I haven't -had a wash since Monday, or a drink since -last April. I'm fed up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This speech was listened to by James -with polite attention, but perfect calm. Aunt -Isobel, upon the other hand, was unable to -suppress a loudish shudder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo!" cried Dr. Brink, with evident -surprise. "Here's Isobel. How are you, -Isobel? Hear you've changed parsons -again. What a rabid young flirt you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have been discussing the subject of -your deplorable poverty of health," responded -the flirt. "We have decided that you must -be made to take a tonic—Anti-Nervo, say, -or Sal-Toxine. We have the very greatest -faith in them, especially Anti-Nervo. You -take two tablets, three times daily: one -before and one after each meal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't I have one in my bath, as well?" -asked Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The directions," responded Aunt Isobel, -"are very explicit. Two tablets three times -daily—one before and one after each meal. -It is a wonderful remedy. My own doctor -at Chiswick—a </span><em class="italics">really</em><span> clever man—is -perfectly charmed with it. He has analysed it -several times. He has the most perfectly -refined voice that I have ever met with in a -man. </span><em class="italics">He</em><span> takes his profession quite seriously. -He is an M.B. of Edinburgh, and a surgeon -as well, and they say he is quite the youngest -man who has ever attempted the two things -at once. He plays the banjo most delightfully."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good at cracking nuts, too, isn't he?" -suggested the doctor in a tired voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," continued Aunt Isobel, "we -don't want to insist upon Anti-Nervo if -there is any other genuine tonic in which -you have more faith. I know many -extremely intelligent people who simply swear -by Sal-Toxine; and then, of course, there is -Pherantidote. I have heard that Our Queen -uses that. What is your opinion of Pherantidote?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," responded Doctor Brink, "it's a -dam small bottle for one-and-eight. Do you -really think I'm seedy, Isobel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are both agreed that you require——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I require, old girl," said Doctor -Brink, rising slowly to his feet, "is a job in -the City. I want to try a new system of -exploitation. My game's too deadly simple: -I'm tired of pumping aniline dye and water -into hungry bellies for a thousand a year. -I'm tired of the filthy working-man—tired of -seeing him so close. He smells of beer, -and his hands are so cold. His eyes are -awful, and they give me nightmares.... I -want to kill the cad more profitably. I want -to start a trouser-button works, or some -chutney mills, or something. I can't stand -it any longer—this deadly boredom: this -watching the dumb beast die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Aunt Isobel, "I can seriously -recommend you to pin your faith to -Anti-Nervo. You take two tablets three times -daily."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="milk"><span class="bold large">XX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">MILK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have long been interested in Mr. Binney. -He is the only milkman I have ever seen -who looks any different from other milkmen. -His very voice is different; for, whereas other -milkmen are sudden and shrill of utterance, -Mr. Binney has cultivated a profounder, more -scholarly method, and he has a voice of deep -bass quality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have sat at an upper window of the -Bovingdon Street dispensary and watched -this tradesman closely when he has been -conducting milkcans to the houses opposite. -I have observed his slow, deliberate tread, so -thoroughly in keeping with the fulness of his -girth and stature. I have noted his extensive -face, so plain and wise and red. I have -remarked his drooping eyelid and crimson neck, -his scant white locks, and row upon row of -chins—features insignificant in themselves, -but, when combined, imparting to his -countenance a strangely judicial character.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This effect of power (such is the individuality -of the man) receives additional strength -even from the trivial business of his calling. -Mr. Binney, when handing a milkcan through -some parlour window, looks less like a -milkman than any other imaginable human thing. -He handles the pewter vessel gingerly, -daintily, as if it were a precious casket, and -a sort of trembling eagerness is sometimes -to be observed in his demeanour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is nothing commercial in Mr. Binney's manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He does not seem to sell his milk. He -bestows it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To see him gingerly proffering his battered -cans is to see, as it were, an earthly -Providence—a conscious benefactor, distributing -Nature's bounty to her helpless children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He accepts the copper tokens which reward -his ministrations with an air of gracious calm -as far removed from any taint of barter as -are his actions. You might suppose him to -be a priest receiving offertory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The same spirit of gentleness distinguishes -his method of proclamation. Mr. Binney -does not use the cry of "Milk-ho!" which -his fellow-milkmen favour. I have already -stated that the tone of his voice is deeper -and more profound than that which they -employ. Pushing his little handcart before -him, he causes his utterance to correspond -with his gait—which is majestic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Milk! milk! </span><em class="italics">milk!</em><span>" he exclaims—or, -rather, utters—in a tone which is at once -appealing and authoritative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Binney so interested me that I reported -him to the doctor. "What is the mystery -of this unusual milkman?" I said. But the -doctor only smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A day or two afterwards, however, when I -was seated in anxious expectancy at the upper -window, Doctor Brink came up and brought -me my answer. "Waiting for your milkman?" -he said.... "Ha! I've just been sent for -to him. Come round with me now and see -him in his little home.... I shall want -some help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As we walked along, the doctor carried -his explanation a little further. "We shall -have to take his clothes off," he observed. -"If once we can get him undressed he's -fixed for a week, because he cannot hold -things steady, and he's fat, and his trousers -are tight, and—oh, here we are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A perfectly quiet and collected old lady -received us on the doorstep. "He's cut -'isself this time," she announced; "fell agin -the railings by the church. But he's very -jolly and 'igh-sperited, Doctor, and I'm sure -the sewing won't be any trouble to you. Is -this your assistant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor nodded. "Where is he?" -he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In 'is own old armchair," replied the -woman. "Per'aps you'll get 'is clothes off, -Doctor. It's on'y the trousers that matter. -They'll puzzle 'im till Sunday </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> time, -they will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We found Mr. Binney in the situation -reported. He received us with cheers and -a poetic outburst.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Dr. Brink,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Full of chink,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I </span><em class="italics">don't</em><span> think"—</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>he exclaimed; adding a personal couplet—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I'm old Binney,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Not so damned skinny."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Doctor," he continued, "'ave a drink?" Upon -the doctor declining this offer, -Mr. Binney chuckled loudly and extended—or -tried to extend—an arm. "Feel me pulse, -old buck," he shouted. "Let's see if you -know yere business. If ye can feel old Binney's -pulse I'll give you 'arf a dollar, 'cause -I'll be damned if ole Binney kin feel it -'isself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Loss of feeling, eh?" said the doctor, -in his suavest tone. "Ha! you'll feel </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> -all right." With which words he inserted a -surgical needle in Mr. Binney's cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oy!" cried Mr. Binney, "keep orf the grarse!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the doctor continued to ply his busy -thread, and Mr. Binney, being temporarily -incapable of performing any but the most -elementary movements, was constrained to -endure this treatment. When the doctor -had completed it—Mr. Binney having several -times admonished him to "keep orf the -grarse!"—and we had removed that -garment which exerted such a powerful -influence upon the question of Mr. Binney's -freedom, that gentleman once more -expressed himself in verse, saying—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Doctor Brink,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Tip 'im the wink,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Give 'im a drink,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I don't think.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Put 'im in clink,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Tiddely-wink,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Tiddely-wink,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Give 'im a drink.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Give 'im a——</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Good-bye, old pal, an' come agin termorrer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We went again upon the morrow, and -Binney expressed himself as being glad to -see us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dunno 'oo your soft-lookin' friend may -be," said Mr. Binney, "but I know 'oo you -are, Doctor, an' you done me a power o' -good, an' I'm grateful to you. Gettin' on -fine, I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's </span><em class="italics">right</em><span>," exclaimed the doctor, -looking as if he believed it. "Keeping off -the drink, of course, as I advised you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keepin' orf tadpoles!" cried Mr. Binney, -with disdain. "I've 'ad five brandies auready -this mornin', an' not you, nor the ole woman, -nor the King 'isself would stop me. I know -the cure for </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> complaint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning Dr. Brink paid his third -and last visit to this patient. The patient -willed it so, having reconstructed the frame -of his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look 'ere, me man," said Mr. Binney -upon this occasion, "I'm grateful for what -you done for me, and so on. See? But -I've 'ad enough of you. See? I'm very -much obliged to you, and all that; but I -don't want you. I'm better now. I'm all -right now. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't want no blinkin' doctors. -See what I mean? You're a clever fellow, -no doubt, and I quite agree, and you 'ave -my thanks. But you can 'op it. See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Brink accordingly hopped it. But that -his treatment had not been wholly useless -was testified by Mrs. Binney, who, when -calling in that evening for some more dark -brown, announced, with a sigh of satisfaction, -that "'is trembles" was as bad as ever. -"It'll be another week 'fore ever 'e can put -them trousers on," she cried triumphantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was a week ago. This very day has -witnessed Mr. Binney's return to public -life—properly habited and full of dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have been watching him, as, with his -finest and most benevolent air, he bestowed -a can of wholesome, grass-fed nourishment -upon one of the numerous Barnstein children, -who live opposite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hands, I thought, showed signs of -more than usual eagerness as he hooked -a trembling finger round the handle of the -can. There was an expression as of reverence -upon his face, and he yielded the liquid -into Miss Barnstein's keeping with a -hesitancy, as of one loth to part from his -treasure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lips moved, and I could almost have -believed that he had breathed a blessing—a -Latin blessing. Then I heard him speak—in -deep, impressive tones he spake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful with it, missy," he said. "If -you spill some, what'll mother say? Now -do be careful!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With that he returned to his little -hand-cart and pushed it slowly up the road, -walking with a measured gait and uttering, in -rich and reverent tones, his exhortation:—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Milk! Milk! </span><em class="italics">Milk!</em><span>"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="two-patients"><span class="bold large">XXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">TWO PATIENTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>My friend, Mrs. Isadore Muntz, has been -very ill, poor girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She is always rather ill, of course; there -would not otherwise be much point in being -married to so rich and elderly a man as -Isadore. But the illness which I now have -to record was a real one—a horrid one. It -involved the use of a surgeon's knife. It -involved the complete collapse of Isadore, -whose world-famous bill-brokery was carried -on without the stimulus of his presence for -nearly fourteen days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For more than seven days of that period, -it is said, he kept to his chamber, and cried -without ceasing. And he admitted, between -his sobs, to my aunt Elizabeth, that Sir -Marmaduke Wilkins's fee for the operation -had amounted to a hundred guineas, besides -an additional charge of twenty guineas for -the anæsthetist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mrs. Isadore—Constance she used to -let me call her—is getting slowly better. -Because she used to let me call her -Constance and because—because I am sorry for -her, I went to the "At Home," which was -held at West Hampstead, in order—I suppose—to -celebrate the result of Sir Marmaduke -Wilkins's efforts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Less than eight weeks having elapsed -since the occasion of Sir Marmaduke's skilful -treatment, she was still forbidden to be very -active. So she lay on a sofa, embowered -with blossoms, and we rustled up and cried -over her. Isadore, the faithful creature, -stood fast by her right hand. This was -perhaps responsible for Constance's notable -depression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is also possible that she thought of all -those low-necked gowns hanging useless on -their pegs upstairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't mean to say </span><em class="italics">you've</em><span> come!" -Constance exclaimed when I took her hand; -"I thought you hated Hampstead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so I do," replied the tactful guest. -"But I heard a funny story yesterday, -and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all right," she said. "I'm sick of -funny stories. Tell me something tragic. -Haven't you fallen in love lately?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I said, "and I've bought another dog."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me about the dog," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So I described the dog for nearly twenty -minutes, much to the enragement of many -mourners, who were waiting for an audience. -When the laws of decency compelled me to -retreat, she was so kind as to ask me to -convey a form of greeting to the new dog.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will come and see him one day," she -said. "But they won't let me move for -weeks yet, and when they do I've got to go -to Bournemouth and be wheeled about in a -bath-chair. Isn't it horrid?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is," I admitted, and I turned away to -meet the cod-fish eye and collected -expression of Sir Marmaduke Wilkins, M.R.C.S. -That scientist was eating an ice with relish.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>You may wonder what connection I trace -between this episode and the life of -Bovingdon Street. There is a connection; but it -traced itself. I left the Muntz's stately -mansion feeling in need of distraction, and -that distraction I sought from Doctor Brink -and James. And James was full of news.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've begun my professional education," -she said. "I administered chloroform to a -case last week. Fee sixpence. Fatty still -owes it me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I turned to Fatty for his explanations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pity me," said that gentleman, "I have -a hussy for a daughter. One who makes -sport of her poor old father's need. I do -owe her the money. I shall continue to owe -it. I am entitled to owe it. I only got -half-a-crown for the whole thing—anæsthetist's -fee included.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men like Marmaduke Wilkins get a -hundred guineas for the same operation. And -then the patient has to pay another ten or -twenty for the anæsthetist. When a high-class, -if modest surgeon, like myself, consents -to perform these things for a wage which -would offend the dignity of a dustman, why, -damme, it is his </span><em class="italics">duty</em><span> to swindle the -anæsthetist. Why——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was your patient?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The patient? Oh, a girl in Mulberry -Street. Works at the pickle factory. Pretty -girl, only eighteen. James cried. Rather -unprofessional, what? Now she has the -cheek to ask for sixpence!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was—er—the result of your -high-class surgery? Is the girl alive?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alive! Why, my insulting young friend, -she's back again at the pickle works. Went -to work on the sixth day. </span><em class="italics">My</em><span> girls don't die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At work again in six days—after—after -</span><em class="italics">that</em><span>! And you let her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better work than starve," said the doctor -brusquely.... "How did you enjoy -yourself at Hampstead this afternoon?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="lost"><span class="bold large">XXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">LOST!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It isn't often that Dr. Brink permits himself -to have emotions during business hours, but -even the doctor looked astonished when -O'Flannigan came into his consulting-room. -We called him O'Flannigan, because he did -not leave a visiting-card, and we had to -call him </span><em class="italics">something</em><span>. And he spoke with a -trace of the Irish accent. He was a very -tall man and very stout, having dead-white -hair, which he wore in curls, and a very red -face. His clothes were all of them black, -and they shone in places with a sort of oily -lustre. He wore black gloves and a black -tie, and he carried a black umbrella.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evenin', Doctorrr," said he; "ut's a fine -place ye got hearrr!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor bowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ut is a fine place," repeated the visitor, -tapping the oilcloth with his umbrella point; -"but, begad, 'tis a mericle how you kin do -ut. Privut inkum purrhaps?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes," acknowledged Dr. Brink, -"my income is certainly a private matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The divil ut is!" commented the visitor. -"Me own's so damned privut Oi've lost sight -of ut this ten yeers past. Midwifery -connection is good, Oi onderstand. Ut's a -sound, domestic practus, Doctorrr?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor nodded. Wonder had made -him speechless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good now," ejaculated the visitor, -holding tight to the mantelpiece as he fished -with his umbrella for a chair. "Give me -a sound domestic practus. It's these damned -Alcoholics and so forth which Oi deprecate, -Doctorrr. They're no use to a man. They -nevorrr pay up, they nevorrr git bettorrr, -and, be jabers, they nevorrr damned well -die. Ye put the takuns at three hunderrrd, -Doctorrr? Begad, 'tis a poor inkum. Faith, -Oi've known a man do bettorrr cuttin' corns. -'Tis a cash trade, is ut not, Doctorrr?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is," said Dr. Brink. "What can I do -for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do for me?" echoed the visitor. "Whoi, -if tis a drink yure profferin' me, Doctorrr, -Oi will name the ush'll. Three hunderrrd, -eh? Begad, 'tis a paltry inkum—a damned -dirrrty, snivelling sneakin' wasp-waisted -inkum for a gentleman to live upon. But 'tis -a cash trade, to be shure, and there's no -anxiety, to be shure. If they die, why, -dammit, they die. You take yure thruppence -and they take their chance. A veterinary -trade, in fact, Doctorrr. Do ye walk -yure rounds, Doctorrr?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cab 'em," snapped out Dr. Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The visitor held on to the mantelpiece -with both hands. "Holy Motherrr!" he -cried. "A cab is ut, ye say? On three -hunderrrd? And Oi been surgeon-majorrr -in th' Army! Whoi, begad, Doctorrr, I have -known the toimes when half a dozen of us in -th' Eightieth could drink yure cab away at a -sittin'. Cab did Oi say? Be the grace of -Heaven, there was gentlemen with us would -dispose of a pair-horse brougham in the -same period. Cab? To the divil with cabs. -Oi must stump ut. Stump ut on me ten old -toes. Meself, moind ye—a retired -surgeon-majorrr of her late Majesty's Army. And -me over sixty, Doctorrr! It is thus that -Britain treats her warriors. Begad, they've -even stole me pension from me. When do -Oi take overr, Doctorrr?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take over what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, dammit, man," began the visitor, -but his flush of anger suddenly died down. -A look of bewilderment took its place. -"Will ye pardon me, Doctorrr," said the -visitor slowly, in a voice which sounded -husky. "But tell me am Oi roight in -assuming that I was privileged to meet ye -hearrr lost noight?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," cried the visitor, moved this time -by an evidently powerful emotion, "then tell -me, man, for God's sake, tell me, is this not -the practus I bought from ye last noight?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You certainly haven't bought </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> practice," -responded Dr. Brink. "It isn't for -sale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begad," mused the visitor, slowly rubbing -his chin, "begad, Oi might have known as -much. It is a fine place ye have hearrr. -Ye wouldn't be for sellin' ut. Not be any -means. 'Tis a fine place and a fine practus. -Indeed you would be foolish to part with ut, -Doctorrr. At any rate, for the sum Oi paid -ye yesterday. But, begad, Oi never paid ut -ye. Indeed I didn't. Was I so drunk then? -Oi doubt ut.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hearrr am Oi, an honest, Christian man, -a professor of the healun art, the noblest art -which—— Begad, Oi </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> Oi paid ut ye. -And be jabers, hearrr's—hearrr's the -front-door key—yure front-door key—his, Oi -should say, Doctorrr, which he gave me -when Oi, when Oi——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the love of Hiven, Doctorrr, tell -me—tell me truly, Doctorrr, where in Satan's -name is the dirty little practus which I bought -and paid for yesterday?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-survivor"><span class="bold large">XXIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE SURVIVOR</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Everybody must still remember the sensational -explosion at Stoat's cordite factory in -Limehouse. It was quite the talk of last -year's gooseberry season. I may remind you -that one departmental manager, one -bookkeeper, one lady typist, and eighteen hands -were utterly and instantaneously atomised; -that the managing director himself sustained -a shock; and that more than seventy -operatives had to be removed in ambulances at -the company's expense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It will be remembered that very High -Personages sent telegrams of sympathy. A -sum of money was publicly subscribed for -the relief and burial of the sufferers. The -great heart of England was touched, though -it did not leave off beating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But those whose recollection of that horrible, -soul-thrilling catastrophe is as keen as mine -will remember that, viewed from the broad -and enlightened standpoint of news-value, -its most important feature was Mr. John -Boyle. This honest artisan went up with -the gentleman book-keeper and the lady -typist and the hands. But unlike them he -came down unbroken and almost unhurt, -being so fortunate as to alight upon a -providential mound of cotton-waste.