A WEAK WOMAN

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SUPER-TRAMP
With Preface by G. BERNARD SHAW

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A. C. FIFIELD, 13 Clifford's Inn, E.C

A WEAK WOMAN

B

BY

W. H. DAVIES

AUTHOR OF
'THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SUPER-TRAMP," "BEGGARS," ETC.

DUCKWORTH & CO.

3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN
1911

6001

All rights reserved

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

PAGE

I. MY FAMILY . . . . . i

II. A MARRIAGE . . ... 9

III. MORE TROUBLE : . . . . 16

IV. MY PLANS . . ... 24
V. LEAVING HOME . . . 31

VI. KIND STRANGERS . . 39

VII. MRS. FlGGS AND HER LODGERS . . .48

VIII. THE MAJOR . . ... 57

IX. ENLIGHTENED . . ... 66

X. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE . . 75

XI. A DREAMER . . ... 83

XII. A SURPRISE . . ... 92

XIII. THE ONE THING LACKING . . . . 102

XIV. SELLING A MANUSCRIPT . . . .in
XV. VAGABONDS . . . . . 121

XVI. PETTICOAT ALLEY . . . . . 130

XVII. PUNCH . . . ... 140

XVIII. RELATIONS . . . *49

XIX. AN EVENING OUT . . . . »58

XX. HELPING THE POOR . . . . 167

XXI. DEATH AT HOME . . . »77

vii

viii A Weak Woman

CHAPTER PAGE

XXII. HAMPSTEAD . . . . . 186

XXIII. THE SONG . . ... 194

XXIV. LOVE . . ... 203
XXV. THREE YEARS AFTER . . . .212

XXVI. OLD ACQUAINTANCE . . . . 221

XXVII. THE WORLD'S MOCKERY . ... 230

XXVIII. A POET'S REVENGE . . . 239

XXIX. THE ABSENT ONE . . . 249

XXX. THE ARRIVAL . . . . . 259

XXXI. A PAINFUL EXPERIENCE . ... 269

XXXII. MURDER . . . . . 279

XXXIII. THE MURDERER . ... 288

XXXIV. THE END . . ... 298

A WEAK WOMAN

CHAPTER I
MY FAMILY

MY mother died when I was five years old,
leaving my father, two sisters, Maud and
Lucy, and the writer of this life. My father was a
rich man, so that as far as money could go, he
was able to fill my mother's place. This he did
by hiring a middle-aged woman of a very affec-
tionate disposition, who had had children of her
own and lost them. She was not a woman of the
least education, but she became so fond of us
children that I am certain in a case of emergency
she would have cheerfully served our family with-
out pay.

Although I can form no clear conception of
my mother, I have yet been able to judge her

2 A Weak Woman

fairly well by my father's references to Lucy, his
younger daughter. She, it seems, was like her
mother in her gentle spirit and love of home. In
a*fter years I got to know my mother much better
by reading MSS. of hers, which were religious
and of a very meek character. No doubt if she
had lived it would have made a great difference
in the life of one of her children. She would have
kept my sister Maud from going astray and com-
ing to such a sad end.

TVEy father was a thorough business man, who
was under the impression that he had prospered by
God's special grace. He was always regretting
that he had retired from business, which was on
the advice of a doctor, and often said, " I will die
in harness yet." ; In spite of this, he did not
trouble himself much about my future, seeming
to think there was plenty of time to think about
that.

The way he made business and religion one
was very strange. He thought worldly success
was the reward of goodness, and that all men who
failed were sinners. Perhaps I cannot sum up
his character better than by quoting one sentence
of his, on my showing him a picture that I had
painted — " Thank Almighty God for your gifts

My Family

and pray that they may meet with worldly
success."

Things went on quietly until I was a big,
strong, loose-jointed boy of eighteen. I was de-
termined not to waste my time on common trade,
as my father had done, but to follow my own
pleasant inclinations. However, I was equally de-
termined to make every effort to become a great
painter.