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Few people will need to be reminded how -this clever action was rewarded. A special -(</span><em class="italics">D—— M——</em><span>) collection, amounting to -nearly £300, was raised in three weeks and -presented to Mr. Boyle in recognition of his -courage and ingenuity. Pictures of Mr. Boyle -in all varieties of dress, attitude, and -employment were published in the journals. -I have an especially vivid recollection of one -picture, appearing in a Sunday newspaper. -The photographer had caught the noteworthy -features of Mr. Boyle at a particularly happy -moment; and with consummate art he had -represented our hero as emerging from a -bad fog with a patch on his chest. -This study bore the following inscription: -"John Boyle at Home: He nurses the baby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next stage in Mr. Boyle's development, -or (to state it more correctly) in the -development of the public attitude towards -Mr. Boyle, was his engagement to appear at -the Shoreditch Hippodrome in a dramatic -entertainment called "The Man Who was -Blown Up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But by the time he had reached this altitude -of greatness the fame of Mr. Boyle was -already well established; his name had become -familiar to the national ear. For months -before the day of Mr. Boyle's historic decision -to blend his destiny with that of the national -drama it had been a common thing to hear -men say to other men: "'Ullo, Charlie; been -'avin' one with Boyle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This oft-repeated sally, which never failed -to provoke laughter, was popularly supposed -to embody a charge of alcoholic excess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In these days, when Mr. Boyle as "The -Man Who was Blown Up" has enjoyed -three hundred consecutive nights of fame, it -is regarded as a silly thing to joke about him. -He is now a solemn National fact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was my own particular good fortune -to meet Mr. Boyle at a period when the -hand of Fame had barely touched him. I -made his acquaintance within twenty-four -hours after the tremendous moment which -had so exalted Mr. Boyle and his fortunes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Boyle, having been detained for a -brief period at a local infirmary, was anointed -with surgical balm and dismissed; when he -immediately came round to the sixpenny -surgery of Dr. Brink, demanding a certificate -of injuries which should enable him to extract -some monetary compensation from the -coffers of Stoat's Cordite Works, Limited. -Mr. Boyle was not then prognostic of the -public rewards which awaited him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Boyle having stated his business, the -doctor became excited and summoned me to -leave the hiding-place and join him openly -in the consulting-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This chap," he explained, "is John -Boyle, who was blown up with other -employed objects at the cordite works, and -who is still alive. If you are a real -journalist you will get 'copy' out of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I took Mr. Boyle by the hand and I said -to him—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have had an awful experience, old -chap. My God, you have lived through an -awful thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Boyle said: "I believe you, guv'nor. -Now this is a funny thing, ain't it. I was 'it -on the leg by somethink; and whatever it -was, it went right through me trouser but -never 'urt the sock. Funny thing, that, ain't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite extraordinary," I admitted. "All -the other poor chaps in your shop are dead, -aren't they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twelve chaps and four females; all -dead," admitted Mr. Boyle. "Funny thing, -wasn't it? Right through me trouser and -never touched the sock!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eighty injured from the other shops!" -I reflected. "What did you think—how -did you feel, when—when you realised it -all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never thought much abaht it," responded -Mr. Boyle. "Me leg was 'urtin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't a matter one need encourage him -to think about," suggested the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't 'elp thinking about one thing, -though," interpolated Mr. Boyle. "Such a -funny thing: Right through——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It must have been an awful moment," I -hazarded, "when you came to your senses -and looked about and saw the—the awfulness -of it. What did you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't remember, not clearly," responded -Mr. Boyle.... "I know I laughed. It -seemed so queer for anything to rip right -through a person's trouser-leg and not go -near 'is sock."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="more-of-prudence"><span class="bold large">XXIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">MORE OF PRUDENCE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Prudence and midday post arrived together -at Baffin's washhouse on the day appointed -for her second stance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oo-er, Mr. Baffin," was her greeting: -"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> got your letters. Gimme the stamps, -wown't you? Me an' my friend we allus -c'lect stamps. We ain't gointer stop till we -got ten thousand, and then we're gointer -make a bonfire when my mother's out. 'Ere, -an' I ain't bin 'avin' </span><em class="italics">'arf</em><span> a lark with your -postman, Mr. Baffin. Oo, an' the conductor -on the bus what I come by, 'e wasn't 'arf -drunk, I tell you. I was frightened, I was, -'cos my father useder git drunk, an' once 'e -bit my mother. 'E </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a bad man, my -father, an' they made 'im go out an' be a -soldier in Egypt, an' 'e got the fever in 'is -'ead, an' we got a picture of 'im at 'ome -before 'e was buried, an' you ought to see -the funny black man a-settin' alongside of -'im. 'Ere, I'm all in a knot at the back, -Mr. Baffin: arst your friend to undo me. -An' don't you foget to keep them stamps, an' -I spoge it's the chin agen, an' I 'ope you've -remembered the muffins!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," responded Baffin, "I remembered -to get the muffins, and I've also remembered -to get an empty flour-sack. Know what -that's for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence shook her head—gravely, wonderingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To smother up tiresome girls in that </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> -wriggle and </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> talk," explained Baffin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He! he!" giggled Prudence. "Wown't -tie up </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>, I know. 'Cos if you was to do -that you couldn't paint me. See?" She -gurgled with triumph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," said Baffin, "it is time to -leave off playing. Sit up, like a good girl, -and keep quiet. Get rid of that bull's-eye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Prudence. And the lollipop -was "got rid of" of by a simple and effective -means. "I </span><em class="italics">should</em><span> laugh if someone was to -tread on it," observed Prudence. "If my -mother was to see—— Oo-er, Mr. Baffin, -down't 'oller at me, please, Mr. Baffin. I -</span><em class="italics">will</em><span> be good, I will; on'y, if you look like -that I shall cry, 'Cos you frighten me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence reigned for a little space, whilst -Prudence, with clenched hands, maintained -an attitude of strenuous repose. Baffin's -actions alternated between brief and -seemingly motiveless dabs at his canvas, and a -critical inspection of his model, for the -purposes of which he spread out his legs and -wagged his head—slowly and pensively, from -side to side—like an elderly cockerel -surveying the domestic landscape. This proceeding -terminated in a sigh that had all the -eloquence of a shout, and Baffin pounced, as it -were, upon his canvas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence selected this moment in which -to throw up both her hands, and wail with -sorrow. "Ooh," she moaned, "ooh, I am a -bad gel, I am. Ooh, what will my mother -say when I go 'ome? She give me a letter -to powst, she did, an' I never powsted it, an' -it's a letter for our landlord, it is, an' I -promised faithful to put it into the first box I -come to. An' now I've fogot it, I 'ave, an' -my mother 'll be cross. An' I love my -mother, I do, an' she's got a bad place on -her arm, an' I am a bad, wicked gel to tease -an' trouble 'er, I am. Oo-er, I must get up -and go out, Mr. Baffin. I must, 'cause I -fogot to powst my mother's letter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin did the philosophic thing: put away -his canvas, and put on the kettle, and invited -his sitter to unsit and rejoice. That young -person responded to this invitation by -sitting wonderfully silent—strangely still—for -ten minutes. It was only at the very end -of this unique performance that we perceived -her to be shedding tears. Real tears, -this time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was possible in that moment to realise -that Prudence had passed her twenty-second -year. Baffin touched her shoulder, and she -shrank from him and shuddered. She spoke, -and her voice was the voice of a woman. -"Lemme alone: lemme alone. You donnow -what a un'eppy gel I am. You—you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It finished in a gurgle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, with the laudable motive of clearing -the air, Baffin referred in a tone of banter to -the still visible presence of red flannel. The -success of his experiment amazed us both. -All in a moment the whims and capers of -infancy possessed her again, and she -succumbed to an ecstasy of wriggles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ooh, 'ere, 'ere, Mr. Baffin; 'ere, I say, -what do you think some man 'as done? -Some man 'as sent me a—a something: -a underneath something, all white. Yes, reely!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' my mother says it didn't 'arf cost -somethink, neether. But ain't 'e got a cheek -to do it? 'Cos it ain't right for a man to -send presents like that to a gel when she's -grown up: 'cos my mother says it's takin' a -liberty. Whoever sent me it, 'e must 'a' -been a artist because of the tasty yoke. My -mother says as I'm a grown-up gel now, an' -I got to be very pertickler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oo, it is pretty, though, I tell you: pink -ribbon on the shoulders, an' my mother says -'ooever 'e is 'e oughter be ashamed of 'isself, -an' all my gel cousins from Catford are -comin' on Sunday to 'ave a look, an' when I -find out 'oo it is, my mother says I can tell -'im what I think of 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stimulated and cheered by the thought of -this exciting prospect, Prudence fell upon -the muffins. Her appetite, at any rate, -was thoroughly grown up, and, having -performed a veritable gastronomic feat, she -curled herself up on the musty old curtain -which carpeted Baffin's "throne" and—went -to sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whereupon, the unauthorised kittens—they -crawled everywhere—you found them -in the milk jug—promptly employed the -skirts of Prudence as a playground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Move those kittens away, like a good -chap," Baffin called out to me. "They'll -worry Prudence when she wakes up. Hates -the silly beggars, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But to our surprise, when Prudence did -wake up, she stretched forth a foot, and -began to tease the plumpest of them with -the point of her shoe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Funny objec's, ain't they, when they're -fat and soft, like this?" said Prudence. -"Breakable, ain't they? No strength in -their legs. On'y fit to lie on their backs an' -be tickled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Prudence stooped down, and lifted -the plump one into her lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ooh, my! 'is little pores ain't 'arf soft!" She -spoke in the woman's voice that we had -heard but once before. "'Is little pores -ain't 'arf soft; you could bite 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She kissed a paw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't 'e got a funny morsel of a nose. -Sich a cheeky nose; such a teeny one. You -could bite it. You—you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted the absurd little animal to her -face, and rubbed her cheek against his -cosy side, and she kissed his impertinent nose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oo's a precious, then!" continued Prudence. -"Oo's a sleepy precious. My, 'e's -a sleepy little 'elpless little lump of fat! -Ain't you, boy? What price a see-saw, fat boy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She held him so that he hung by his -shoulders in an attitude that was not -suggestive of dignity. And she dandled and -bounced him in a manner with which kittens -are not familiar. She lifted him to her face -again, and made as if to kiss the nose once more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the lips, half bunched for that purpose, -parted suddenly, as if with pain—as if with -wonder—as if with horror. The kitten -slipped from her fingers, and fell with an -indignant mew into the soft, warm haven -of her lap. And Prudence's hands went up -to her startled face, and her hair fell over -her like a shroud, and she sobbed as women sob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Gawd!" she cried; "its eyes, its -eyes! Its little, winkin' eyes! Oh, mother, -</span><em class="italics">mother</em><span>!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-talk-with-james"><span class="bold large">XXV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">A TALK WITH JAMES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I had extinguished the flame of the doctor's -gas-stove, and was warming myself on the -lid, when James burst in and interrupted me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come off it, like a dear, and listen," said -James. "I've had a proposal!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wondered, for a moment, whether this -flippant manner of stating a serious fact did -not call for some form of fatherly rebuke. -But all that I actually said was: "Well, I -hope you think you've started soon enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Started!" echoed James, regarding me -with an air as of dignified amazement. "My -dear young man, I </span><em class="italics">started</em><span> years ago. Why, -Baffin was my third; and Baffin began to -woo me before I was eleven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long ago was that?" I meekly inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you be rude," said James. "I -take a grown-up size in almost everything. -If Baffin perseveres, I suppose I shall really -have to accept him—if it's only to make him -leave off wearing those New Art ties. But, -really and truly, I'd rather not be married at -all. I don't believe I've got a married mind. -I'm much too fond of rats."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," I ventured to point out, "people -have been known to combine the two interests."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not successfully," asserted James. "Rats -require a fearful lot of attention. Another -thing about Baffin is his hands. I really -</span><em class="italics">couldn't</em><span> be married to them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why 'another' thing?" I inquired. "You -haven't stated any firstly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I daresay my grammar isn't quite correct, -but I haven't noticed that yours is perfect," -rejoined James. "And, anyhow, my ideas -are sound even if my grammar is weak. Of -course, one could </span><em class="italics">train</em><span> him to take care of -his nails; but with rats you have more to -show for your trouble. He really was most -touching."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Baffin has a fine vein of sentiment," I -admitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why Baffin?" demanded James. "I -was talking about Mr. Grimsdick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me," I said. "You think so -rapidly, and my hands are cold. Who is -Mr. Grimsdick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The one I was telling you about," -explained James. "He's our grocer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you never were telling me about -him," I protested. "He is quite a new -character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense," cried James. "Why, the -very first thing I said to you was that -Mr. Grimsdick had proposed to me. At least, I -take it as a proposal. He held my hand -and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excuse me," I ventured to observe, -"but do you think it quite correct in the -daughter of a respected family physician -that she should go about the country -holding hands with grocers? Now had it -been——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>James cut short my speech with characteristic -impatience. "Mr. Grimsdick," she said, -"has been holding my hand for years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he sell lard?" I inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is a very religious man, and when -his wife died, when I was about seven, he -used to give me raisins and pat my head to -comfort himself. And this afternoon, when -he gave me my change, he held my hand -and he said, 'R! Miss, I expect we shall -soon see you round yere shopping on your -own account. How time do fly, to be shaw. -You'll be having your hair up soon. And -yet it don't seem no time since the days -when you used to sit on the cheese barrels -and swing your little legs and heat my -raisins. 'E'll be a lucky young fellar -whoever 'e is. They'll 'ave to 'urry up, miss, -some of 'em—what? I on'y wish I was a -young man—</span><em class="italics">I'd</em><span> give some of 'em a lead.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I said, 'Never mind, Mr. Grimsdick. -I shall always come to you for my soap and tea.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he laughed. And he said, 'R! -We shan't see much of you round 'ere, I -reckon, miss. You'll be marrying into the -aristocracy and goin' to live at Herne Bay -or Clacton.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So then I gave him Fatty's well-known -speech about the Idle Rich.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he said, 'Oh! If that's your way -of thinkin' there's a chance for all of us. -Well, miss, there's a empty chair in my -parlour and a seat be'ind the cash desk.' </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> call -that a proposal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A most definite and unequivocal -proposal," I agreed. "What did you say next?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said James, "there was nothing else -of importance. We got off on to the -subject of Carlsbad plums: they were beauties, -but too dear. He wouldn't reduce them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pooh!" I cried. "And he calls himself -a lover!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">All</em><span> men aren't like Baffin and other -people, thank goodness," said James -disdainfully. "Mr. Grimsdick thinks about -the future. But I'd rather go in for rats, -I think. There's Baffin, for instance: he -never shuts a door after him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rats don't either," I submitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But cats don't open them," argued James, -not without logic. "And then there's always -having to be at home on the second -Tuesday. Really, I can't decide about my future -at all. Most girls haven't any difficulties, -because they can make up their minds to be -nurses and relieve the sufferings of the poor. -But I've been brought up to that sort of -thing, and it bores me. Of course, you can -always get an opium-eater, or drunkard, or -something, and devote your life to reforming -him. But then, again, they always smell of -it. Really, it's very hard. And Baffin's so -irritable. Look at the way men fuss over -trifles. And if you get one who is clean -and not fussy, and not a grocer, and decently -young, he is sure to be ugly and a bore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I said, "You are referring now, I suppose, -to Boag, the Conative Meliorist?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied James. "Mr. Boag is a -bore, but he isn't downright ugly. As -a matter of fact, I was thinking of </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said James. "I know you like -one to be frank. Apart from everything -else, men make me sick. It will really have -to be rats."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-april-barge"><span class="bold large">XXVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE APRIL BARGE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I set out, sedately enough, one April -morning, to rescue James from her aunt at -Bayswater. I set out grandly enthroned -upon a 'bus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I came quite unexpectedly upon this -April Barge, and James and her aunt were -forgotten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The April sun had come out sharp to time, -you see, and was winking fitfully upon all of -us, like the unsettled, rakish fellow that he -is. And a girl with two great baskets full of -wondering daffodils had come out, too; and -some conscienceless vagabond was extracting -melody from a cornet. So that even the -Regent's Canal, with its sombre vicinage and -sulky craft, seemed, as if by some surprising -effort, to have taken on an air of sweetness -and youth and hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You could consider this fact at leisure as -our 'bus toiled slowly up the rise of a road -which spans the canal. There was a public-house -in front of us—the public-house and -the cornet seem to be inseparably united in -this neighbourhood—but the canal was to -one's left, and appeared, somehow, to convey -that air of refreshment which the tavern so -conspicuously lacked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As one looked down upon the face of these -waters, so strangely heartened by the -sunlight, a sort of certainty grew upon him that -they would break suddenly into perspective; -that their vista would cease to be obscured -by coal wharves and cranes and hoardings; -that somebody's whisky, commended to -your notice in large white letters on a -blue-enamelled background, would fade and fade -and fade, until it merged with the white -clouds and the blue sky behind it. Then -need you but sigh and sit back, beholding a -silver streak set snugly between hills, and -flowing, flowing, flowing to the edge of the -world. Instead of which——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pooh! There was no instead. The April -sun kept winking at the daffodils, and the -daffodils kept staring at the sun, and the -cornet-man made music by the waterside. -So that even a poet might have smiled at it -all. For here, I'll swear, was none of your -mere "waterways," created by syndicates for -profit; here was none of your world capitals. -Just a little old river, sunning itself -gratefully in a little old town that God had -made.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, as if to strengthen this conceit, a -woman came up through the hatchway of a -barge that I was looking at. She was -wearing a sun-bonnet, in accordance with the -custom of barge-women, and she stood up -gracefully, one hand on her hip, the other -before her eyes, to seek out the cornet -player.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>We are the boys of the bulldawg breed</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>What's made ole Hengland's Nime.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Those were the words which had inspired -the melody which the cornet-blower was -blowing. The woman tapped her foot in -time with the notes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her husband came up then, accompanied -by tobacco clouds and a baby. He seemed -to be a fortunate sort of husband, for I -noticed that the woman laughed appreciatively -at some joke which he made.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the man's eye wandered to the -canal-side, and he caught sight of the -daffodil-girl, who was standing there. And what -must the fellow do but throw kisses to her, -which gallantry was reciprocated by the -flower-girl. The barge-woman laughed at -this new jest with even more good humour -(if that were possible) than that which she -had shown before. The man shouted some -message or other to the flower-girl, and she -replied, whereupon he handed the baby to -his wife, saying, "Catch 'old, Fatty!"—an -utterance which I heard without hearing, as -one can when an April sun is shining on men's -hearts. And, advancing to the side of the -boat, the man held out his arms, and the girl -threw daffodils towards him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The first bloom fell into the water, and -the second; the third he caught. One more -poor daffodil was drowned, and he caught -the two next. So that there was one for -his cap, and one for the missus, and one for -the baby, who, being now safely delivered -from the paternal arms (which were not built -for cradling babies), needed but the -additional stimulus of a yellow thing to marvel -at ere it smiled as largely as any of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And upon my word I smiled, too, and -could, indeed, have laughed outright. But -I sat in awe of a fat man on the adjacent -seat. He did not belong to that order of -lunatics who laugh for nothing in the -sunshine. "What we want," he was saying to -his companion, "what we want," he said, -with his eyes fixed tight upon this April -barge, "what we want is a total </span><em class="italics">change of -Government</em><span>. Nothin' won't ever be right -again till we get it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had a heavy parcel of books on my knee, -and to drop them heavily upon his foot had -been, as it were, the accident of a moment. -But the sweet temperance of springtime had -stolen into my blood, and I forbore. -Besides which there were the barges and the -daffodils, and they were better worth a man's -consideration than this fool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So I looked over the side again, and saw -that the barge-man had turned his -attention to the cornet-blower, with whom he -was exchanging highly flavoured sarcasms. -With a view, probably, of adding zest to his -humours, and because a springtime madness -was upon him, he had changed headgear -with his wife, and stood there in her -sun-bonnet, grimacing and laughing. He had a -long barge-pole in his hand, and somehow—I -don't quite know how it happened—in -assuming to hurl that weapon at the -cornet-blower, he overbalanced himself, and fell -sideways into the water, striking his head as -he fell against the side of another barge, -which was moored close to his own in -that jumble fashion which is peculiar to -barges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came up again almost directly, looking -queer in his wife's sun-bonnet (for he had -tied the tapes beneath his chin), and then -immediately sank again. The nerveless -ineptitude of it all made one angry with the -man: it seemed to be wilful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the wife, she looked wonderingly -over the side, and realisation came to her so -slowly that a laugh still flickered faintly on -her face when he came up again. Even then, -the sound which she uttered was as much -like a chuckle as a cry. And when words -came to her, they were few enough. "Oh, -my pore man!" she moaned. "Oh, my -pore man! Oh, my pore man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the baby lay on its back, and chuckled -knowingly into the petals of a dishevelled -daffodil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our 'bus had made the bend of the canal -bank by this time, and now was parallel with -the water, and exactly opposite to this barge. -Under the united stimulus of instinctive -curiosity and instinctive horror, the driver -pulled up sharp; and so the 'bus stood still, -and we passengers sat there, gaping at that -funny thing in the sun-bonnet as it came up -for a second time and sank again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my pore man! Oh, my pore man!" -moaned the wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the cornet-blower, pale with horror, -still applied himself automatically to the -cornet. He had changed his tune since first -I heard him, and the aquatic feats of the man -in the sun-bonnet were conducted to music, -the strains of which, being interpreted into -words, ran as follows—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Hi! Hi! clear the road</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>For the rowdy, dowdy boys.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It came up again for the third time, and -the woman on the barge grabbed frantically -at nothing, and tore her arm in the effort, so -that a crimson splash mingled with the -eddying waters as he sank again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the cornet-blower remembered -himself, and dropped his cornet hastily, as -though it burned him. And, of all queer -things for a cornet-blower to do, he blubbered -weakly, like a woman found out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the mischievous sun cast his shadow -upon the water, and caused it to dance -joyously thereon, so that you would have -deemed it to be the shadow of one consumed -with joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my pore man!" cried the wife. "Oh, -my pore man! Oh, my pore man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the fat person from the next seat said -to his friend, "I saw it comin'. The giddy -fool was larkin' about like a ape." And, in -the meantime, the giddy fool did not come -up again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the flower-girl spoke. "My -Gawd!" she screamed, struggling feverishly -to disentangle herself from her shawl and -the straps of her basket and her fringe; "my -Gawd! where's all the blarsted men got to? -What's 'appened to you? For Christ's sake -find a </span><em class="italics">man</em><span>, you fools!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The 'bus emptied itself, and men ran into -each other along the roadway, and somebody -ran for a policeman. So that there was a -great deal of noise and bustle shorewards. -But at the same time certain male persons of -a much more silent and effective character -made their appearance upon the barges -adjacent to the April barge. They did not -shout, and they did not run about much. -They fetched poles and produced ropes, and -one of their number climbed into the water at -the end of one; and presently, after much -probing and searching and jerking (and not -a little swearing), they brought him up at the -end of a barge-pole, with a slime concealing -all of him except the sun-bonnet, which had -slipped upon one side, and looked more -comical than ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my pore man!" cried the barge-woman, -who by now was surrounded by a -stimulating coterie of other barge-women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">E's</em><span> done for!" said my fat neighbour, -and spat contentedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the baby snatched at its mother's -head, which was still covered with her -husband's hat, from which a single daffodil was -dangling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the meantime, they laid him down upon -the deck of a barge, and relays of men, acting -under the direction of a policeman, jerked at -his arms, and pulled his legs, and pummelled -his chest. But, as the fat man had said, </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> -was done for, and these exhausting efforts -only made the baby laugh. So they lifted -him hurriedly, with a change of manner, as -befitted a changed burden, and conveyed him -to the shore, where he was placed upon an -ambulance and deported.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fat man formed himself into an -impromptu committee of inspection. He -returned to his friend (and my side) after a -lengthy dalliance by the ambulance, and -spoke as one well pleased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Crack in 'is 'ead as long as my 'and. -'Orrible! Never noted afore that blood 'ad -such a salty smell to it. Quite sickly, ain't -it? To think of it, poor fool! ... And on -a day like this, too!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he took off his hat and sunned -himself. "I'm for a drink arter all that," he -added; and, his companion agreeing with -him, he walked over to the tavern, in -company with many other of the 'bus passengers, -and the driver and conductor of that vehicle, -and most of the barge-men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They took the cornet-blower with them, -and somebody collected a store of coppers in -that musician's interest, with which he was -presented upon the understanding that he -should "bite off a yard o' somethink lively" -to cheer the mourning host withal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So while the woman on the barge was -being carried below deck by her sympathisers; -whilst faint gurgles issued from the daffodil-girl, -standing over her baskets by the water-side; -whilst the sun winked down upon all -of us—the cornet-blower threw out his chest -with an air something at variance with the -muddy tears upon his cheek, and blared out -a song of mourning.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Leave off tickerlin', leave off tickerlin',</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Leave off tickerlin', Jock!</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>sang the mourners; and the jolly young -sun must have winked itself into a headache.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the time our 'bus went on again every -note of tragedy save one had departed from -the scene. That solitary note was supplied -by the daffodil-girl, who stood by her garden -dabbing disconsolately at her nose and eyes -with an apron-end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nought was stirring on the April barge, -save one plump little figure, which squatted -all by itself in the centre of the deck. They -had forgotten the baby in this coil. But -the baby was quite happy—happier than any -of them. For it sat there, eating its father's -cap, and smiling amiably at the sunshine, as -who should know that there is a benign and -beautiful purpose in everything, even unto -the falling of a sparrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The daffodils upon the waterside, pressing -each other close within their baskets, stared -up into the heavens more wonderingly than ever.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-case-of-mrs-roper"><span class="bold large">XXVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE CASE OF MRS. ROPER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Beg pardon, young fellar," said Mrs. Roper, -"but ain't you the young fellar from the -doctor's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Roper is a sullen-eyed lady with -very many chins. She is, </span><em class="italics">vide</em><span> her shop -sign, a dealer in antiques, and, to quote the -same authority, old metal, old teeth, old -glass and china, and every variety of new -and second-hand wearing apparel are bought -and sold by her. She is not the cleanest -woman in London, nor is her shop the -cleanest in Bovingdon Street. But there is -charm in the variety and abundance of -Mrs. Roper's assets, which are the working parts, -as it were, of our complex civilisation, -amongst which tokens Mrs. Roper is always -sitting, silently, mournfully, by day and -night, like a lonely widow on a coral -reef, surrounded by mementoes of a shipwreck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I hastened to reply with civility to Mrs. Roper's -question, for that lady had just sold -to me for ninepence an ancient brass tobacco -jar, which expert opinion has since valued at -half a guinea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said Mrs. Roper, "I will thank -you to send the doctor round 'ere. Tell 'im -that the stuff what 'e calls medicine is makin' -me worse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam," said I, thinking rather of my -benefactress than of my friend, "the doctor -is outside now. Shall I——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought I seed the shadder of 'is 'at," -said Mrs. Roper; "call 'im in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I called the doctor, as directed, and he -came in with a brisk and cheerful air, kicking -me brutally upon the shin in passing. I -then, very naturally, prepared to retire; but -Mrs. Roper held me back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> needn't run away, young man," she -said. "I ain't ashamed for anybody to 'ear -</span><em class="italics">my sufferings</em><span>.... Doctor, what's to be -done about me? I'm very ill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?" said Dr. Brink, a little brusquely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a funny question for a doctor to -ask," responded Mrs. Roper. "I thought -we paid you to find things out. But we do -not want to waste each other's time, and so -I'll tell you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter with me is that I'm -dying. That yellow medicine what you sent -me 'as brought the pains on worse than ever. -You will 'ave to try me with some red. Not -that I look to that or any other doctor's stuff -to cure me now. Nothing can't cure me -now. I've been neglected too long. The -on'y thing I got to look forward to now is -me little wooden ulster. It'll be a great -pleasure to some people, I know, the day -the undertaker comes to measure me for it. -What are you laughin' at?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't laughing," protested the doctor. -"I was yawning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what are you yawning at?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Up all night," explained the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" quoth Mrs. Roper mysteriously, -"I see, </span><em class="italics">you're</em><span> one of the jolly sort.... -What you gointer do about me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor equivocated. "Where's your -husband?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Roper closed both eyes and shook -her head. "Wherever the man may be," -she responded, "you may be sure as it ain't -be the bedside of 'is dying wife. '</span><em class="italics">E's</em><span> one -of your jolly sort, likewise. 'E's one o' them -good-tempered, popular fellars, 'e is. </span><em class="italics">'E</em><span> -don't want no medicine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was not proposing to give him any -medicine," explained the doctor. "I would -like to talk to him concerning the painful -state of—ah—health in which—ah—you find -yourself. When will he be in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't you got some more riddles you -would like to ask a person?" responded -Mrs. Roper, with a bitter laugh. "How in -gracious do </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know when the man will be -in? 'E's one of these </span><em class="italics">pleasant</em><span> men, I tell -you. The sort as is always ready with a -laugh or a joke or a funny remark. 'E ain't -got time, bless you, to trouble 'is jolly self -about no wives. 'E's one of your 'appy -men—the sort that makes friends, and so -on. 'E would rather be out with 'is friends, -'e would, listenin' to their flattery, than sit at -'ome 'ere with 'is lawful wife and 'ear the -</span><em class="italics">truth</em><span> about 'isself. 'E's a plain man, too, -and stammers 'orrible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," suggested Dr. Brink, "that I -shall have to call again when he is in, and -talk things over with him. I can see," -added my excellent and ambiguous friend, -"that what you want is more attention."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I want," retorted Mrs. Roper, -"is me wooden ulster. The sooner the -better. Attention won't save me now—even -if I could get it. I'm gone too far. -And what is the use of a 'usband's idea of -attention? If you want to see the kind of -attention 'e gives me, just cast your eye on -the table there. Them things in the corner -is supposed to be lemons. '</span><em class="italics">E</em><span> sent them in. -</span><em class="italics">Look at 'em</em><span>! 'E on'y sent 'em 'cause I -asked 'im, mind you. Is it much to ask, -d'ye think, Doctor? And me at death's -door! Look at 'em, I say. They're furrin -lemons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause. Then said -Mrs. Roper again, "They're furrin lemons. I -would say it to 'is face. I ask 'im on me -death-bed for lemons and 'e sends me them! -Furrin ones! Don't you think they're furrin, -Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure of it," replied the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was another pause, during which -Mrs. Roper applied a variety of new and -second-hand wearing apparel to her eyes. -But the gift of articulation soon returned -to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I," she explained, with biting irony, -"am on'y 'is wife. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> ain't jolly. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't -flatter 'im. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't make a fuss of 'im. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> -don't make meself agreeable. </span><em class="italics">I'm</em><span> on'y 'is -wife. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> on'y tell 'im the truth. What does -'e wanter give good lemons to </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you could let me know when he -returns," submitted Dr. Brink, "I would talk -these matters over with him. In the -meantime, I will send you round some medicine, -which——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the good of medicine to </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>?" -demanded Mrs. Roper. "I'm on'y 'is wife. -You go round to the undertaker's, Doctor, -and tell 'im to send me round a wooden -ulster. That's the on'y thing as'll bring </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> -any peace. I ain't one of your jolly sort, -you see. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't go round to me cousin -Alfered's and make meself agreeable and -play nap. 'Is cousin Alfered's, indeed! It -isn't 'is cousin Alfered as 'e goes to visit, -Doctor; you take my word for </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>, Doctor; -I s'pose I'm blind, eh, Doctor? An' deaf an' -dumb an' parulised? I s'pose I ain't aware -that cousin Alfered 'as got a wife? </span><em class="italics">A wife</em><span>! -That's what 'e calls 'er! If she's a honest -married woman, Doctor, 'ow d'you account -for 'er bein' ser very lovin' to 'er 'usband?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have left off trying to account for -these things," explained the doctor. "About -your medicine now. I want you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mrs. Roper had struck a more -fascinating theme than that of medicine. -"Married!" she ejaculated. "Ha! Married! -And she ser jolly! Ser good-tempered, ser -fussy, ser full o' compliments! No wonder -as my man likes to play nap at 'is cousin -Alfered's. There's two or three jolly ones -together in </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> 'ouse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's a 'igh-spirited lady too. Ser full -of romps an' all. She reads the papers, too, -and listens to their jokes, </span><em class="italics">and laughs</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, Doctor, it's time that wooden -ulster come. It won't arrive before I'm -ready for it. This world ain't no fit place -for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't jolly enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm only a honest wife, I am, what sits -at 'ome all day an' tells the truth while other -people makes theirselves ser popular. This -world is no fit place for honest wives.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The other ladies are ser jolly; they -makes theirselves ser pleasant. They fuss -about and flatter you, and laugh at all your -jokes. They makes theirselves ser pleasant....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's a respectable married woman to -do, Doctor?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-black-hat"><span class="bold large">XXVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE BLACK HAT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"What I like Banking Day for," James had -privately informed me, "is because </span><em class="italics">then</em><span> -Fatty always puts on a cap. He looks so -plain and friendly in a cap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At which I pondered deeply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That which I pondered was the important -problem of Dr. Brink in his relationship to -moral authority and the top-hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had to admit to myself that James's -aphorism was justified by facts. The doctor -did look more human in a cap. Upon the -other hand, he did not in the least look like -himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Banking Day" is a solemn occasion in -the Brink household. It happens once a -fortnight. It affords the doctor an excuse -for making holiday—a two hours holiday—the -only regular holiday in which he permits -himself to indulge. And of this regular and -recurrent festival, the cap is an outward -and visible sign: the cap and golfing shoes -and a poacher's jacket. And a solemn black -bag. The solemn black bag is filled with -sixpenny pieces. Thus equipped, the doctor -goes into the City—"giving'em a treat in -Gracechurch Street," he calls it—and deposits -the toll which he has extracted from human -misery upon some banker's table. He then -returns to Bovingdon Street, wearing your -right usurer's leer and a shilling cigar. And -having in his right hand—the hand he pulls -the teeth out with—a fat, white book. It is -his vulgar custom, upon such occasions, to -publish loudly a statement of accounts, as thus—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forty-eight pounds fourteen and -sixpence. Do you hear that, my friend? Do -</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> hear it, Baffin? One thousand nine -hundred and forty-nine sixpences. Does -this compete with literature, young man? -Does it equal the material gains of your -art, Mr. Baffin? Nineteen hundred -sixpences, James, my dear, nineteen hundred -and forty-nine. All screwed out of the -working man. Damn the working man. -What's he made for? Where's that bottle -of Burgundy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor, in this mood, presents an -absurdly human appearance. His cap—-it is -an old-fashioned neck-freezer, and a trifle -small for him at that—sits usually upon one -side, and he rolls the cigar between his lips -in an unctuous manner, and has even been -known to wear his feet upon the mantel-piece. -It is always his pleasure under these -circumstances to toy with Baffin, who, being -so closely related to the Leicestershire Baffins, -is quite unjustly credited with a secret -sympathy for despotism. In point of fact, -however, Baffin has no time to sympathise with -anything, except the Baffin School of -Impressionist Art. But the doctor, when his -cap and the cares beneath it sit lightly on -him, chooses to exhibit a cordial sympathy -for the supposed convictions of Baffin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dirty beggars, these working men: what, -Baffin?" the doctor will observe. "Have -to be kept in their places. Eh? What? -Sixpence a go, Baffin. Nineteen hundred -and forty-nine sixpences. A very reasonable -tribute, Baffin; a tribute to education and -elegance and the cultivated mind. The -feudal system, Baffin, was a fool to our -system. You must write and explain it all -to the Leicestershire Baffins. What, Baffin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin always offered the same reply—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> a silly fool, Brink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even the surrounding helots recognised -and responded to the psychological significance -of the doctor's City costume. I shall -always remember an observation uttered by -Ma Levinsky, who kept the fish shop at the -corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Banking Day, and the doctor, -suitably apparelled and accompanied by the bag, -was walking West, accompanied by your -servant, to whom he had promised to exhibit the -interior of a real bank, and also to show how -one conducts an operation called "paying -in." And when we passed her, Ma Levinsky -spoke to us, saying, "Cheero, Doctor, ole -love. Got a baby in the bag?" This to -THE DOCTOR, mind you! You perceive the -weird magic of this cap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But even the two hours of holiday which -the doctor "stood himself" on Banking Days -would come to an end, although it was not -the least remarkable fact connected with the -whole absurd proceeding that the two hours -in question began at two o'clock and did not -end till half-past six. But when they did -end, the doctor's sudden masquerade would -also end. The poacher's coat, the golfing -shoes, would vanish, and in their place -appeared the solemn calf—gent's heavy -walking—the not less solemn morning coat—a -somewhat tarnished vestment, but of undeniable -solemnity—and, lastly, the solemnest thing -of all, the final token, the apotheosis—the -doctor's black silk hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a profoundly aged hat. A hat of -many lustres, the which had swallowed up -its own. But it was a </span><em class="italics">hat</em><span>—a black silk hat, -and being such it complied with all the -conditions: it sufficed: it left no room for -criticism. And you did not catch the doctor -looking human when he had that hat on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I will not pretend that the doctor loved -his hat. "It's the price which I pay for my -soul, this damned thing," he once explained -to me. "I hate to have to take it out with -me, but Democracy insists. Democracy has -a sense of what is due to it. In Norfolk, you -could wear what you liked—your mother's -bonnet if you wanted to. But you couldn't -think what you liked or love what you liked. -Dammit, you couldn't even swear at what -you liked. Here, you are at liberty to do -what you jolly well please; but as to wearing -what you please—why, that's another matter. -The doctor is known by his hat. They look -for the hat. They expect that. They </span><em class="italics">pay</em><span> for -the hat. And being an honest sort of chap -(at bottom), I give them what they pay for. -This one cost me ten-and-sixpence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neither Ma Levinsky nor her rich relations -would dare to bandy chaff with the doctor -when he was the doctor—when he wore the -hat. Even the leisured classes, airing their -minds and matter as they propped up the -fabric of the "African Chief," forbore to -utter even a whisper of native pleasantry. -Even the Jew-boys reserved the shafts of -their wit for meaner quarry. The black hat -awed them all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I remember a certain Banking Day when -I persuaded the doctor, cap and all, to enter -a public-house. It was called by the name -of the "Four Soldiers," and a board outside its -windows proclaimed that Devonshire cyder -could be had within. But when we got within -we found that somebody had won some -money at somebody else's expense, and that -this event was being celebrated. And our -advent was accordingly received with criticism -and comment: wherefore we departed—quick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But hardly had we arrived at the surgery -when a messenger appeared—a rather -anguished messenger, not very lucid. I answered -his ring myself, and can therefore speak -authoritatively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dockeratome, young man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Telms wanted, quick. Ole Joe Black. -Up the pole. Barmy. See? Murder, see? -Telms wanted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?" I inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind where," responded this helpful -emissary. "Telms wanted.... Dockeratome?" -he finally demanded, after a reflective pause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I called the doctor down to him at that -stage; and the doctor helped him to unlock -his bosom. We found that old Joe Black -and his complicated infirmities were to be -found at the "Four Soldiers"—the very house -of cheer which had so cheerfully exported -us about five minutes ago.... I—I wilted. -The doctor smiled. He also put his hat on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When we arrived at the "Four Soldiers" I -found myself entering the public-house -parlour of that guesthouse a few paces ahead of -the doctor. And I also found that a seafaring -gentleman with a broken nose had marked -my entry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere's our little love-child come in again," -observed this mariner cheerfully. "Drop -Jim a 'int aside the 'ead wiv yere belt-end, -Bill." But then——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But then—he saw </span><em class="italics">the hat</em><span>! Bill saw it -also. Twenty other merry gentlemen shared -also in the vision. And a silence, a sticky -silence, thick as treacle, suddenly manifested -itself. And we all looked up at the ceiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a hook on the ceiling, and a -piece of rope and a man was hanging there, -the rope curled round his body and one leg. -The man was addressing the world beneath -him; and now that the world had grown -strangely silent, his words were plain to hear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Call yerselves </span><em class="italics">men</em><span>," the man was saying, -"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> call ye caterpillars. Stand by, ye greasy -toads, and watch a true man 'ang 'isself. -'Ang 'isself, d'y'ear? 