At this time I had painted pictures of every
old building in the town, and almost every bit
of fine scenery for miles around. My father
looked on these doings with great pride, and soon
began to share my own confidence, which was
extravagant, as you may well believe. In fact, I
was not backward in telling my father that I
would soon make his name known throughout
Europe, whereas his wealth had not carried it
beyond the small town in which he lived. When
my father heard these bold words he would often
look silently at me for a long time; after which
he would turn on his heels, saying, " I believe
you, my boy." Sometimes he would stand strok-
ing his beard in silence, and then walk away. He
was no judge of pictures himself, and was quite
willing to believe in others, and even the house-

4 A Weak Woman

keeper's opinion was respected. When she would
point at one of my pictures and say, "It is won-
derful; I don't know how he does it; I couldn't
do it to save my life " — when she would say
this, my father would answer, " Yes, it is won-
derful."

But what worried my father was the strange
nature of my elder sister. Maud and Lucy were
not unlike in looks, but they had not two traits
alike in their disposition. Maud, my elder sister,
made mischief wherever she went; but she was
so lovely and charming that people could not help
liking her. After she had made a great deal of
mischief between friends and relations, they all
came to the conclusion that she had a mental
crook that could not be straightened. So, instead
of scolding and bringing her to account, and being
offended, they only listened to her, without believ-
ing a word she said. Although her lies had
almost separated man and wife, and had caused
breaches in friendship, yet, for all that, when her
character was truly known, her gay spirits and
charming ways made her a great favourite with
both women and men. After they had found
out that she was not to be trusted for what she
said, she was welcome in every place.

My Family

Lucy, my younger sister, was a very quiet girl,
without much liveliness, but sweetly disposed to-
wards every oae. She was very fond of home,
and di,d all she could that my mother should not
be missed; whereas rny elder sister spent nearly
all her time in other people's houses. My father
saw this and, although he said nothing, it was very
plain that he was deeply attached to Lucy, his
younger daughter. In fact, he had found my
elder sister out in so many needless and silly lies
that he began to be afraid her perversions would
lead to something serious. For instance, she
would often say that she had been with certain
people when she was out, and perhaps before an
hour had passed she would say she had not seen
those people for a week. And when my father
would ask her why she told such a lie, she would
shake her head, and with her eyes wide open
answer innocently, " I don't know how I came
to say that." These silly lies, which benefited
no one, could not be accounted for by my father.
He used to shake his head, as much as to say,
that she was simple-witted, and that it was useless
to talk to her. However, although she had no
strength of mind, and .was selfish and non-sacrific-
ing in her pleasures, she would do no harm wil-

6 A Weak Woman

fully and was well liked. Whoever met her for
the first time could not help inquiring about her
soon after. We were all very fond of her at
home; but my father used to treat her as an ir-
responsible child, and talk seriously about her
to my younger sister, as though the latter was
his wife and my elder sister their child. He
s6emed to have some fear that she would at last
bring disgrace on us by her weakness. She was
now in her twenty-second year, and a woman, but
was far less serious than many a girl at fourteen.
Maud at twenty-two was less thoughtful than Lucy
was when she was twelve. I don't suppose that
there was ever a greater difference in the dis-
position of two sisters of the same father and
mother. ;

Of course it can be inferred by this that Maud
was never without a lover, and that she had not
the least compunction in changing one for another.
She had no deep affection for any one. If she
could have escaped dressing in black, I am sure
my father's death would not have worried her
much.

However, there are thousands of thoughtless
girls like her who, when they become mothers,
change and make good women. If this had hap-

My Family

pened to Maud it would have saved her family
much worry in the future, as will be seen.

One morning the town was in commotion that
a man had shot himself. The news reached our
house early, through the milkman, who had told
a servant. Before long we heard it was through
love, and before the day was out we were told
that Maud had often been seen with him; in
fact, it soon became known that my sister had
flirted with him and then taken on with another.
She took the man's death as a matter of
course, saying carelessly, " It is a pity, for I
was only playing with him, and he should have
known that." And when my father scolded her,
she asked quietly, "What harm have I done?
Am / to blame?" She seemed surprised that any
of us should think the subject worth a second
thought; in fact, if her connection with the man
had not come to our knowledge, it is hardly likely
that his death would have claimed her thoughts
for more than ten minutes. However, when my
father became very angry, and told her that it
was a pity the man did not shoot her before
taking his own life — when she heard this she
appeared more thoughtful for an hour or two
after.