'Ang 'isself. I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> 'ang -meself. I'll 'ang meself dead as dogs' meat, -and there's not a swab in Limus dare stop -me. Not one in this room. Not a -god-forsaken son of a lady in this room. Not -even you, Tom Tinker."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom Tinker being thus addressed made -answer. He happened to be the landlord -of the inn, and a regard for his own future -caused him to be solicitous for that of the -man on the ceiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you be silly, Joe, me lad," he -answered. "Don't you be rash. You'll -regret it, you know; you will that. Come -down, now, when I tell ye; come down -before ye forget yeself. D'y'ear me? Come -down. You'll make a fool of yeself in a -minnit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the ceiling replied to this -suggestion by removing a boot and hurling -it at the prophet's head. In so doing, he -obtained a view of the solemn countenance -and black hat of the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The strained and tragic expression of our -gymnast's visage immediately gave place to -one of nervous greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evenin', Doctor!" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evening!" replied the doctor. "Come -off that hook."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whaffor?" demanded the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I tell you to. Come off, quick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man began to whimper. "I can't," -he said. "The rope's broke. 'Ow can I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jump."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jump?" echoed the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the doctor, "jump. I'll catch -you. Jump!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man jumped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We passed out amid a silence more than -ever obvious. I remember one thing clearly. -The door was held open for me by an -effusive, smiling sailor-man—a sailor-man with a -broken nose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I walked out stiffly, with confidence, -with pride. I walked in the shadow of -THE HAT.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="on-earning-sixpence"><span class="bold large">XXIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">ON EARNING SIXPENCE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Behold our doctor on crutches and -having his foot in a sling; deprived also of -all burgundies, by the heartless mandate of -another doctor. Behold him also in -controversy with his daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are perfectly insane," said that lady. -"Doctor Beaver said quite distinctly that if -you so much as moved your leg for the next -three days, he wouldn't be answerable for -the consequences."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't I been saying for the last three -years that Beaver is an ignorant old quack?" -inquired the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," pursued his daughter, "because -a drunken old woman comes round and -raves at you, smelling of gin like a—like a -cistern, you calmly propose to crawl out and -go all the way to Burbidge Street, because -her daughter happens to object to the locum. -I'm quite sure he's a very decent locum; -quite the nicest we've ever had. He's -engaged to a school-mistress, and he knitted -that waistcoat himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The locum is a blasted young pup," -responded Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heavens!" cried his daughter, "whatever -is the matter with </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> locum?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's giving 'em </span><em class="italics">real drugs</em><span>," said the -doctor, with gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What if he is?" argued James; "I -don't suppose it'll kill 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still," mused the doctor, "when people -aren't used to that sort of damfoolery—— I -don't want my statistics mucked up. -Besides, there's the expense. And——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, blow the 'ands,'" replied his little -daughter. "You've engaged the man, and -you've got to keep him. And you've got to -pay him. He's come here prepared to do a -week's work, so for goodness sake let him -do it. I'm sure he's willing enough, at any -rate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Willing?" repeated the doctor; "my -dear girl, he is the ultimate thing in -eagerness. I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the doctor's further observations on -this head were interrupted by the entry of -the subject of them—a young gentleman in -correct dress, with fair hair and a face, who -was introduced to me as Doctor Tewksbury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry to say, Doctor," remarked -this young man, "that that old woman in -Mulberry Buildings is dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" cried Doctor Brink. "Poor old -Mrs. Thacker? I'm sorry. She was a nice -old thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," assented Doctor Tewksbury, "an -interesting old hag—such marked symptoms. -I wish I'd exhibited bromide."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wouldn't have made any difference," -said Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not," responded Doctor Tewksbury. -"She was quite hopeless; but still -bromide was clearly indicated. Hullo—foot -hurting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not—not more than usual," answered -Doctor Brink. "My back was tickling. -That's all. Any news?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothin' particular," replied the locum, -"exceptin' a woman in Burbidge Street. -Mrs. Groat, I think the name is. Had a -sort of row with her. It's the daughter's -case really—a confinement; but when I got -there the old cow came to the door and she -wouldn't let me in. Said her daughter had -engaged with you, and she didn't want no -blasted schoolboys. She was rather offensive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all," said Doctor Brink, rising -clumsily to his feet and holding hard to all of us, -"she </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> engage with me. It's a damnable -nuisance; but I'll have to go round."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, rot," cried the locum. "Let the old -fool rip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till Beaver catches you, that's all," -observed his daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> a fool, Brink," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's been round here twice already, -while you were out, Tewksbury," continued -Doctor Brink. "All the family's been here, -in fact; they're much excited and very drunk. -I expect they've been working on the patient, -and unless we do something she'll get into -a frenzy and croak. I shall have to go. -Where's my damned hat?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now look here, Fatty," expostulated -James, "you simply aren't going to be </span><em class="italics">allowed</em><span> -to go. You——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Old girl," said the doctor quietly, "subside. -I'm going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So saying, the doctor grasped my shoulder -in a grip that was not all of friendship. -"You come the other side," he said to James. -"Tewksbury, you mind the shop. Now -we're off. Steady, now. Slowly. That's -good. Steady, now. Steady. Good again. -Oh, Kreisler!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was an exciting journey across the -sitting-room, and that down the stairway -even more so. And when at last we gained -the street, the bulk of the journey lay before -us. We accomplished it somehow—it lasted -less than a year, at any rate—and when we -had at last arrived at the interesting -residence of Mrs. Groat, and had deposited the -doctor on its doorstep, the lady herself came -out to greet us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ow," she said, "yuv come at last, ye -bleedin' makeshift!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We pushed him inside, and the door was -closed behind him, and we walked about and -waited. When, nearly an hour later, the -remaining fragments of my rash friend were -restored to us, Mrs. Groat came after them -and made further speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye spiteful old crow," she cried. "Ye -didn't 'arf make 'er 'oller, did ye? I'll show -ye spite. I'll pay ye out for bein' ser spiteful. -Jes'you see. I'll pay ye out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Which she did. For when, after making -the homeward journey in such a fashion as -to cause amazement and amusement to the -whole neighbourhood, we did arrive at the -doctor's own house, it was to find that a -medicine bottle had found its billet on the -consulting-room floor by way of the -consulting-room window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tewksbury came down and helped us to -carry the doctor up. And when we had -flopped our burden on to a couch, and -Tewksbury had leisure for reflection, he -said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will never convince me that this -was all produced by burgundy."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="dialogue-with-a-bride"><span class="bold large">XXX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">DIALOGUE WITH A BRIDE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She was rather a juvenile sort of bride: so -much so, in fact, that a civilised inquirer -might have supposed the baby on her breast -and the ring upon her finger to be mere -playthings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was to be gathered, from her opening -statement, that she was inured to the married -state, and that it held no terror for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If 'e comes it over me," she explained, -"I gives 'im a shove in the marf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was an attractive child—rather -freckled and very shrill; but having cheerful -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you recommend me to do about -Mine, Doctor? 'E's queer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: How queer?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE BRIDE: Queer in 'is 'ead. Won't -talk to nobody. Won't eat. 'E's learnin -isself to write short'and.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: But I think that's rather -sensible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE BRIDE: More sensible if he was to -bring 'ome some money. 'E's a chair-packer's -labourer. What's the good o' short'and to a -chair-packer's labourer?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: Perhaps he has ambitions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE BRIDE (</span><em class="italics">gloomily</em><span>): Not 'im. 'E's got -the sulks. If you go an' give it a big name -like that, 'e'll never get better. I ain't even -let 'im know I've come to you—'e's ser easy -encouraged. What 'e wants is a dose o' -your pale yaller—even my ole gran'ma can't -drink that, and she's been takin' medsin since -</span><em class="italics">so</em><span> 'igh. That's what 'e wants: a dose o' -your pale yaller and a flip be'ind the ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: How old is your husband?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE BRIDE: Old enough to do some work. -'E'll be eighteen in March.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: He's out of employment, then?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE BRIDE (</span><em class="italics">stiffly</em><span>): Well, 'e ain't out of -employment, on'y 'e don't go to work. There -ain't no call for 'im to go, not unless 'e wants -to. We're independent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: Indeed?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: Yus. We've 'ad some luck, -through the misfortune of losin' 'is father. -There's a matter of two 'underd pound at the -lawyer's, and more to come, they say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: It's a pity he can't find -some work to do. Two hundred pounds -won't last for ever, you know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: There ain't no call for 'im to -look for work. When the money comes -we're goin' inter business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: Oh! What sort of business?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: The 'ardware, Doctor: joiners' -bits and carpenters' tools, and knives and -'and-saws. It's bin a fancy of 'is'n since -boy'ood up. That's the meaning of this short'and. -'E's educatin' 'isself for the position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: Well, of course, an ironmonger -isn't bound to know shorthand; but——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: Not ironmongery, Doctor—the -'ardware: fine edge tools and joiners' -necessaries, and so forth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: But why object to this -shorthand? After all, it keeps him out of -mischief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: It ain't the short'and I object -to. It's him. Forever at home: forever -makin' his scratches. Forever lookin' sulky -and cleanin' 'is nails. Never a word to say -to me, nor so much as a look for the child. -'E was 'armless enough when I married 'im. -Full of life 'e was in them days. Many's the -'idin' 'e's give me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: Cheer up! He'll get -lively again one of these days, and give you -another hiding. Even shorthand ceases to -amuse people after a time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: Short'and don't amuse 'im. -It on'y makes 'im stupid. 'E don't wanter -learn it, not reely: 'is 'ead ain't good enough -for learnin'. 'E likes to make me wild, that's -all. As for hidin's, it's </span><em class="italics">'im</em><span> what gets the -'iding now: I don't believe in a girl takin' -any o' that when you're married. Walkin' -out it's different. Besides, I earned it then. -I was a devil arter the boys in them days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: Oh, well: you were only -a young thing then, of course.... About -this husband of yours; what is it you want -me to do? I can't cure shorthand, you know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: Well, Doctor, I don't see's -there's anything you </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> do, reely. Only, I -wish 'e'd go back to the chair-packin'. 'Ome -ain't 'ome with your man always in it. And -'e's ser sulky and ser pertickler. 'E says we -gotter go to church now that we've retired -from work. We're goin' ter have our shop -front painted red.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: I always look upon red -as one of our leading colours. As you say, -there is really nothing which I can do. -Anyhow, we've had a useful little chat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: I like a little chat. It's a -thing I don't seem to get very orfen, -nowadays. Me and my mother, we don't know -each other. She says we killed 'is father. -She says I don't manage my baby.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>DOCTOR BRINK: I shouldn't argue with -him. He'll get used to this money in time, -and then he'll be as noisy as ever again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>THE WIFE: Argue with 'im? Me? I -don't argue with 'im. When I got anythink -to say to 'im, 'e gets it aside o' the 'ead. I -don't care, even if we 'ave retired from work. -I go on the same now as what I did before; -and so I shall when we've started the -'ardware. Sometimes I wish this misfortune to -'is father 'ad never 'appened. I liked 'im -better in the chair-packin' days. I didn't -see ser much of 'im. 'E wasn't ser pertickler. -'E took a pleasure in his tea them days. -Sometimes he useder catch 'old of the kid.... -And sometimes he useder lark about -with me.... I liked the look of 'im them -days. Sometimes, I wish we wasn't rich.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="an-interlude"><span class="bold large">XXXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">AN INTERLUDE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>One result of my acquaintanceship with -Doctor Brink is not entirely pleasant. I -have developed a sort of interest in poor -people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am always lighting, in odd corners, upon -what I call "Brink cases." Such experiences -pursue me even into respectable places. I -bumped into one, lately, within a stone's -throw of the Houses of Parliament, to which -place I was bound at midnight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clouds were showing heavy and black -upon a moonlit sky as I turned on to the -Thames Embankment by Hungerford Bridge, -so that I shivered extensively. These -September nights, at best, do not add much to -the pleasures of a promenade. But this -night was especially unconducive to philosophic -loitering. There was wind, and that -constant, dull foreshadowing of rain which is -worse than a deluge. There were those -hurrying, hump-backed clouds, and their -indefinite reflection upon the greasy surface of -the Thames. And the clock struck twelve, -and a policeman by my elbow spat and -swore. And some vessel far up stream gave -harrowing expression to its feelings by means -of that dismal instrument which is humorously -called a syren. Like the mysterious -stranger in the story books, I drew my -travelling cloak around me, and shuddered -at the windy vastness of it all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then I fell to smiling. For away -yonder, in the mirk, figures were moving -and bobbing, and, by all the saints that care -for vagrants, it seemed to me that their -movements suggested mirth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These must be weird people," thought -I to myself, as I went towards them, "who -can find anything to laugh at in this place?" As -I drew close up to them their figures -stood out more clearly against the great wall -of the Embankment; and I saw that the -prime cause of this apparent joyfulness was -a girl—a girl who was very young, and -rather graceful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wore an old straw hat and a heavy -shawl, after the manner of her kind, and -one end of the shawl was much longer than -the other, and was caught up into a bundle -beneath her arm. So that I guessed her to -be carrying a baby.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of her companions was a middle-aged -man of round and rather stupid build. As I -came up he was moving slowly from one foot -to the other, and wagging his head. He -wore a ragged overcoat, which was buttoned -to his ears, and he was waving an arm about -in a manner which appeared to be admonitory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The group was completed by a second -man, younger than the other, and taller. He -was holding a hand to his face, which the -girl had evidently buffeted. The young -fellow was saying something which I could -not catch in a plaintive voice, and the -girl—jocund creature—was leaning against the -wall, swaying and shaking with silent -laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That mournful syren still jarred upon one's -ears, and set a cog-wheel running up one's -backbone; the dark clouds jostled each -other as before, and were reflected in the -oily sludge beneath them; the wind blew -from every quarter at once, and the fallen -leaves that lay upon the footway rustled in -it like a shroud. And this girl leaned up -against a pillar and shook herself with -laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then I went closer still and perceived -my folly. The girl was not laughing at all. -That which I had supposed to be mirth was -really its opposite. The girl was </span><em class="italics">crying</em><span>—crying -silently and effectively, and without -ostentation. When feminine lamentations -are conducted with this sort of restraint -there is usually a reason for them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stupid man spoke to the girl. "Why -don't you take 'eed to what 'Erb says?" he -demanded. "Why dontchew go 'ome? -There's sense in what 'Erb says."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the young man spoke, saying, -"That's right, ole Emma. Come along -'ome, ole Emma."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl crept closer to the wall, flattened -herself against it, as if she sought protection -there. "I—I wown't gow 'owm," she said, -between the sobs. "I wown't move from -'ere, I wown't, till it's nine o'clock. The -gentleman said, 'Come back at nine o'clock.' -'Come back at nine o'clock,' he said. You -'eard what 'e said, 'Erb. I wown't move -from 'ere, I wown't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>'Erb went closer to her. They were all -so occupied with this discussion that I am -sure my presence was not observed. It was -as though I wore some mantle of invisibility. -I could have danced a hornpipe, I believe, -without attracting notice.... "What's the -good of talkin' like that?" said 'Erb to the -girl. "Come along 'ome, Emma."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wown't move a </span><em class="italics">step</em><span> from 'ere, I -wown't," responded Emma. "You 'ear -what I say? I wown't move, I tell you. -The gentleman said, 'Come back at nine -o'clock,' an' at nine o'clock I'm goin' -back—to see my baby.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... If you </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a man you'd take me -over </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>"—she pointed, vaguely, in the -direction of Charing Cross Hospital—"you'd -take me back and fight 'em, you would, till -they let us in. What they want to turn us -out till mornin' for?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanter see my baby, I do. My baby'll -die afore it's morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Come back at nine,' the gentleman -said; and all its pore arm turned stiff, an' -white, an' swollen. What you wanter move -that lamp for, you fool? Why did you open -the door? Did you 'ear 'im 'oller? Oh, -Christ! did you 'ear 'im 'oller? We'll -lose 'im, 'Erb: my Gawd! we'll lose 'im. -Did you 'ear what the gentleman said? -'Come back at nine to-morrow mornin',' 'e -said. What'd 'e want to turn us out for, the -swine? What you want to go 'owm for? -My baby's </span><em class="italics">there</em><span>, you ape: over there, with -the nurse an' the gentleman. Think I'd go -'owm wiv the likes o' </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> an' leave 'im? -What you wanter move that lamp for? Did -you see it runnin' all over 'im, an' 'im -'ollerin', an' cuttin' 'is feet in the glass of the -chimbly?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you—did you? Go away, I tell you. -I wown't move, I tell you. The gentleman -said, 'Come back at nine.' What you wanter -worry me for? What you wanter stop for? -I want my baby—I—I—you makeshift, you, -I </span><em class="italics">'ate</em><span> you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the young man twisted his cap -between his fingers, and drew a little closer -to her, and said, "Come along 'ome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yus, go along 'ome," supplemented the -stupid man. "You can't stop out 'ere all -night. And what's the good o' worryin'? -People's got to pay for bein' married an' -that in </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> world. It might be worse, you -know, young Emma——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" interpolated the younger man. -"It might be worse, you know, ole Emma!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, after all," pursued his stout -companion, "what is it, after all, to bury -a baby? I remember well when we was -nailin' up our Number Three——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stout man's reminiscences ended -suddenly. It was the fist of the younger -man which ended them. "Chew that, ye -one-eyed wind-bag," observed its owner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, drawing Emma gently from the -wall, he placed his arm about her, and -whispered something in a voice which -aspired clumsily to be hopeful. Now that the -girl was facing me, I could see that she did -not carry a child, as I had at first supposed. -It was merely an end of shawl which she -carried—a rude sort of nest or pocket, -pressed close to her bosom, as if in waiting -for some tender burden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come along 'ome, ole girl," the young -man urged. "What's the use o' dawdlin'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go away!" replied the woman. "Leave -a girl in peace, can't you? I'm waitin' for -my baby. I'm waitin' for nine o'clock, like -the gentleman said.... I wonder if 'e's -sleepin'? I wonder if they've 'urt 'im? ... I -wonder if he's dead?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't you comin' 'ome?" pleaded the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't you goin' away?" the woman -answered. "What's the good o' pesterin'? -Can't you 'ear what I tell you? Do you -wanter send me mad—fussin' an' pesterin'?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a clock; one, now, an' the -gentleman said nine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was 'arpas' twelve struck then," -observed the stout man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the gentleman said nine," sighed -the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think e'll 'ave 'is mind back be the -mornin', 'Erb? 'E never knowed nothin' -when we left; never knowed nothin' when -I carried 'im out from 'ome. Did you -see 'ow fast 'is teeth was? Did—— The -gentleman said, 'Don't worry.' Must be a -fool. What did you wanter move the lamp for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Table was so full, an' the cloth was -draggin'. Anyone might 'a' stepped on it. -I never meant no 'arm, ole Emma."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bin all right if the door was shut. -Might be nursin' 'im now, 'Erb, in yere -overcoat, 'stead of 'im—— Did you see -ow drored out 'is fingers was when the -gentleman come to look? 'Ow long before -nine? Think they'd let us in before? It's -all through that door bein' open. That -curtain it—— Gawd's Truth, 'Erb, it was -the </span><em class="italics">noo</em><span> curtain what I put up yesterday. -It was </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> curtain. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> done it, I killed my -baby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'</span><em class="italics">E</em><span> ain't killed," asserted the fat man. -"Be as right as I am in a twel'month."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I put up that curtain to show off; that's -all I put it up for. And it blew on to the -lamp, an' it—it—Gawd blind me, I've killed -my baby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a lie!" shouted the man. "Didn't -I leave the door open? Didn't I shove the -dam thing right under the curtain? Begod, -I did. Don't tell lies to yeself, ole Emma. -It was me as done it. It was me as burnt -that little beggar's arm. Wish to Gawd I'd -burnt me eyes out first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go' bless my soul," observed the stupid -man, "what </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> the use of quarrellin' over -trifles? Whatever does it matter whether -the lamp moved the curtain or the curtain -moved the lamp? Thing's done, ain't it? -Boy's arm's all charred up. Why argue? -Take an' get a good night's sleep. Ain't -we all 'ad trouble? When my first went -down——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'it 'im to-day," said the woman. "For -eatin' coal, it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man drew her hand into his, which -was not more rough and shapeless. "'E -thought the world o' you, ole Emma," he -observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ow long to nine o'clock, 'Erb? 'Ow -long afore they'll let us see 'im? The -gentleman said, 'Don't worry.' ... We was -mad to leave 'is cradle there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all so full in the room," replied 'Erb. -"I was gointer move next quarter. Allus -next quarter, Gawd strike me! If we'd -took that room we was lookin' at Easter -time, there was gas there an'—an'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">wanted</em><span> to 'ave it," whined the woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When," pursued her husband, "when I -was puttin' them rockers on the sugar-box, -I </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> say as we'd 'ave a 'ooded top, to finish -it. But I changed me mind. Devil take -me! I changed me mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'd 'a' saved 'im, that would," observed -the woman. "We'd 'a' found 'im sittin' up -an' laughin' at the fireworks.... Remember -that day when the water come in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"R!" answered the man. "Rare tickled -'e was. Remembers it to this day. I'll lay -any money 'e was tryin' to tell me about -it when we was in the park o' Sunday. -'E——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Christ! my baby," cried the woman; -and she lay sobbing in his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He led her to a seat, and she cried silently -upon his shoulder for a long, long while. -When she next spoke it was to wonder -about the time. "Is it </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> long to nine -o'clock?" she inquired. And the man said, -"Not so very. You lie still, ole Emma: -you're all right; you lie still."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Emma remembered that by moving -the tin trunk which stood by the wash-stand -to an empty niche beneath the table, a place -of security might have been provided for -that sugar-box. And they discussed all the -other might-have-beens: and his beauty, and -cheerfulness, and the surprising precocity of -his speech. She trembled, and sobbed and -sobbed, and her husband swore. They -talked about all the other might-have-beens -again; and the stupid man faced them, -scratching his head, and saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> the use of all this argument?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After which the constabulary arrived, and -flashed lamps upon them; and they rose -heavily, and moved away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I found them, presently, upon another -seat. Emma's blue-white face was upon her -husband's shoulder, and her lips were tightly -clenched as she spoke to him. "'Ow long -we got to wait till nine o'clock?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so long," replied the man.... -"You lie still, ole Emma."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed, very slowly. And I noticed -that a hummock of shawl was caught up -close beneath her arm.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="low-finance"><span class="bold large">XXXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">LOW FINANCE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He was a self-complacent, ox-voiced man, -and being clothed on with his Sunday -blacks, he looked objectionable. He surged -into Dr. Brink's consulting-room all frothy -and foamy with fellowship. "Evenin', -Doc.," he gurgled. '"Ow's yeself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me see your tongue?" said the -doctor, who was tired and absent-minded. -This was the ninety-seventh tongue which -he had clamoured for that day: a fact which -perhaps accounted for the absence from his -manner of that sympathetic and anecdotal -touch which distinguishes those learned men -who follow the reputable or credit branch of -his profession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It ain't about meself I've come, ole -man," explained the visitor. "Leastways," -he added, with an air as of scrupulous -exactitude, "it ain't about me present self. I -come to thank you for all your goodness to -me during my accident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor responded with a wondering stare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I come to thank you for all your goodness -to me, Doc.," repeated the man. "And," -he added, as one giving utterance to a careless -afterthought, "to see about my little bill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When did I attend you?" demanded -the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When did you attend me?" repeated -the patient reproachfully. "Why, you -attended me twice. I am that serious driving -accident what you was called in to look at four -weeks ago. And I bin round to see you -once since then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Serious driving accident," mused the -doctor. Then—with an acid smile—"I think -I remember now. The accident suddenly -showed itself in your shoulder, didn't it, five -days after the occurrence? And I couldn't -find the place, could I? Not even a bruise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was very painful, Doctor," explained -the invalid; "one of them inward bruises. -They do say as that's the worst sort o' -damage as kin 'appen to a man, getting a -inward bruise, same's what I did. I bin -layed up fower weeks 'long o' that accident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And it took five days to mature. Ever -heard of a disease called 'afterthought'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't say rightly as I 'ave," admitted -the sufferer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a curious sort of complaint," the -doctor explained; "attacks a man very -often in cases like this. Quite small things -aggravate it, too; talkative friends, for -example."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you make the bill out, Doctor?" -requested the victim of this strange ailment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No need for a bill, is there?" said the -doctor. "I can tell you what you owe me -out of hand. One visit to your house, one -consultation here: total, eighteenpence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd prefer a proper invoice, Doctor," -admitted the maimed one. "And look 'ere, -ole man, make it out fur a sovereign, will -ye? I ... I want to show it to my firm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With pleasure," said the doctor. "Have -you brought the sovereign with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" snapped the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I asked if you had brought the sovereign," -repeated the doctor. "If your firm is -prepared to pay me a sovereign for my services -to you, I shall, of course, be delighted to -make out a bill for that amount."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you on'y seed me twice," protested -the visitor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what I wish to point out. My -proper fees amount to eighteen pence. But -if you want to pay me a p——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">don't</em><span> wanter to pay you a pound," -bellowed the petitioner angrily. "Nothing so -ridiculous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In that case," responded the doctor, -"let us say no more about the bill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you call yeself a genelman?" -demanded this martyred soul, with a choke -in his voice. "Do you call yeself a -genelman to stop a pore drayman from earnin' -his honest compensation? 'Ow'm I goin' on -for compensation?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Compensation for what?" inquired the -doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fur me accident," replied the man. "I -bin laid up fower weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One day of which," the doctor pointed -out, "you spent in bed. Did they stop your -wages?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, no," admitted the martyr. "They -paid me me wages all right. But I ain't -drored nothink fur me accident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You drew a very comfortable holiday, at -any rate," suggested the doctor. "A four -weeks' rest cure on full wages. And that -shoulder, you know, it was not what one -could call a permanent injury: it hardly -amounted to disablement. Do you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Words," stated the sufferer, "cannot -describe the agonies what I bin through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You surprise me," murmured Dr. Brink. -"Anyhow, you've been strong enough to do a -lot of standing about outside the 'African -Chief.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What if I 'ave?" submitted the injured -man. "Ain't I still entitled to compensation -fur my accident?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me you've had it," argued -the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I ain't," asserted the indignant -claimant; "not a blighted 'a'penny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four weeks' rest, full pay," recited the -doctor, with an air of monotony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wiv me shoulder-blade all to Bucklesbury," -added the claimant. "And not a -brazen farthing fur me accident. I 'ad the -corpuscular accident all right, I suppose? -Ye don't deny it, do ye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By no means," exclaimed the doctor. -"Didn't I myself attend you for a unique -complaint in the shoulder-blade?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then," pursued the invalid, -somewhat mollified by this admission. "In -that case I demand my rights. I demand -the rights of a honest workin' man. I ask -for compensation for my accident, same's -what I'm entitled to accordin' to lor. Will -you write out that invoice fur me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly: for the exact amount which -you may care to pay me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you call yeself a man?" demanded -the visitor, with heightened colour. "What -the scarlet letter do ye reckon I engaged ye -for? Think I wanted ye for the sake of yere -filthy physic? Ain't ye got no 'eart? Make -out the invoice like a fair-minded man. Never -tell me as you'd 'ave the 'eart to rob a pore -man of 'is money.... They've refused to -give me compensation fur my accident, and -now 'ere's you—a genelman born, as oughta -be above sich actions—you're gointer rob -a pore man of 'is doctor's bill.... Besides, -I </span><em class="italics">tole</em><span> 'em that I owed a sovereign to the -doctor, and they tells me to produce the -invoice.... What am I to tell my firm?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell them what you like," replied the -doctor. "I certainly shall give you no -receipt for money which I haven't had."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then 'ow do I go on?" queried the visitor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>'"Ow'm I goin' on fur compensation—fur -my accident?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor repeated his shrug. "It seems -to me," he said, "that your firm has treated -you well. You don't know much, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I may be a fool," admitted the afflicted -one, "but I know my rights. I oughter be -paid some compensation fur me accident.... -You won't do nothing to 'elp me, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't," replied the doctor. "What you -want is a new head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I?" retorted the caller, flourishing -his wounded arm. "That's the very thing -as </span><em class="italics">you'll</em><span> be needin', ole sport, if ever I meets -you outside. Call yeself a man? </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> call you -a swindlin' 'pothecary. I tell you one thing, -Mister Whatsitname. Whenever I 'as another -haccident, I takes it to the bloomin' 'orspital. -I do know </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> much. See?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-mothers-meeting"><span class="bold large">XXXIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE MOTHERS' MEETING</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The morning callers at Dr. Brink's dispensary -are all of them women or little children. -You may suppose that the waiting-room -wears then a strange and wistful air, for the -men being absent, with their hoarse, funereal -pleasantries, and the shuffling young boys -being absent too, and the girls likewise, -having carried their titters and squeaks to -the factory, there is not much to amuse folk -in the waiting-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You cannot expect a married woman to -be very cheerful at the best of times, and -when there is the place to tidy and the rent -man expected, and the children will soon be -coming home for their slabs and what not, -and you have slipped out just for half a tick -to get that dizzy feeling seen to, it is more -than usually dull to be sat in a row with -twenty other females, similarly cursed—some -of them having babies at their breasts or -little squalling things what hold fast to their -skirts, and the place that stuffy and all, and -a stink of iodine coming out of the doctor's -room. Taking one consideration with -another, it is not to be wondered at that the -morning patients do not wear that air of -curiosity and pleasure which a visit to the -doctor should properly occasion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The morning patients have an absent-minded -look—a dull, foreboding look, as of -people who are too busy really to enjoy -themselves. Some of them, also, are -accompanied by their button-holes or other objects -of light and profitable home employment, at -which they work with assiduity whilst waiting -for the doctor's call. Others, upon the -other hand, bring peppermint drops. One -lady has brought some literature—the -outward wrapper of an ancient issue of a paper -called </span><em class="italics">The Pilot</em><span>. So there they loll, all -silent, many of them yawning—out of -rudeness, or boredom, or fatigue, or something, -one supposes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If you sit upon the gas-stove, you can -watch them all as they come into the -consulting-room. You can watch, for instance, -the experienced matron, who enters with the -baby that </span><em class="italics">won't</em><span> get well, and dumps it down, -in a business-like manner, upon the doctor's -table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are," she says in the manner -of one who has successfully completed a -conjuring trick, "look at that tongue. Did -</span><em class="italics">ever</em><span> you see sich a thrush?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M'yes!" admits the doctor. "It's pretty -bad. I'll give you a powder and some syrup."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Powder? Syrup?" echoes the matron. -"H'm! Pity you can't give 'im a corfin. -That's the on'y treatment what'll give any -peace to </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> pore little swine. What mercy, -</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> say, is there in letting a thing like this live -on? Look at it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When, to your great relief, the experienced -matron goes away, you will be very lucky if -you do not wish her back again, for it is ten to -one that she will be followed by an apprentice -to the trade, a poor wild thing whose -senseless, shiftless, screaming mother-agony will -hurt you ever so much more than the grim -philosophy of the veteran.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to grip 'im, Doctor," the -apprentice will say, "and throw 'im down, -pore lamb, an' wrestle with 'im, Doctor, -same's there was a fish-bone in 'is little -throat, and 'im so weak, 'e don't have -strength enough to 'oller, and 'im so blue -and mottled, Doctor, and strangled-looking -in the face, and the powder, that ain't doin' -'im no good. The Irishwoman down below, -she dreamt she seed 'im in a shroud, and, -Doctor, I see meself as 'e gets thinner, and -I believe me milk 'as got some poison in it, -along of some oysters what I eat one -Sunday, and so I see 'im gettin' thinner, Doctor, -and there's the strangled look a-comin' </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>! -Won't you give 'im somethink, Doctor? -What did you say I was to take 'im to the -breast for? I tell you my milk 'as got the -microbes in it. Oh, Christ! what can a -woman </span><em class="italics">do</em><span>? And Mine he comes 'ome late -and stands and swears at me wiv no more -feelin' than a 'og. Me gran'father Murphy's -eyes 'e's got. There, then, sonny; there, -then. What'll you do for 'im, Doctor? I -seed a black cat on our winder-sill last night. -My Gawd!—see 'ow it grips 'im!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the time you feel disposed to come -back to the gas-stove again it will be seen -that the apprentice mother has given place -to a grandmamma, who has looked in, as a -friend, to mention that much gossip is arising -in consequence of the extreme youth of -Dr. Brink's apothecary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Far be it from her—Elizabeth Tebbings—to -be one as would carry idle tales or -utter idle plaint, but the fact remained and -could be very solemnly attested by many -honest witnesses from Mulberry Buildings -that the medicine which she, Elizabeth -Tebbings, had last Tuesday week received from -the apothecary possessed a strange, unusual, -and forbidding flavour—a nasty-nice sort of -flavour which gave you shivers down your back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Far be it from me," protested Mrs. Tebbings, -"to cast no slur, especially when -the parints of the party has been friends and -neighbours along with anybody—good neighbours, -too—'is father especially being the -'andsomest man in the Customs service—but -the truth is the truth even though a -young man's parints </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> beknown to you, and -to tell you the truth of </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> affair, Doctor, -young Wilfered Crage 'e </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> young—a mere -boy, Doctor, if you understand my meanin'. -And, unwilling as I am, 'avin' come to a -motherly time of life, for to kerry tales, still -I must say—speaking friendly, mind you, -Doctor—that the medicine </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> taste ugly. -Me brother Joseph tells me there was -stricknyne in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor, having closely examined the -water-tap in Wilfered's official laboratory, is -heard to assure Mrs. Tebbings that her fears -of strychnine poisoning are groundless, and -that lady goes out with her confidence -partially restored. "At the same time," she -insists from the threshold, "the boy </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> young. -And you got to remember that some of your -patients </span><em class="italics">'ave</em><span> died sudden, Doctor. Look at -that girl wiv 'earts disease what lived in our -basement!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next woman to enter has come to -"engage." "I expect about the first week -in September," she says. "An' if you please -I'd like to pay a couple o' shillin' orf me -ticket now. An', if you please, Doctor, will -you give me the ticket with the two shillin' -wrote orf? On'y will you give me another -ticket, too, without nothink wrote orf? I -want one so's I kin show it to me 'usband, -see, Doctor? 'Cause if 'e see as I bin able -to pay orf any, 'e'll say as I kin pay the lot -orf, and I want to git a little 'elp from 'im, -Doctor, so's to 'elp me over it all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This mild and unreproachful statement -will probably provide you with a subject of -thought. But your attention is diverted from -that theme by the sudden appearance of one -more mother—a hearty, stalwart, red-faced -mother, with an ample bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This mother produces from behind the -door a hearty, stalwart, red-faced boy. "'Is -teef is rotten, Doctor," she explains. "I -brought 'im round to 'ave 'em out. There's -three wants coming out. They're all the -same side. See 'em?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see them," replies the doctor. "But -three teeth at—er—one sitting! Isn't that -</span><em class="italics">rather</em><span> a tall order? Don't you think, -perhaps, now, that we'd better take out only -two to-day and leave the other one for -treatment later on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mother grins extensively, shaking her -jolly head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind, Doctor," she says, "let's -'ave 'em all out. It's on'y eighteenpence."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-woes-of-wilfered"><span class="bold large">XXXIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE WOES OF WILFERED</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Wilfered, the 'Pothecary, hath a sorrow, or -rather two sorrows, if not more than that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some of these sorrows have reference to -his master's interests; and it was in the -capacity of Doctor Brink's familiar friend -that I was privileged to learn some details -of Wilfered's private and professional afflictions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were in the dispensary, Wilfered having -just explained that there were limits to the -things which even he could stand; that the -affections of a man and a 'Pothecary could -be toyed with once too often, when a little -maid came in. She was quite a little -maid—some four to five spans high—the top of -her dishevelled head being scarcely on a -level with the ledge of Wilfered's peep-hole—that -mysterious recess through which he -views and governs the multitude within the -doctor's waiting-room. The little maiden, -having rapped authoritatively upon the -wainscoting, held up an arm with a penny at the -end of it, and a face enamelled over with -soot and treacle. Said this client, speaking -quickly—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Penny powder for a baby six months owld."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered's expression of general -discontent changed to one of immediate and -particular disgust. "What do you say?" he -demanded of the client.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please," murmured that lady, with the -air of one triumphantly conscious of that -which was expected of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered solemnly shook his head. "Never -mind about yere manners," said Wilfered. -"What d'ye want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Penny powder for a baby six months -owld," repeated the child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered turned from the client to me, a -look as of despair upon his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the sorter thing you gotter -contend against," he complained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then addressing himself once more to the -child, he uttered a sort of formula which he -keeps for these emergencies—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't sell powders yere. If you -wanter powder, go to the chimmis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The infant looked at him hopelessly. -"Mover told me to come yere," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Under the circumstances," responded -Wilfered, uttering another formula, "we will -let you 'ave the powder. We won't sell it. -We'll </span><em class="italics">give</em><span> it you. Nex' time, go to the -chimmis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the sorter thing you gotter contend -against," said Wilfered again, as the -client departed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was about to repeat this observation -for the third time, when his thoughts were -distracted by the entry of another juvenile -client—an older and taller girl than the last, -though hardly a cleaner one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Penny soothin' powder for a baby eight -months owld," demanded the new-comer. She -was the possessor of a wide, immovable smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered bestowed another of his speaking -glances upon your servant. And to the -client he repeated his formula: "We don't -sell powders yere, my gal. If you wanter -powder, go to the chimmis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady listened to this statement with -an attentive air. Then she spoke again, -saying, "Penny soothin' powder for a baby -eight months owld."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't sell powders, I tell you," -responded Wilfered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the girl, "but you give 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered extended his head a further inch -through the peep-hole. His nose and that -of the client almost touched each other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a noo game, ain't it?" demanded -Wilfered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What next? 