8 A Weak Woman

This was the first disgrace that Maud brought
on my father, and another was to follow soon.
It was well that he did not live long enough to
know more.

CHAPTER II

.

A MARRIAGE

NOT long after this Maud had another lover.
But there was not much fear of this man
laying violent hands on himself, whatever she
might do to offend him. She could snub him to
her heart's content, but he was still her devoted
slave. She could be as familiar as she liked with
others, and still he would not show the least
jealousy. I could never believe that it was his
love for her that made him so patient with her
wilfulness. My own impression was that the man
was not so much in love with her as with her
father's money, and that he was determined to
have her on that account. I did not like him from
the first. He was one of those cold, superior
young men who do not waste their money in
pleasure of any kind. His manner to my father
was like a teacher to a child; and the way he
patronized me made my cheeks burn. His father
had been a coal merchant in a small way, and

9

io A Weak Woman

after forty years' drudgery had managed by hard
saving, and the sacrifice of all pleasures and
luxuries, to retire on a very small fortune, leaving
the business to his son. The business was still
small, not being worth more than a couple of
pounds a week; but this young man was now his
own master, which made him proud indeed.

Now all this young man wanted was capital to
enlarge his business, and if he could marry a rich

man's daughter Yes, Maud could serve him

shabby tricks without end, but he would still be
faithful to her for the sake of her father's money.
These things were very plain to me, and I gave
the family my opinion. My father and Lucy quite
agreed with me, and advised Maud to give him up.
Of course we ought to have known that Maud,
being a girl of that kind, would marry him be-
cause of our opposition. If we had advised her to
be faithful to him she would have cast him aside
at once.

After about twelve months' courtship they were
married. My father heaved a sigh of relief, for
he thought now that all danger of Maud going
astray was over. But the real truth of the matter
was that my sister married for more freedom, and
not to become a quiet woman of the home. For

A Marriage

twelve months before her marriage she had mixed
with married women that drank, and not girls
of her own age. The consequence was that drink
was not unknown to her by any means; in fact,
I believe now that she was often under the in-
fluence of drink when she came home after visit-
ing, but her spirits were naturally so gay that
we could not be sure. There is not the least
doubt but that my sister married so as to drink
and gossip with those married friends of hers.
But those women had enough restraint to conceal
their weakness from their husbands, and to keep
the world's respect; whereas my sister, having
no strength of mind, could not drink without
bringing ruin on herself and others. This turned
out to be the case in a very short time.

They had not been married more than a month
when his motive for marrying her came to light.
He wanted to borrow a large sum of money, and
asked his wife to see her father at once and do
her best to get it from him. So that morning
my sister called and broached the subject in a
careless manner, as though she did not care
whether she succeeded or not. The fact of the
matter was that she had little love for her hus-
band, and no interest whatever in his business.

12 A Weak Woman

" Certainly not," answered my father. "If he
is a good man he will rise by his own efforts,
and he will have the credit to his own account
in after years. He has no right to seek assistance
at his early age, when he is not troubled with
sickness and trade is better than it has been for
a considerable time."

When Maud heard this she did not appear the
least disappointed, which proved how little in-
terested she was in her husband's affairs; in fact,
she changed the subject immediately, and began
laughing over other matters.

When she told her husband the result, quoting
my father's words, he was bitter in his reproaches.
He had been so sure of success that he could not
control his disappointment. " Your father has
plenty of money," he said, " and refuses to give
us a lifting hand. Very well, then, we will see
what I can do myself. It will be either ruin or
success." Saying this he left the house, and
my sister, thinking no more of him, dressed and
went out also.

When Ralph said this he had not the least in-
tention of doing anything desperate, but only
wanted to harrow my sister with fear. However,
he was in that dangerous mood when a man easily

A Marriage 13

falls a prey to the schemes of others. He had
not gone far when he met a well-known sport-
ing man whom he knew. Not that Ralph was
friends with a man of that kind, but he served
him with coal, and of course all his customers
had to be outwardly respected, no matter whether
they were rogues or honest men. This man was
always well dressed, showed plenty of heavy jewel-
lery, and Ralph knew that he always had plenty of
money. " Good morning," said this man as they
were about to pass. However, all at once he
made an impulsive turn and, placing his hand
on Ralph's shoulder, said, " Mr. Nevill, you are
not a gambling man, and you are wise, for gam-
bling has been the ruin of thousands; but" —
bending his mouth to whisper in Ralph's ear —
" Schoolmaster is a dead certainty. Please re-
member my words, and don't cry over a lost
chance. I don't know why I tell you this, except
that I think you are a decent fellow." "Are
you sure of this?" asked Ralph. "All I have
is on that horse," answered Mr. Marks, " and I
am not a fool. Come and have a drink."

Ralph drank very little, only enough to humour
his customers when he was in a tight corner. In
all his life he had never spent money on drink

1 4 A Weak Woman

for its own sake. But on this occasion he fol-
lowed his sporting companion like a man who
was used to it. Of course it took very little to
overcome the wits of a man of that kind. There-
fore, when Mr. Marks swallowed his own glass of
whisky, as an example to Ralph, the latter did
the same, with almost as much ease. " What I
have said is a dead certainty," said Mr. Marks,
" and I would not tell every one. " " Have another
drink," said Ralph, giving the order without wait-
ing for Mr. Mark's answer. These couple of
drinks made Ralph a tool in the hands of Mr.
Marks, and it was not many hours before the
result was known.

Three days after this meeting with Mr. Marks
Ralph walked in just as my sister was going out.
"Where are you going?" he asked. "To my
father's," answered Maud. " Very well," said he,
"go; and when you get there, stop there. He
has plenty of money and I have none. He would
not lend me that sum, so I backed a horse and
lost. I have nothing now, which you can tell
him."

When Maud told us these things we were sur-
prised. I never thought that Ralph, a man so
full of business schemes, could have been per-

A Marriage 15

suaded to stake his all on the chance of a horse
race. Although I did not like him, I must con-
fess that I thought him a man of sense, not to
be easily tempted by shadows. No doubt Mr.
Marks had found the greatest surprise of his life.
As for my father, he did not appear so much
affected by the domestic calamity as the business
part. He spoke of Maud's husband as though she
were in no way concerned, saying, " He has had
his chance, and he has lost it." However, he was
quite willing to do something for them now. But
it was too late, for Maud's husband had already
sold his horses and carts, and was about the town,
spending the money freely with sporting men. In
less than a week he was penniless, having backed
other horses and lost.

Maud was quite indifferent to all this, for she
still went visiting friends and places of amuse-
ment; in fact, she did not seem to realize any-
thing serious in what had happened. I began to
wonder whether there was insanity in the family
or not, for surely she was a very strange girl.

CHAPTER III
MORE TROUBLE

ON the third day after my sister and her
husband had separated, my father received
a letter from him, which was full of bitter com-
plaint about Maud. He said that she was never
home when he came, and that she spent in drink
and amusement the money that was to manage the
house affairs. He complained of her utter in-
difference to home and his interests, saying that
she was undutiful and would not make the least
sacrifice for her husband's sake. When my father
read this letter, we knew that it was full of truth.
We knew that Maud could not make a good wife
to any man, except she lived far away from temp-
tation, in the mountains or woods. She wanted a
life that was a whole holiday, without any serious
responsibility. Nothing could have changed her—
except perhaps an idiot son, or a consumptive
daughter that was dying slowly under her eyes.
Under these circumstances we did not know what

1 6

More Trouble 17

to do, for we knew that a reconciliation would
only last for a short time. She seemed so well
satisfied with her present position that we knew,
if they lived together again, she would make no
difference in her conduct. My father was puzzled,
and was clearly out of patience with her, but she
only laughed and went in and out, the same light-
hearted creature as she had always been.