'Cause we 'appen to give -you a powder once, out of our generosity, -seem to think you on'y got to come in yere -to get one on the nod atenny minnit. Go -to the chimmis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma towld me to come yere," protested -the client.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said Wilfered, "you go 'ome an' -tell yere Ma as I refuse to serve ye. Seem -to take us for a 'firmary. We don't sell -powders, nor we don't give 'em—except first -time to a reg'lar customer what does not -know our rules. And if we was to sell -powders, it wouldn't be for a penny, me gel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These powders," continued the loyal but -shameless 'Pothecary, "are made up outer -the very best drugs. They cost </span><em class="italics">us</em><span> frippence. -You go 'ome an' tell yere mother </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady went home, to be followed, in -the course of nature—this being, as it were, -"the children's hour"—by another lady, -younger and smaller than any of her -predecessors, demanding "A penny powder -for——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Oose baby?" demanded Wilfered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Baby four months old," replied the messenger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">'Oose</em><span> baby?" repeated Wilfered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My baby," said the child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bin 'ere afore about your baby?" -inquired the 'Pothecary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the messenger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," mused Wilfered. "What name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ilder," said the messenger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother's name, I mean," explained Wilfered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Bates, Mulberry Street," said Mrs. Bates's -emissary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Wilfered repeated his formula: "Tell -yere mother as we'll </span><em class="italics">give</em><span> 'er the powder this -once, but nex' time you must send to the -chimmis. We don't sell powders yere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Bates's daughter, having received her -powder, and being as yet without a proper -understanding, deposited the penny with -which she had been entrusted upon the -ledge of Wilfered's peep-hole, and bolted -from the waiting-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered gazed upon this coin with an -air of indecision. Finally, he picked it up -(between a finger and thumb) and flung it -into the till. His actions said plainer than -words that he possessed a professional -sentiment which was outraged at the thought of -accepting this tainted money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then—for events move quickly in -Bovingdon Street—who should come bouncing -in again but the big girl whom he had -previously dismissed—she of the immovable -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Penny soothin' powder for a baby eight -months owld," said the big girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered was at first unable to speak; but -when he did so, it was with point and -emphasis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," he said, with scorn, at the -end of his address, "as you kin understand -plain English? We </span><em class="italics">down't sell powders</em><span>. -And if we did, we couldn't sell 'em for a -penny. These powders cost </span><em class="italics">us</em><span> frippence. -Did ye tell yere mother that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yus," responded the girl, "but mother -says she can't 'elp </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> troubles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfered held on to the pill-tub and looked -wildly about him. Then, with a deep-drawn -sigh, he held out a powder and took the -penny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the use o' arguin?" he demanded -of your servant. "Look what you got to -contend against."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="still-more-of-prudence"><span class="bold large">XXXV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">STILL MORE OF PRUDENCE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Baffin came bouncing in one morning and -bounced me off the gas-stove.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hair was ruffled and his face was -flushed and his eyes were flashing sparks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God!" he cried. "I—I've made -a weird, a wild, a terrible discovery. Good -God, who would have thought it! That -child, mind you, that imbecile. 'God, sir, if -this were a humane and Christian country, -I should be allowed to call the damned -beast out and carve patterns on him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are referring to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prudence—Prudence," responded Baffin, -with agitation. "She HAS TOLD ME ALL. -Come in and see her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence had flung herself down upon a -grimy sugar-box, and lay there, still and -bruised and broken. There was an awful -quiet in the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin resumed his remarks in reference -to the subject of damned beasts. I hushed -him with a grave, paternal glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think of poor Prudence," I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence rose slowly to her feet. She -thrust back the hair from before her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my Gawd! Mr. Baffin," she said, -"you do gow in for the funniest talk ever! -'Ere—I say, when I was down there, do -you know what I see? I see as there is -a crack in that sugar-box; I do believe -that's where I dropped that picture -powstcard what I lorst 'ere last sittin'.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oo-er, it will be all right if we can find -it there, wown't it, now? I 'ave missed that -card, I can't tell you! 'Cos my mother give -me that card, an' I love everythink what my -mother gives me. You dunnow </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> a good -mother I got, Mr. Baffin. She's working -'ard all day to bring me up proper, she is, -an' the place on 'er arm is </span><em class="italics">ever</em><span> so bad still. -If on'y I could learn to sit still, I could earn -a lot of menny to give to my mother, -couldn't I, Mr. Baffin? 'Cos you said so, -didn't you, Mr. Baffin?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See if I don't learn to sit still; people -that try can always succeed, can't they? -My mother often tells me that. Be a dear, -an' move the box, Mr. Baffin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We moved the box, but the card was not -there; and Prudence succumbed to a fresh -outbreak of tears, and had to be comforted -with condensed milk, which she relished in -spoonfuls direct from the tin. We rescued -this stimulant from Prudence in time to -avert the tragedy of an overdose; and then -she departed. "I got a friend waitin' for -me," she said, "an' my mother said I was -to be 'ome early. An' this is my mother's -ironin' night.... 'Ere, Mr. Baffin—was you -laughin' at me when I come over funny on -the box there? 'Cos I won't sit for -anybody what laughs at me. I'll go out charrin', -an' spoil me 'ands, that's what I'll do. Don't -you think I could learn to do charrin' -if I wanted to? I can learn a lot if I try."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't spoil your hands," said Baffin; -"they are beautiful hands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baffin did not flatter her. Prudence's -hands were as the hands of a lute-player—slender -and white and sensitive, flowing -from wrists which carried themselves subtly, -like a fair swan's neck. Such hands, I -believe, may be produced by the simple -process of being folded gracefully for ten -generations. We often wondered, Baffin -and I, whence Prudence derived those -hands. That much-talked-of lady, Prudence's -mother, had never been presented to us; -but—frail hands and a frail spirit! Which -of these was the mother's gift?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hee! hee!" giggled Prudence, as she -spread the little hands before her, "yew -ain't 'arf a tease, are yew, Mr. Baffin? ... Funny -'ands fur charrin', ain't they, though? ... May -I flap your letter-box as I go out? -It don't 'arf rattle. Oo, I </span><em class="italics">em</em><span> a silly girl, -</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> em! 'Ere, I say—when I come to sit -agen, shall I bring my mouth-organ, and -show you 'ow I'm learnin' meself to play -'The Bluebells of Scotland'? An' you'll -look for my picture card, wown't you, 'cos -my mother give it to me? And please let -me sit agen soon. Oy revoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When it became quite clear, from the -silence of the letter-box flap, that Prudence -had wholly departed, Baffin sat himself -wearily down and groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the deuce ought one to do?" he -demanded, with great earnestness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This being your affair," I answered, "you -will have to think out that little problem for -yourself. The circumstance of your living in -a Christian country will not ... prove helpful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't tell Brink," said Baffin. "He'll -want to poison her."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Seven days later Prudence came bursting -in Baffin's studio on a mission of protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere, Mr. Baffin," she exclaimed, "what -about this spyin'? I down't like it at all, I -down't, and my mother down't like it; an' -will you arst your friend, Mrs. Vesey, to -mind 'er own business? Seems to take a -lot of interest in me an' my business, she -does, an' I down't like it, an' my mother -down't like it, 'cos it is no business of 'ers to -bother about my business, an' I believe she's -got a lotter funny ideas in 'er 'ead, an' I -down't know what she means, an' I down't -like 'er.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's she wanter come to our 'ouse -for at all? She comes round in 'er carriage, -she does. Oo, you oughter see the funny -cross-eyed coachman what she's got! Oo, -and she don't 'arf wear no rings, neether. -An' my mother says you sent 'er, cause she -tole my mother so, and what does she wanter -come fussin' round </span><em class="italics">our</em><span> place for—settin' the -neighbours talkin'? An', 'ere, I say, -Mr. Baffin, she's gointer take me to the London -'Ippodrome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You leave it to Mrs. Vesey," said Baffin -subsequently. "</span><em class="italics">We</em><span> can't manage Prudence, -but Mrs. Vesey can. </span><em class="italics">She'll</em><span> fix up Prudence. -Consulted her lawyer yesterday.... Oh, -they'll settle that nobleman all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not long after this conversation Prudence's -visits to the studio were temporarily -suspended. Prudence was out of town. -Mr. Baffin would explain to inquiring spirits -that she had taken it in her head to go on -tour as a chorus girl. "A cheap sort of -holiday, don't you know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In due course Prudence returned to town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her first professional visit was paid to -Baffin, and it pained me to notice that her -very first observation caused that gentleman -to blush. "I 'ave got some queer friends, I -ave. What you think some saucy 'ound 'as -done </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>? Sent along a </span><em class="italics">cradle</em><span> to my 'ouse! -Do you know 'oo it was, Mr. Baffin? I bin -away, you know—nursin' my sick uncle at -Ramsgate, you know—an' it come while I -was down there. I on'y got back from -Yarmouth yesterday, an' the first thing I see -was this joke. Silly joke, wasn't it, -Mr. Baffin? 'Cos Mrs. Vesey was at </span><em class="italics">our</em><span> 'ouse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An', 'ere, I say, Mr. Baffin, my gran'pa -died when I was nursin' him at Margate, an' -there's some money comin' to me, on'y it's -goin' to be took care of for me, so's I can -dror a little every week. An' my mother's -makin' me a noo 'at.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere, an' I can't sit for you be the day -any more, Mr. Baffin, 'cos my mother's lonely, -an'—an'—I don't like to leave my mother be -'erself all day. I got to go home to my—my -mother now; an' I can come at eleven in the -mornin', and go away to dinner, an' come -back in the afternoon and stay till teatime—see? -On'y I can't stop later than teatime, -an' I can't stop all day, 'cos I don't like leavin' -my mother, an' I got to go back an'—an' 'ave -a look at 'er, like—see? Oo-</span><em class="italics">er</em><span>, I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> late, -Mr. Baffin: I ought to 'ave been back to my -mother 'arf a hour ago. Oh, do let me go, -Mr. Baffin! My—my mother might get very -ill if I didn't get back to her punctual."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lying little fathead!" observed Mr. Baffin later.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence's faith in our simplicity remained -unshaken. "Time you went home to your -mother now," Baffin would assert at fitting -intervals. And Prudence would answer, -"Oo-er, yes; my mother 'll be waitin' for -me. I mustn't keep my mother waitin'!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The value of her services grew less (if -possible) at every sitting. Her capacity for -wriggling returned to her with unabated -force: the giggles came back, too, and the -original fund of anecdote.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Baffin congratulated himself on these -signs. "We'll keep up the pretence at -'sitting' a </span><em class="italics">little</em><span> longer," he said, "and then I'll -deny myself the luxury of her assistance for -a month or two. We'll call it a 'cure' on -Monday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when Monday came, I noticed at once -certain evidences of a "relapse" in Prudence. -The tears had come back, and the sulks and -the silence. Even Baffin's reminder that -mother's hour for being visited had arrived -did not seem to move her. "I'm an un'eppy -gel, I am," said Prudence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to ask you something, Mr. Baffin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," said Baffin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I on'y wanted to arst you," Prudence -was saying, "do—do you believe in bookmakers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" said Baffin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prudence repeated her inquiry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't believe in—in auctioneers," -said Baffin, blinking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you down't," responded -Prudence. "But I want to know your opinion -of bookmakers—</span><em class="italics">this time</em><span>."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-birthday-party"><span class="bold large">XXXVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">A BIRTHDAY PARTY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I was sitting on the gas-stove in Dr. Brink's -refectory when Mr. William Dawkins entered -the consulting-room. And having applied -my eye to the squint-hole so thoughtfully -provided by Dr. Brink for the education of -his guests, I was able to view and rejoice -in the arrival of Mr. Dawkins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That gentleman's "entrance," as they say -in the Strand, was decidedly impressive. He -came in under the escort of three cronies, -and he was wearing a white waistcoat and a -smile and a blood-stained head. He was -singing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you collect all this by the side of the -Zuyder Zee?" inquired the doctor, in his -softest bedside voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The patient offered no reply to this -question; but smiling, oh, so happily, he -continued to pour forth the fresh, glad notes of -his voluntary. The largest and dirtiest -member of the escort, feeling, evidently, that the -circumstances demanded explanation, was -accordingly so kind as to offer it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This," he said, "is Bill Dawkins. Young -Bill Dawkins, you know: 'im what works at -the coal-wharf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor bowed. "Bill is a hearty -fellow," he said, "and his head has been -banged about damned awful, and you have -not introduced me to him a moment too -soon. I shall have to stitch that forehead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dawkins received this information -with his sunniest smile. "Don't be shy, ole -love," he said. "Bill don't fret, thank Gawd. -My name is Bill Dawkins. Thank Gawd -fur that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shan't be shy," replied the doctor, with -a reassuring smirk, as he fumbled amongst a -case of cutlery. "What have you been up -to, by the way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dawkins, however, had relapsed into -melody: and the only answer which -Dr. Brink received to his inquiry was the -assurance that he was Mr. Dawkins's Bluebell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">has</em><span> he been up to?" asked the -doctor again, addressing himself to the largest -escort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" said that gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," repeated the doctor, preparing -for action, "that I'd like to know what he's -been up to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Oo been up to?" inquired the escort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"William," said the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E ain't been up to nothing. This is -young Bill Dawkins. '</span><em class="italics">E</em><span> ain't done no 'arm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what is the cause of all this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All what?" demanded the escort, with a -touch of wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All this damage," explained the doctor -patiently. "Has he been fighting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord bless ye, no, sir!" whispered the -escort, hoarse with horror. "'</span><em class="italics">E</em><span> ain't been -fightin'. Bill Dawkins is a gentleman!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," cried the doctor, at last permitting -himself to show heat, "who in the -devil's name has been mutilating him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The escort looked blank. "Mutinate—mutinate," -he repeated thoughtfully. "I -ain't 'eard about that, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor sighed, and soaked some -dressing. "Could you think carefully," he -then suggested, "and tell me how he came -to meet this trouble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What trouble?" murmured the escort. -He put his head on one side and opened -his mouth, and his resemblance to an -inquisitive owl was pathetic. "What trouble -do you mean, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">This</em><span>," cried the frenzied gentleman, -pointing wildly to Mr. Dawkins's wounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Is </span><em class="italics">'ead</em><span>, do ye mean, sir?" demanded -the escort.... "O-o-o-h! </span><em class="italics">That</em><span> don't -matter, sir.... </span><em class="italics">It's 'is birthday</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said the doctor, applying stitches, -"I see. A celebration?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On'y his birthday, sir: just a plain birthday. -'E's thirty-two to-day, ole Bill is. -It's 'is birthday, see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor did see, and he stitched away -emphatically. Mr. Dawkins left off singing. -And when the repairs had been completed, -it appeared that their influence had extended -far beyond the damaged forehead. Mr. Dawkins -sat up in his chair a sober man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cheer up, Bill!" exhorted his bodyguard -in chorus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am cheered up," responded William, -with a November edition of the smile. "My -name is Dawkins. On'y—on'y me nose itches. -Got 'ny biceps, Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh? What?" snapped the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Biceps, ole love. For pullin' teeth. My -name is William Dawkins, and when I does -a job I does it thorough. What's the good -o' makin' two journeys if you can do yere -business in one? Ain't that logic? Of course -it is. My name is Dawkins. So fetch out -the biceps, Doctor. You'll find 'im back there -on the right 'and side, sittin' by 'isself in the -pit, a ugly, lop-sided sot 'e is, with a 'ole in 'is -middle. Fetch out the biceps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you really want your tooth out?" -asked the doctor doubtfully. "You've lost -a lot of blood, you know. Don't—don't you -think perhaps that at some future——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dawkins rose up from his seat. "My -name is Dawkins," he said simply, "and I've -ordered one biceps. If you don't like the -contrac', Doctor, there's many another bloke -'ll be glad of my custom. Don't make no -trouble, Doctor. I'm a friendly bloke. But -me name is Dawkins. I likes to soot me -fancy. I got a fancy for to shift this tooth. -Me and this tooth we don't soot each other. -I get a fancy sometimes, too, as I'll have me -leg took off, because——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About this tooth, now," said the doctor, -with haste; "I'm ready when you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dawkins, to whom the clean white -bandages about his head imparted an air of -weakness and infirmity, replied with a stave -or two from a patriotic ballad, and then -seated himself in a chair. The tooth was -removed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dawkins then examined the doctor's -forceps and apostrophised the trophy which -they still held. "Ache away, ye beggar!" -he exclaimed. "Who's laughin' now? ... What -I got to pay you, Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One shilling altogether," replied the -doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dawkins flung down half-a-crown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take it out of that," he cried. "I never -paid a bob more 'earty. Nor I never met a -genelman as was nicer spoken nor 'andier. -And when I make me mind up in regards to -this leg I'll bring it round to you. Me and -my family is noted for our limbs. There's a -uncle o' mine what 'ad a bone took out o' 'is -ankle what they keeps in a bottle at Guy's -'Orspital to this day. Comin' out to 'ave -one, Doctor? It's my birthday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor regretted that professional -engagements previously entered into -prevented him from accepting the very kind -invitation of Mr. Dawkins. He also handed -that gentleman his change and a small packet -of tissue-paper which contained the tooth—the -latter offertory being based upon an -immemorial custom of the spot-cash trade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Mr. Dawkins expressed his gratitude -in song, and Mr. Dawkins's bodyguard -assisted in the swelling chorus thereof. And -as Doctor Brink shook hands with each in -turn and received their oft-repeated praises, -he returned to the question which was still -unanswered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> that head get cracked, Mr. Dawkins? -A slight dispute, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dispute!" echoed Mr. Dawkins. "Me? -On me birthday? Why I bin sittin' in the -'Four Soldiers' as gentle as a clurk from two -o'clock this arternoon. Ain't that right, -mates?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. What 'e's tellin' you is right, -sir," confirmed the bodyguard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even a friendly spar?" queried the -puzzled doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's me birthday, I tell you," reiterated -Mr. Dawkins. "And I bin sittin' like a -corpse in the 'Four Soldiers.' First time I -bin in there for four months, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did your head get cracked, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," said Mr. Dawkins, with dignity, -"is what I was goin' to explain, old bird. -There's a Scotchman got the 'Soldiers' now, -you see, and 'e's a iggerant swine, -and—— They've moved the blessed step!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-moral-sense"><span class="bold large">XXXVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE MORAL SENSE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Good morning, Mrs. Budd," said Doctor -Brink, meeting that lady in his waiting-room. -"I suppose you've called round for the medicine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir," responded Mrs. Budd, turning -up a red nose and two very swollen eyes, "I -'ave and I 'aven't. Could I see you privit?