Things were like this when one day, as I was
returning home from out in the green country,
where I had been to sketch an old abbey, I
happened to meet Maud in the street. It was the
main street, but close to the side street in which
she and her husband had lived. She seemed to
be in extraordinary spirits, laughing, and with her
eyes shining bright. As I have said before, you
could never tell whether she had been drinking or
not, and on the present occasion I was as much
at a loss as ever. However, it was very plain that
some power had been added to her natural spirits.
"I have just left Mrs. Manns," she said, "and
what a woman she is for fun! We had a glass
of milk in the Silver Grill Restaurant." My sister
was very childlike in her lies, for, of course,
when she said she had been in the Silver Grill
Restaurant, where more intoxicants were sold than

1 8 A Weak Woman

other drinks— when she mentioned this well -known
place for married women — I was certain that she
had -not drank milk. If she had said nothing at
all about milk and that place I would have still
been in doubt as to her condition, in spite of
her gaiety.

" Now that we are here," my sister said, as we
walked along, " we may as well call and see
Ralph. I want to speak to him." " I won't go
near the man," I answered. " I only want you to
knock and say that I want to speak to him, and
to wait for me outside," she said. " I don't want
to see his face or hear his voice," I answered,
striding on, so as to draw her out of that neigh-
bourhood as soon as possible. However, she
would not follow my example, but stood still, with
the intention of bringing me back to renew the
conversation. We were now on the corner of the
street in which her husband lived. " Wait a
day or two," I said, going back to her. " I won't
wait another minute," she replied, and turned
down into the street. I watched her for several
seconds, and then it suddenly occurred to me that
she feared violence from her husband, and that
was why she wanted me to be seen by him. But
why did she want to see him at all?- She had

More Trouble 19

said, several times, that she did not love him,
and that she would never live with him again.
Then why did she want to see him? Perhaps
it was to have a weak woman's revenge, by telling
him that she was better off and could and would
do without him. Whatever her intentions were
I cannot say; all I know is that I was soon
at her side, walking down the street, and neither
of us speaking a word.

At last we reached her husband's house, and I
knocked at the door. I was so annoyed at having
to do this that I wanted it over and done as
soon as possible. Maud stood at my side, silent,
but I could see a strange smile on her face; from
which I gathered that she would h,ave plenty to
say when the time came. Her mind seemed to be
made up as to what course she would take.
However, there was no answer to my knock, and,
after waiting for more than a minute, Maud said,
"Knock again." So I knocked again, much
louder, so that if there were any one in, the noise
would have even awakened him from a drunkard's
sleep ; in fact, neighbours became curious and
opened their own doors, and looked out. " There
is no one in," I said, "let us go." She followed
unwillingly.

20 A Weak Woman

,Now as we were walking away a man was
coming down the street, with his head hanging,
as though he had been drinking and was ashamed
to look up. He did not see us, and would most
probably have passed without doing so had we
not stood in his way. This man was Ralph Nevill,
my sister's husband. When he came face to face
with Maud and recognized her he gave her such
a savage look that I am sure he would have
struck her if she had been alone. When I saw
this I was glad that I had met and followed
her that day.

Of course they were man and wife, and, in
spite of their avowals not to live together again,
it was still my place to try and make peace be-
tween them, although I did not like the part.
So, without letting my dislike of him be seen,
I said, with a false smile and in a quiet voice,
* Your wife would like to have a few words with
you." "Would she," he snarled, glaring at us
like a wild beast, " would she? Well, I don't
want a few words with her, nor with you." Say-
ing this, he gave me such a sudden push that
I almost lost my balance. I could not contain
my passion now, so I got in front of him again
and said, " If you do not want a few words

More Trouble 21

with your wife, you must have a few words with
my sister." He was now looking so black and
evil that I was quite prepared for blows to follow.
" This is my answer to you," he cried, aiming
at my head a long swinging blow that the most
inactive man could have stopped with his arm.
When I saw this attempt I could no longer be
idle, so I got closer to him and with a half-
arm jolt struck him a blow near the chin. I
was not surprised to see him fall, for my own
knuckles told me the force of that blow. Of
course I had no sooner done this than I felt
ashamed of being in a common street fight, and
began to think calmly of the disgrace to my
family. With these thoughts I took my sister
by the arm and led her away, leaving her husband
sitting on the ground in a half-dazed condition.

When we got home I told my father what
had happened, and he was full of regret. We
expected a police summons for assault, but it
did not come. Instead of that we were soon told
that Ralph had left the town, and no one knew
where he had gone.

My sister Maud was now settled at our house,
but her way of life was not to my father's liking,
and worried him considerably. One morning I

22 A Weak Woman

happened to enter the room when he was reprov-
ing her for her conduct. He was so angry that
he did not seem aware of my coming. " Your
drinking habits and vulgar companions will bring
disgrace on my house, if they have not already
done so," he said.. "Don't come home here,
night after night, with men. You are a wicked
woman, and I wish you were dead." When I
heard these hard words I was much surprised.
Although I understood that Maud's drinking
habits could bring disgrace on herself and others,
I was still too innocent, although in my twen-
tieth year, to think there was anything wrong
in her coming home with men. I took it that
she was very fond of company, and that when
she came home at night she would ask a male
friend to accompany her. I could not see any
harm in that, in spite of my father's cry that
it was the worst disgrace that could come on his
family.

One morning Maud went to my father and told
him that she wanted to go abroad. It seems
that she knew a young married couple that were
emigrating, and she wanted to go with them.
When my father heard this he made no effort to
oppose her, but said at once he would pay her

More Trouble 23

passage and give her a sum to land with. He
told her that her life in England was spoilt ;
that her husband had had his chance and lost
it; and that she had better start life afresh in
a new country..

When Maud heard this she began to make
preparation for the journey, looking quite happy
in doing so, in spite of Lucy's tears. Lucy was
very fond of Maud, and so was I; but my father
seemed relieved at her going, for he was afraid
she would bring disgrace on Lucy, whom he now
began to idolize.

CHAPTER IV
MY PLANS

ArTER Maud had gone my father breathed
more freely; in fact, he appeared happier
than he had been for years. He had lost all
love for her, and when Lucy mentioned her name,
saying it was strange she did not write, and won-
dering if anything had happened to her, my father
would only smile, but say nothing. At last, one
morning, he said, " There is nothing strange in
her not writing home; she has fresh companions
now and has forgotten her own flesh and blood.
No doubt she will write fast enough when she is
in need of money." However, months went by
and we still had no letter from Maud. Whatever
she was doing, she was determined to be inde-
pendent of her father's money. She was a very
fine-looking woman, bold and full of life, and,
knowing her taste for theatres, we came to the
conclusion that she had gone on the stage. We

24

My Plans 25

did not suggest this to my father, for it always
made him unhappy to hear her name mentioned.
In our eyes she was only a wild, wayward girl
without any strength of mind, but in his eyes
she was a wicked woman. At last we never
mentioned Maud's name in my father's presence.
He had been advised by his doctor to retire from
business owing to a weak heart, so that we did
not care to trouble him with things he wished to
forget. However, at Lucy's suggestion I went
to see some people related to those that Maud had
gone abroad with, to see if I could find out what
had become of her. Having seen those people I
told them my errand, asking them if they had had
any news from their relatives, and if my sister's
name was mentioned by them. " Her name was
mentioned in the first letter," answered the wo-
man, "but not in the others." The woman did
not appear to be very willing to give informa-
tion, so I asked her if Maud was still with them.
" She is not," said the woman, and again re-
mained silent. " Do they say what has become
of her?" I persisted. "No," she answered, with
some confusion; "by what I can understand,
something went wrong between them, and they
parted company. But of course I don't know

26 A Weak Woman

who was to blame, for the letter is not very
clear. Whatever it was, it almost led to a separa-
tion between my brother and his wife. I don't
know any more — the letter is not very clear."
This was all the information I could get, and I
felt loth to tell it to Lucy, much less my father.
Maud had been making cruel mischief, there was
no doubt of that.