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Brink led the way into the -consulting-room and lit a pipe, at the same time -inviting Mrs. Budd to "let us have it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now then, Mrs. Budd, let's have it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Budd began to cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That isn't what I asked for," explained -the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I 'ardly know 'ow to—to tell you," -sobbed Mrs. Budd. "It's so disgraceful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am always hearing disgraceful things," -the doctor said. "You needn't consider my -feelings: they are hardened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Doctor," exclaimed Mrs. Budd, -"the truth is that what I 'ad yisterday and -the Dark Brown to-day makes eighteenpence -and I can't pay you. And——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And?" repeated the doctor sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And—and—I 'ardly know 'ow to tell you, -Doctor: it is sich a disgraceful thing—my -man has stole a 'am and a policeman come -for 'im and they have locked him up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will book the eighteenpence," said -Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Doctor: you are a gentleman," -said Mrs. Budd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take a chair, ma'am," said Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all, sir," said Mrs. Budd.... -"I don't know what you'll think of us, I'm sure -I don't. And 'im so respectable up to now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did it happen?" inquired the Doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Mrs. Budd, "I don't exactly -know the ins and outs of it; but 'e see the -'am in Mr. Biggs's shop and Mr. Biggs was -spinning shillings with another gentleman, -what was a Guardian same as 'isself, and -Mr. Biggs's back was turned and Mine 'e see the -'am and took it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil!" exclaimed Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," assented Mrs. Budd. "And 'im -ben allus so respectable. And mind you, -Doctor—I will say this for 'im: I don't -believe it would 'ave 'appened only for the -little gel bein' so porely. I told 'im what -you said about givin' 'er nourishing food, -and 'e seems, as you might say, to 'ave got -it on the brain. The job what 'e went after -yesterday morning, 'e never got it after all; -and in the evening 'e took this 'am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" exclaimed the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure we all agree with you," said -Mrs. Budd. "'Im to 'ave bin a uniformed -porter for all these years and now to turn -thief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Ingrate," observed my friend. -"How is it that he has ceased to wear the -uniform of a porter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir, you see, sir," explained his -patient, "the company's trade been so bad -they was forced to reduce. Mine, 'e on'y -went with the last 'underd, and if he'd been -a younger man they would 'a kep' him on. -They give 'im a splendid reference; and -now—if it wasn't for the children, Doctor, -I could do away with meself, to think 'e -should so disgrace 'isself. It was a big 'am, -sir; they say 'e will get three months. But -if any gentleman, same as you, sir, was to -say a word for 'im, perhaps they would make -it lighter. It won't do away with the -disgrace, sir; but perhaps it would come easier -for Budd. Though I'm sure 'e don't deserve -no pity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think not," assented Doctor -Brink. "After being a uniformed porter for -all those years. And a </span><em class="italics">big</em><span> ham, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the best quality, also," said Mrs. Budd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And from a Poor Law Guardian," added -Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They tell me," continued Mrs. Budd, -"that he never orfered no resistance. I 'ope -you will think of that, Doctor, when you are -considering it over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Is father was an ironmonger, once, in -a good way of business; but he took to -drink and women, and the 'ome was broke -up. Mine, 'e had to go out and shift for -'isself as a lad of twelve. It's no excuse -for stealin' 'ams, of course; but—you never -know. Perhaps this wouldn't never 'ave -'appened if 'is bringin' up was different. -'E's allus bin a sober man 'isself; but when -a person is brought up rough it is bound to -show itself some'ow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry to say we eat the 'am; for -'e brought it 'ome and never said nothing -to nobody, and we was all of us glad of the -food. The little girl, she </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> enjoy it, pore -lamb. She don't know now but what it was -honest meat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They come and fetched 'im away from -'ome this morning when I was out to sell -some bottles. I 'ardly like to tell the children, -for they won't 'ardly believe that their pore -dad could be so wicked; only I s'pose -the neighbours will tell 'em, if I don't. -The neighbours is so friendly with my -children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a shameful thing for a man to do: -to turn thief at 'is age and bring disgrace on -everybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damned shameful," said the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I often wonder," Mrs. Budd ran on, -"whether that dizziness what you treated -'im for is at the back of all this. 'E </span><em class="italics">'as</em><span> -seemed a little strange since then; not much -different, you know; only a little altered, -same as anybody wouldn't notice except they -was about with him a lot, like I am. -</span><em class="italics">Something</em><span> must 'ave 'appened, don't you think, -Doctor, to make a respectable man like 'e -was turn thief?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The dizziness may have been indirectly -connected with it," admitted the doctor. "He -was suffering from a complaint which doctors -call malnutrition."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has sent a message," stated Mrs. Budd, -"to say he hopes I won't think none -the worse of him. He says he knows he -has done wrong——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor interrupted her with a profane -exclamation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, sir?" said Mrs. Budd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," said the doctor, "that this -surprises me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," cried Mrs. Budd, "'e ain't what -anybody would call a bad man at 'eart; -really 'e ain't, sir. 'Tis something strange -what's come over 'im as made 'im turn thief. -I was tellin' you, Doctor, about this -message. I sent one back to say I will think -it over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'I can forgive,' I says, 'but I can't -forget.' I mean to stand by 'im, really, if -it's only for the children's sake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Besides, he ain't never treated me so -bad—considering. He ain't always bin a thief. -And he knows he had done wrong. He -admits that, Doctor. Perhaps he'll try to -do better in future. Don't you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can think anything of these thieves," -said Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," murmured Mrs. Budd.... "I -admit 'e don't deserve no pity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he 'knows he has done wrong'!" -repeated the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir," said Mrs. Budd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he's utterly shocked at and sick -with himself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's very low-sperited and shamefaced, -Doctor. He knows he has done wrong-"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said Doctor Brink, "I'll give you a -letter to the Vicar.... The Vicar, I'm -sure, will help. Personally I think that your -husband and all his social equals ought to be -locked up for ever. But the Vicar, I'm sure, -will be charmed to help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Doctor," murmured Mrs. Budd. -"I'm sure he don't deserve your -kindness; but he knows he——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here's your letter," stated Doctor Brink. -"If you stop here any longer I shall choke -you. Go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, looking very puzzled, Mrs. Budd -departed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="love-and-hate"><span class="bold large">XXXVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">LOVE AND HATE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses came to -tea with Doctor Brink the other day, your -servant being in attendance. The -Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses derives from beer; -but she has a reputation for benevolence, -wisdom, and the party virtues which is -envied even by cocoa.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Brink, finding the minutes between -"calls" hang heavy on his hands, has -devoted them of late to organising a sort of -small relief fund, from which he provides the -most thriftless and improvident and least -meritorious of his patients with milk and -coal and flour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is rank charity, of course," the doctor -has had grace to admit—"charity of the -filthiest description. But we do flatter -ourselves that our little effort is free from the -deadly sin of 'overlapping.' There isn't a -really deserving case on our list."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses had -received an early invitation to assist this -fund, and had lost no time in doing so, the -doctor having intimated that cocoa had also -competed. And now the honourable lady -was come to take tea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot tell you," she said, "how much -I admire the quiet, unostentatious, truly -Christian heroism of you East End doctors. -It may truly be said of you that you give -your all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?" inquired the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, look at you!" responded -Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses. "Here you are, in -voluntary exile, living amid filth and squalor, -denying yourself every luxury, even that of -fresh air, in order to devote yourself to -alleviating the sufferings of our neglected poor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You flatter me," the doctor said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," responded his visitor. -"Compare yourself with any even of our -most eminent philanthropists. They only -supply the poor with money—they merely -give of their abundance. Now you, and -men like you (pardon my mentioning it, but -I cannot help pointing this out to you) you -give </span><em class="italics">yourselves</em><span>. You actually see and touch -the poor things, even the most unpleasant of -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true," admitted Doctor Brink, -with the respectful air of one who has been -introduced to a new and important truth. -"But," he added, "they jolly well pay me -for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady made a pretty sign of disagreement. -"You cannot make me believe," she -said, "that men like you are actuated by -thoughts of gain. It is the cry of suffering -which brings you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true, madam," assented the doctor. -"A cry of suffering which emanated from a -bank. As for the pay question, I may assure -you that I attach the very greatest importance -to their sixpences. You see, there is a -clear profit—medicine and bottle included—of -fivepence farthing on every one of them, -even the most unpleasant. I am saving up, -you know, to buy a property—some pleasantly -situated place in Scotland with a -trout-stream. I have lived on animals all my life, -and I want to try fish for a change."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are making fun of me, Doctor," -demurred the lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really," protested Doctor Brink, "I was -never more serious in my life. I am saving -money here at the rate of six hundred a year, -and living well into the bargain. Which -reminds me to apologise for keeping my foot -up in your presence. I've got gout rather -badly—the result of Burgundy. I drink a -good brand, but I drink it to excess. -Suffering humanity pays for that, you know. The -silly idiots crowd in here by the hundred, -bringing bottles which I fill with a weak -solution of picric-acid and water. For this -service they pay me sixpence and go away, -believing themselves cured. It is one of the -simplest methods of acquiring trout-streams -which has ever been invented."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe you, Doctor," asserted the -lady. "Men like you, if money is their only -thought, can get it by easier means than -coming out here to rob the poor poor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could rob the poor in a pleasanter -neighbourhood, of course," admitted Doctor -Brink. "But then, you see, the living here -is cheap—one economises even on the -Burgundy—and I'm saving up to buy a trout-stream."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At any rate," protested Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses, -"you like the dear creatures and feel -sorry for their unfortunate poverty. Now -don't you, Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you suggesting, madam, that I pity -the poor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you do," cried Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My friend, with an effort, sat up on his -couch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear lady," he said, "I am a thoughtful -and unusually intelligent man of forty, -and the only thing which I have ever pitied -in all my life was a parrot in a cage. But as -for these hungry and verminous creatures -who are saving up for my trout-stream, I -have never ceased to hate and despise them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why?" exclaimed the -Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses, who, by this time, was -seriously alarmed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the same reason which causes you -to despise them," explained the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," protested Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses, -"I love the dear things! They are so unfortunate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe," declared the doctor, "that our -feeling is identical; but, even to oblige a -lady, I cannot call it love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When," he continued, "a large number -of stout men are pleased to starve and shiver -for no other reason than that I desire a -trout-stream, I consider them to be worthy neither -of love nor pity. I consider them to deserve -what may be termed a helping foot, and when -they have paid for my trout-stream I shall -jolly well see that they get it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Said the Hon. Mrs. Strudwicke-Moses, as -she rose to her feet—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must confess, Doctor, that your -bitterness surprises me. I can't think how -anybody </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> feel angry with the poor dear -things. For my part," she added, arranging -her furs, "I love them. They are so unfortunate!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="on-a-dead-policeman"><span class="bold large">XXXIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">ON A DEAD POLICEMAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A small blue document reached the doctor -recently. I don't remember exactly what -words it contained; but there were references -to God and the King and certain commands -and threats thereto pertaining. And late -that same night the doctor, looking wistfully -upon a large bottle of claret, uttered these -words—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a deuced good wine, that is, and -I'm dog-tired, damme, and it's a dog's night, -dammit. But I've got to hustle out into the -thick of it, and do two 'midders' and a -damnable post-mortem. You'd better come -along."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I went along—not exactly because I wanted -to, but because my better nature told me that -I could drink the doctor's claret with more -decency when claret-time came round if I -had first earned my share. "But," said I to -the doctor, "I will thank you to take notice -that I have no intention whatever of -watching you perform post-mortems."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't perform post-mortems," replied -my host. "This is one of the little matters -which we 'arrange.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Knowing that this mysterious statement -was one which time itself would explain, I -did not ask any questions, but put on my -boots instead, and we walked out into the -murk and slosh, and the doctor went into -two pig-styes and ushered in two lives, and I -stood in two doorways and caught two colds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then we pursued the darkling ways -until they ended in a red brick mansion with -art-metal fittings, one of which we pulled -with such effect that dogs began to bark at -every hand, and a window was violently -opened, and a heavy voice, high up, said, -"All </span><em class="italics">right</em><span>!" very gruffly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is George," remarked the doctor -cheerfully. "George will have to slip his -trousers on and come downstairs and be -useful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"George," I ventured to remark, "inhabits -a very fine house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied the doctor, "he occupies a -pleasant flat. So well placed. He is within -a stone's throw of his own mortuary, as I -daresay you have observed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then George——" I began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the official guardian of our English -dead. His technical skill is profound. He -was a porter at St. Giles's for ten years, you -see. Ah! Ha! Here </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> George."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a grating of bolts behind the -big oak gate at which we stood, and a little -wicket which was set within the same came -slowly open to disclose an ox-like bulk which -growled out some inquiry. The doctor, -ignoring this presence, stepped daintily through -the wicket, and I followed. I then perceived -that we were standing in a courtyard, neatly -paved, and having large, neat buildings upon -every side. The doctor, jerking his umbrella -towards each of these natural objects in turn, -spoke as with the mouth of a guide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coroner's court is on your right," he -said; "mortuary chamber straight in front; -post-mortem chamber slightly to the left; -coroner's private office still more to left; -jury room just here; apartment for storing -coffins just there; stairway opposite leads to -George's private chambers; dark object there -is kennel, containing George's private dog; -dark object here is George. How are you, -George?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dark object referred to came closer, -accompanied by a very small candle in a very -large lamp, which it held up to the doctor's -face, at the same time exhibiting its own, -which was ox-like in character. "It's </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>," -said the voice of the object at last. "I -thought it might be somebody as was -deceivin' theirself into playin' a lark on me. -'Ow are you, Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this the doctor and George shook hands -with a great display of warmth, and George -set down his lantern and produced a pipe, -and slowly filled it, and slowly lighted it. -"I thought it funny," he then remarked, -between slow puffs, "as anybody should -deceive theirselves into playing a lark on </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>. -What is it to-night, Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gregory the name is," replied my friend. -"Inquest at ten o'clock to-morrow. I'm sorry -to have you out at this time of night, but I -couldn't possibly get round earlier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a word, Doctor," responded George, -as he shook the raindrops from his cap. -"This ain't the latest p.m. I done by many. -Let me see now—Gregory? It'll be that -middle-aged job from Wallflower Street, -what? Come in this arternoon. What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the case," responded Dr. Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said George, "I'm ready when -you are, Doctor. What do you suspect?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He moved off up the yard, the doctor -following.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I'll</em><span> wait here," said your servant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," assented the doctor. "I'm -not going farther than the doorway myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentleman's welcome for my part," -intimated George. For which the doctor -thanked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," he said, "I don't think that my -friend cares much for post-mortems."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" reflected George. "There's lots -like that in these days. I puts it down to -them street preachers. If you'll wait there -'arf a minnit, Doctor, I'll just switch on the -lights."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With these words the pleasant fellow -entered into an adjacent building, which -presently became illuminated. I could see -the shadow of his form upon the ground-glass -windows (which were spacious) as he -busied himself with some congenial task upon -the other side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be all right out here, I suppose?" -inquired the doctor kindly, while we waited -for the reappearance of George. "I shan't -be long, you know. George is very quick. -He knows exactly what I want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is the poor chap?" I inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you'd call him the mortuary -attendant," said the doctor. "He's really -very skilful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was alluding," I explained, "to the -other poor chap: to him who is to be the -subject of this accomplished gentleman's -skill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said the doctor. "Now let me see.... -What did the widow tell me? Ah, I -remember now. He was a retired policeman. -And there's George beckoning to me. -I shan't be long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor took his stand within the open -doorway through which George had entered. -And I took my stand in the rain, and watched -the doctor's back and the shadow of George -falling upon the ground-glass window-pane -as he busied himself with congenial tasks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now and then the doctor would address -some speech to George and stick his head a -little farther round the door-post, and the -shadow of George would draw, as it were, a -little closer to the window-pane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And after a certain time—a long time, it -seemed to me—the light went out, and -George and the doctor came forth, and -George received five shillings and bowed us -politely out. He also spat and uttered a -parting </span><em class="italics">mot</em><span>. Said George—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He liked his little drop, Doctor—what?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="mrs-gluckstein"><span class="bold large">XL</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">MRS. GLUCKSTEIN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was one of those dull, dishonest days -which open with a promise of rain and keep -on promising all the time. The mothers and -aunts in Doctor Brink's dispensary sat in -couples, brooding silently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now and then, at long intervals, somebody -would express herself in a rich, resentful -snuffle or a limp oath; but, generally -speaking, one just sat still and got damper. And -those ladies who by virtue of seniority were -from time to time admitted into the -consulting-room carried their langour with them. -Their fringes were straight and sticky, and -they knew it, and hope had departed from -them. They propped themselves up just -anywhere, and slid their empty medicine-bottles -out of one wet hand into another wet hand, -and breathed hard, and pitied themselves, -allowing the doctor to smile briskly and talk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the time that closing time drew near -the doctor himself was beginning to feel the -heat, and we began to wonder whether -anything would happen to </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> fringe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mrs. Isodore Gluckstein came in, and -refreshed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Gluckstein had four chins and a -comprehensive bust, and no visible waist-line, -and she moved with difficulty; but -Mrs. Gluckstein had within her certain fires which -were, as it might be, of the spirit, and -burned, so to speak, with fierceness, and kept -things moving. They re-curled the doctor's -fringe for him. Said Mrs. Gluckstein—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I vant you to eggshammun me, young -men. I gut low-spirited."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you show me your tongue, please?" -said the doctor pleasantly. But said -Mrs. Gluckstein: "Rubbutch!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rubbutch!" she repeated. "Vat you -vanter see me tongue for? Do I keep me -spirits on me tongue, then? I gut low spirits, -I tell you, and the indigistions. Vat I vant -is a Noirve Tunnuk. Ain't you gut none?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can give you a nerve tonic, of course," -assented the doctor. "But don't you think -I'd better go through the form of making -sure that you need it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," protested Mrs. Gluckstein, "I </span><em class="italics">told</em><span> -you det I vant id. I gut low spirits. You're -a proper, edugatud, respectable duckter, ain't -you? Can't you see vat I gut?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you could make it convenient," said -the doctor, "to discuss your symptoms, I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Symptums!" echoed Mrs. Gluckstein. -"I ain'd gut no symptums. I gut low spirits. -It's so simple. And I gut the indigistions—shocking! -Vat I reely vant is dem Nelson's -Noirve Beans. You know dem, Duckter—vat?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have read about them—in the papers. -You 'Try one in your teacup,' don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Det's right, Duckter," assented -Mrs. Gluckstein. "Dem Nelson's Noirve Beans -is vat I reely vant. I gut der same exact -sickness vat dey make 'em for: low spirits -and indigistions. It's a fine ding dis Nelson's -Noirve Beans: vat, Duckter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think I should place </span><em class="italics">great</em><span> faith in -them if I were you. They're made to cure -so many things at once, you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"De babers dalks vell about 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They write those talks themselves, you -know. The papers get paid for printing them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Gluckstein raised a chubby hand -and pushed this argument away from her. -"I gant 'elp vedder der babers is baid or -nut," she said, "dem Nelson's Noirve Beans -is a good medsun. Everybody knows id.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I arst der boy in der chimmis shup -'smornin', and 'e tole me, 'e seth: 'Ve sells a -lut of 'em', 'e seth. 'E vould 'a' said more, -Duckter, but I don't believe dey likes to thell -'em you. It ain'd der </span><em class="italics">good</em><span> dings vat brings -yer in der brufit. You notice dat in </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> -business—vat, Duckter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor looked at his watch. "Then -you'd like me to give you a nerve tonic, -Mrs. Gluckstein. Very well. We'll see if we -can't manage to rival Mr. Nelson's Nerve -Beans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Gluckstein pushed </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> statement -away with both hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll do your best, no doubt, Duckter," -she said; "but I dink dem Nelson's Beans -is vat I reely vant. And Mr. Gluckstein -(God bless 'im; long life to 'im) 'e dinks 'id -too. But dey cust a lut o' money, Duckter, -dem Nelson's Noirve Beans. A shillin' a -bux I dink it is dey cust. And Mr. Gluckstein -(may he walk in blessedness) he is a -vise man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Shall ve slay the ox' 'e seth, 'ven der -sheep custs not so dear?' He dinks the same -as me det it is good medsun, dis Nelson's -Noirve Beans; 'is own mudder (may she live -to be ninety) vas cured from going blind by -dem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But ve seth to vun annudder, ve seth, 'a -shillin' is dear for a medsun.' So Mr. Gluckstein -(may the Lord be friends vid 'im) 'e -consulted vid me, saying—-</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Never mind about dem Noirve Beans -for de dime bein',' 'e seth. 'You ain'd so bad -enough, in der meandime,' he seth. 'Ve'll -try der duckter </span><em class="italics">foirst</em><span>,' he seth."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="of-human-kindness"><span class="bold large">XLI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">OF HUMAN KINDNESS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Whether my name is Donovan or whether -it's Smith, I do not wish to be be'olding to -them, Doctor; I do not want their blasted -milk. That is the long and short of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Applying my eye with feverish haste to -the squint-hole, I perceived that she who -uttered these proud sentiments was young -and not ill-favoured, having red hair and -freckles and a "Hands off" expression. -"That," she repeated, "is the long and the -short of it—if you can call it milk at all! -They buy it from ole Tompkins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said the doctor, feeling, evidently, -that he was called upon to say </span><em class="italics">something</em><span>, -"well, Mrs. Donovan——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One minit, Doctor," interpolated his -visitor, "it is Wilson now, if you please, -Doctor. Donovan was our name when we -lived in Beddoes Street."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor uttered an apology and began -again. "Well, Mrs. Wilson, I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the visitor again checked him. "Of -course, Doctor," said the lady, "you will -understand that </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> don't know me by the -name of Wilson. I am still Mrs. Bannister -to 'er, same as I was in the ole days, when -she got me to sign the pledge. Pledge, -indeed! Fudge, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> call it. Did ever you -'ear of a thing so silly, Doctor? Me not -turned eighteen at the time, and to make me -sign a paper about never touching nothing -for the rest of me life. And she calls 'erself -a lady. With 'er airs an' graces, an' 'er two -pennorth o' milk an' what not! I've broke -the blessed thing a 'undred times, that is one -comfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The joke of it is, Doctor, that they -almost force you to take their blessed milk. -Is it right, I arst you, Doctor, that a person -is forced to be beholding to another person -for such a trivial thing as milk because they -'appen to be sister to the vicar? You -understand my meaning, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly," assented Doctor Brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know yesself 'ow ill I been, Doctor. -Well, then, she come round to my place -every day, she did, with 'er little notebook -and 'er gold-rimmed eye glasses, and what -not, and she says to me, she says:—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'I didn't ought to be visiting you at all, -not be rights,' she says; 'but you was a good -girl once,' she says, 'one of my very favourite -girls once,' she says, 'though you </span><em class="italics">'ave</em><span> made -mock of your solemn pledge,' she says, 'and -I thought I must come round,' she says, 'for -old times' sake, and ask you what you mean -be wastin' money on doctors,' she says.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'It's me own money,' I says.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Never mind 'oose money it is," says she, -'you ain't got enough of it to go an' waste -on doctors when the Church 'as got a beautiful -sick club and a free dispensary all kindly -arranged for you. Sich extravagance!' says -she. 'And now, I suppose, you'll expect -us to give you some milk tickets.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did ever you 'ear the like of it, Doctor?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'I ain't never arst you for no milk tickets,' -I says; 'I ain't never arst you for nothing. -Me 'usband is in work, and I kin buy me -own milk, and I kin buy me own doctorin'.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'It's a disgrace,' she says. 'If the vicar -was to 'ear of it 'e would be furious,' she says.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Then I shouldn't tell 'im, miss,' says I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Why?' she says.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Because,' I says, 'it isn't a sister's place -to put 'er brother into tempers.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She raised 'er forrid at me. 'You seem to -forgit,' says she, 'as you are talkin' to a lady.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Quite right,' I answers, 'so I did.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She looks at me solemn for a little while, -and then she says, in a sort o' 'lift-'im-gently' -voice, she says, 'I suppose we shall 'ave to -let you 'ave some milk tickets. I will talk to -Miss Perkins,' she says.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'But, if you please, miss,' I tells 'er, 'I -don't </span><em class="italics">want</em><span> any milk tickets. I got as much -milk to drink as ever I want.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Nonsense!' she says. 'I will talk to -Miss Perkins. A pore woman like you are -didn't oughter be 'ere at all. You oughter -be in the infirmary gettin' proper attention, -instead o' wasting money on doctors.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'But my man is in work,' I tells 'er once -more. I rubbed in that point 'cause I -thought per'aps she was ignorant about -it—'im goin' to work under the name of Rogers. -But it didn't satisfy 'er, bless you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Your 'usband 'avin' work 'as got nothink -to do wiv it,' she says. 'All the more reason,' -she says, 'for you to save the money while -it is comin' in,' she says. 'Your Doctor -Brinks, indeed! What's the good of us -Church people gettin' up all these kind -things for you if you go an' get ill in this -'igh-stepping fashion,' says she, 'with your -private medicine and your private doctors? -Wasting your husband's money.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E don't complain,' I says. ''E likes -me to be independent.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Nonsense!' she says. 'The idea! People -in your position can't afford to be -independent. What you working people are coming -to is really remarkable,' she says. 'Ere's -me an' the vicar, an' Miss Perkins, and the -'ole Church workin' 'ard for you all day long, -and all the reward we get is a lot of -impertinent talk about independence! 'Owever,' -she says, 'I'll see as you get the milk.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'But,' I tells 'er fur the twentieth time, -'I don't want no milk.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Fiddlesticks!' says she; 'I'll talk to -Miss Perkins. You kin 'ave a pint a day -for a fortnight.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'On'y,' I says, 'I don't </span><em class="italics">want</em><span> no milk.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'My good woman,' says she, 'you don't -know what you want. Nor it ain't your place -to know. Your place is to take what's given -you an' be respectful. Next time you see -your Doctor Brink, you kin tell 'im I told -you so.'"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"So that," pursued the visitor, "is what I -mean, Doctor, when I say be damned to 'er -blarsted milk. Do you follow my meaning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly," said the doctor again, as he -grasped the rebel's hand. "Perfectly, -Mrs. Donovan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Wilson, if you please, Doctor," -corrected the lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor offered many apologies. "I -believe," he said reflectively, "that you are -Mrs. Bannister to </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," assented his patient.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" murmured Doctor Brink, "I will -write to her and acknowledge her kind -message. Be gad I will. Yes. Ah! -I—I—begad, yes. Ha! H'm! ... And now, -Mrs. Ban——Mrs. Wilson, what is this about -the certificate for the insurance company?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Wilson. "Will you -oblige me, Doctor, be makin' it out in the -name of Banks?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-last"><span class="bold large">XLII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LAST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"It's true then?" I inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," responded James—"quite true. -Fatty's got a person coming to see him this -afternoon about buying the practice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose it's no use asking, 'Why all this?'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," admitted James, "you know it's -against our principles in this household to -give reasons. But seeing that it's you—the -truth is that Fatty isn't going to stick it any -longer, because he says he'll be damned if -he does stick it any longer. He says he's -going to start a pottery and kill them -quicker."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> don't seem so tremendously jubilant -as I was led to expect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No-o," replied James. "The idea was -rather exciting at first. But I've been -walking about to-day telling everybody the news; -and, really, people have been so awfully kind. -Mrs. Bernstein—where they make the old -furniture, you know—actually cried and gave -me a salted cucumber; and her brother, who -is our fish man, says he's sending round a -hat—why, I don't know—besides a small -plaice which came this morning. And dear -old Mr. Grimsdick, the grocer, got very -excited indeed, and he says it isn't to be -heard of, and he's coming round to stop it. -And Mrs. Bolt, where we buy our coal, she -said, 'Lord-love-a-duck,' she said, 'what next? -You tell your father to stop where he is. -You tell him he suits us very well. We don't -want none of your educated gentlemen in -Bovingdon Street.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Besides," continued James, "there's -Baffin. What are we to do about Baffin? -We can't sell Baffin with the practice. And -what's to become of him? </span><em class="italics">We</em><span> all know -that he's a genius, but nobody else has found -it out yet, and so he hasn't got much money. -Think of all his pictures stuck to the -washhouse wall! Fatty says they'll be worth -thousands one day; but they won't come -off the walls, and if we leave them there -somebody else will steal the money. And -there are all his clothes. Baffin has been -collecting clothes for years, and these are -all in the washhouse—</span><em class="italics">somewhere</em><span>. I really -don't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>James's reflections were interrupted by the -sudden opening of the door, which admitted -a strange young gentleman into our presence. -He was followed by Doctor Brink himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This," said the latter gentleman, "is -Mr. Reginald Cavendish, who has come to -inquire about the practice. He is charmed -with the situation of the house, my dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I mean to say," explained Reginald, -having made his bows, "is that you've got -so many windows, and such decent rooms. -One doesn't expect that sort of thing in the -East End. My pater will be quite pleased. -It's my pater who's going to buy this practice -for me, you know. I'm studying law, you -know—goin' in for this medico-legal game—and -my pater thinks this'd be a good thing -to amuse myself with until I'm through. It's -all cash, you say, Doctor.... Ah! Well, -it saves a lot of fag, book-keepin', an' -that—what? Not exactly what you might term -'classy,' but—you needn't tell people, eh? -Who's to know—what?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," continued Mr. Cavendish, -as if in answer to an imaginary objector, -"the patients do smell, I suppose. But a -chap could have a change here. A sort of -professional uniform—what? Ha! Ha! -This place all right for gettin' about, Doctor? -Easy reach of the West End and all that -sort of thing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are served by two railways," responded -Doctor Brink, "besides a tramline. -And there are cabs at the London Hospital."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No motor-buses, then—what? </span><em class="italics">No motor-buses</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Brink was able to assure his visitor -that the boon of the motor-bus would not -be absent from that gentleman's future joys.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cloud which had sombred Mr. Cavendish's -features immediately gave place to a -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good business," he cried. "Whenever -a chap gets too awfully fed up with it, then, -he can nip on to something or other and -have a night at the Pav.—what? Besides," -added Mr. Cavendish, "a chap can put up -with a lot for twelve hundred a year. That's -what it's doing, you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what </span><em class="italics">I'm</em><span> doing," replied Doctor -Brink. "But then," he explained, with a -mild expression, "I haven't tried the effect -of running the practice from the Pav."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, quite," assented Mr. Cavendish. -"What I mean to say is, of course not. -But when I take over the practice, I shall -run an assistant: one of those middle-aged -Scotch chaps, you know, with a turn-down -collar. A chap can afford to have one of -those beggars if he's doing twelve -hundred—especially when he's a bachelor—what? -Ha! Ha! ... I shall let my assistant do -most of the night-work and the confinements, -and all that sort of thing. I'm a -consulting-room man, really."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other practitioner merely smiled. "I -suppose," continued Mr. Cavendish, "that -you don't give these beggars anything very -special in the way of drugs. No elaborate -gout cures—what? Ha! Ha!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a faith-cure practice almost entirely," -replied the doctor, winking at your servant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Mr. Cavendish, a little coldly. -"Of course, I should run the show on -dignified lines. They'll have everything in -reason. I shall do my own dispensing. You -can be sure that they get the right stuff -then—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the doctor merely smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," said Mr. Cavendish, rising -from his chair, "I shall have to clear out. -Got to dine with a couple of chaps at some -beastly club. I think this will suit me very -well, Doctor; just the thing I've been -looking for—a quiet, steady practice to keep a -chap goin' while he's reading for these rotten -law exams. You'll hear from my pater, I -expect. Of course, your price is pretty -stiff, but I'll tell my father what I think -about the show, and no doubt he'll consider -it. So long, Doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So long," said Doctor Brink, and James, and I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," said Doctor Brink, as he -reached for a long glass, "supposing </span><em class="italics">we</em><span> -consider it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> considered it," said James. "We -are going to stop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" exclaimed the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," replied James, "it is too -awful to think of a person like that being -let loose on everybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A person!" echoed the doctor. "My -dear girl, that was an awfully educated -young man. He's an M.B.! and he's going -to run the practice on dignified lines. What -more can the beggars ask for their sixpences -than real drugs and dignity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fatty," said his daughter, in a voice of -cold resolve, "if you take me away from -here, do you know what I shall do? I shall -live with Aunt Isobel and go to school, and -grow up to be a little lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" cried the doctor, starting up.... -"I'd forgotten you. Bring out the Burgundy.... -We'll consider it."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics large">BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">KITCHENER CHAPS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Crown 8vo. 2s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"These little sketches are humorous, loving, and -manifestly genuine."—</span><em class="italics">Spectator</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Neil Lyons writes as the friend and observer of -the New Army; ... is a master of cockney humour.... -There are other soldiers in his book, but those who -talk cockney are the most delightful.... As to nearly -everything that Mr. Lyons' cockneys say, we have an -instinctive feeling that it is exactly right."—</span><em class="italics">Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no writer of our day who is so free from -prejudice as Mr. Neil Lyons, or puts down on paper so -fearlessly the actual dialogue of our streets.... Here, you -will say, is the very man to take down the talk of the -humbler members of Lord Kitchener's Armies. And you -will be right. You will laugh heartily over 'Kitchener -Chaps.'"—</span><em class="italics">Sunday Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Neil Lyons' sketches of the recruits in the new -army are splendid, humorous and human pen-pictures, -almost the first genuine literature that the war has -produced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the sketches, 'Old Nitch,' is a superb little -masterpiece, but they are all very, very good."—</span><em class="italics">Daily -Express</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">ARTHUR'S</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE ROMANCE OF A COFFEE STALL</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Crown 8vo. 7s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Very pretty comedy ... not only a very entertaining -and amusing work, but a very kindly and tolerant -work also. At the back of it is understanding and love -of life, and that most admirable frame of mind for an -artist, the live-and-let-live temperament."—</span><em class="italics">Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Arthur's' can cordially be recommended.... -Mr. Lyons seems to have the animating gift as well as the -seeing eye, and a kindly humour in selection and treatment -brings out the light and warmth of the stall rather -than its flare and smell."—</span><em class="italics">Manchester Guardian</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">CLARA</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">SOME SCATTERED CHAPTERS IN THE LIFE OF A HUSSY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Crown 8vo. 7s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"No one can fail to recognise his rare qualities of -sincerity and sympathy, and his gift for impressionist -character-drawing."—</span><em class="italics">Punch</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a true picture—and the courage of the -under-people is daintily, sincerely, and dexterously revealed. -One is glad to have known Clara."—</span><em class="italics">Daily Mail</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All are admirable, and one could only wish that every -worker in philanthropic or municipal machinery would -learn them by heart."—</span><em class="italics">Nation</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">SIXPENNY PIECES</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Crown 8vo. 7s. and 2s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>'Sixpenny Pieces' is as good as 'Arthur's.' ... For -a book full of laughter and tears and bits innumerable -that one feels impelled to read aloud, 'Sixpenny -Pieces' would be very hard indeed to beat."—</span><em class="italics">Evening -Standard</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those who remember 'Arthur's,' by the same writer, -will not need to be told what excellent use he makes of his -opportunities. A book of which every page is a delight, -written with humour and sympathy, and a gentle satire, -none the less biting for its restraint. In short, Mr. Lyons' -'Sixpenny Pieces' have the ring of true metal, and I for -one shall eagerly anticipate another issue from the same -excellent mint."—</span><em class="italics">Punch</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">COTTAGE PIE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">A COUNTRY SPREAD</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Crown 8vo. 7s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Marked with the humour and grip with which Mr. Lyons -visualizes an episode, and by his remarkable power -of transcribing the talk of the less educated classes of the -community."—</span><em class="italics">Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We doubt if it would be easy to overpraise Mr. Neil -Lyons, for his humour is of the truest and most discreet -order. A jollier, cheerfuller, more sympathetic book than -'Cottage Pie,' will be sought after in vain among the -successes of the season."—</span><em class="italics">Daily Telegraph</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">SIMPLE SIMON</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">HIS ADVENTURES IN THE THISTLE PATCH</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">With 8 Illustrations by G. E. PETO</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Crown 8vo. 7s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I found myself the grateful admirer of Simon and his -creator. Mr. Lyons' sympathetic drawing of certain odd -London characters is a thing that I have often admired; -he has no portraits in his gallery better than these, of the -quaint objects of Simon's Silverside hospitality -... specially did I like Margaret ... she and some others -are also depicted in some very attractive drawings which -illustrates (for once the right word) a book which will -certainly delight those who can appreciate it."—</span><em class="italics">Punch</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those who come fresh to his work will find in it a -peculiar humour, irresistible, cynical... They will also -find a power of satire and a true understanding of what -are known as the 'lower classes.'"—</span><em class="italics">Spectator</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">MOBY LANE & THEREABOUTS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">Crown 8vo. 7s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Mr. Lyons proves himself an adept in the matter and -manner of Sussex character.... There are many -unforgettable creatures in this unexpected book."—</span><em class="italics">Morning -Post</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is, all through the book, a freshness of outlook -which is infectious, an incisive, humorous style, above all -a keen plunging into the middle of things."—</span><em class="italics">Spectator</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">LANE'S 3/6 NOVELS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">SOME NEW VOLUMES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>STORIES NEAR AND FAR -<br />THE OLD BRIDGE -<br /> By WILLIAM J. LOCKE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>THE HURCOTTS -<br /> By MURIEL HINE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>THE LAWS OF CHANCE -<br />THE GREAT UNREST -<br /> By F. E. MILLS YOUNG</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>WINSOME WINNIE -<br /> By STEPHEN LEACOCK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>A PRINCE OF DREAMERS -<br />MISTRESS OF MEN -<br /> By FLORA ANNIE STEEL</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>STEALTHY TERROR -<br /> By JOHN FERGUSON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>THE LOST CABIN MINE -<br /> By FREDERICK NIVEN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">LANE'S 2/- NOVELS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">Bound in Stiff Boards with Coloured Picture Wrapper.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">2s. net each volume</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">NEW VOLUMES</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>THE ROUGH ROAD -<br />THE HOUSE OF BALTHAZAR -<br />MOORDIUS & CO. -<br /> By WILLIAM J. LOCKE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>HALF IN EARNEST -<br />THE FLIGHT -<br />TORQUIL'S SUCCESS -<br />THE HIDDEN VALLEY -<br /> By MURIEL HINE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>THE MURDER ON THE LINKS -<br />POIROT INVESTIGATES -<br /> By AGATHA CHRISTIE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>ROOKERY NOOK By BEN TRAVERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><em class="italics">Send for list of previous volumes, which include novels by -William J. Locke, Muriel Hine, F. E. Mills Young, Agatha -Christie, Ben Travers, Stephen Leacock, G. K. Chesterton, -Annie Haynes, and others</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LTD., VIGO ST., W.1.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>SIXPENNY PIECES</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44952"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44952</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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