When I returned home, after this interview,
I told my sister what I had heard. " We must
not let our father know this," she said at once ;
" it would kill him in his present state of health."
And when I saw my father just after, so cheerful
after a long walk, I was very glad that I had not
seen that woman at his suggestion, and that he
was not waiting to hear my news. I began to see
how fortunate it was k that Maud had left home
before she became .worse. Whatever she would
do now, in a new country, where she was not
known, could not disgrace her own people, how-
ever much it disgraced herself. Her life would
now be spent among strangers, and no doubt a
number of them would suffer in consequence.
Mine was a selfish thought, I must admit, but I
could not keep it from taking possession of my
mind.

My Plans 27

One morning I proposed speaking to my fath'er
on a subject that had been on my mind for
a long time, which was to leave home for a
while and live in London. I did not think my
father would make any serious objection to this,
for, after all, it was not like leaving the country.
In London I would only be a few miles from
home, and could be back in a couple of hours,
if my presence was wanted. So, on this particular
morning, I spoke to him about it, and was very
pleased to see that it did not flurry him in the
least. " What are your plans?" he asked with
interest. " To see life," I answered at once,
"which will make a great difference in my work."
" But how do you propose to live?" he asked.
" I suppose you want me to make you a weekly
allowance?" When I heard this I was delighted,
for that was the very thing I did want. So I said,
" Of course it is necessary that I should have a
small sum every week, until I meet with some
success. But a pound a week will be plenty, and
I don't suppose I shall need that after the first
month."

It must be remembered that I was young and
full of hope and ambition. My father agreed,
without more ado, binding me to one condition —

28 A Weak Woman

that I would write home twice a week without
fail. This, of course, would be a pleasure, for I
expected plenty of new experiences that would
be pleasant to mention.

Up to the present time I had never been away
from home for more than a day or two, and even
then I had familiar faces around me, which spoilt
the romance of those new surroundings. But
now I longed to be away by myself, seeing strange
people and hearing strange voices. The most
eccentric characters in the town in which I lived
had now become so familiar to me that I had
lost all interest in them. It seemed that I would
have to go away, to see those people in the flesh
that I had been reading about in books. I needed
new scenes to rouse me to appreciate beauty; for
I had become so accustomed to my old surround-
ings that the abbey ruin had become a heap of
common stones without a human history, which
I gazed upon unmoved, and often passed by with-
out a glance. If I remained longer without a
change, with no fresh scenes to inspire me, I
would soon be ruined as an artist.

I was so well pleased with my father's easy
consent, that when he said, "Wait a week, until
your birthday is over," I agreed at once, saying,

My Plans 29

" Certainly,, a week will soon pass, and I would
like to be hpme on my birthday," However,
in less than an hour after saying this, I began
to feel time weighing heavier than it ever had
before. I was determined not to take much work
with me, and I was also! determined not to begin
any more new work until I was settled in London.
The consequence was that I was idle for this
whole week, going in and out, and not knowing
what to do with myself. Of course I was as
cheerful as possible before my father, so as to
persuade him that I was in no hurry to go away
from home.

At last, after a week in this unsettled state,
my birthday came, which we all enjoyed quietly
at home. My father spent the best part of the
day in giving me advice, saying that I was now
a man; that I had kept out of temptation so
far and that there would be no excuse if I fell
into it now. He was very bitter against drink,
saying that as long as I kept a guard against
that, he would have no fear of me doing much
wrong. My father was not a total abstainer,
but ever since it came to; his knowledge that
Maud drank, he had confined himself to a very,
small quantity indeed— no more than one glass

30 A Weak Woman

of ale at noon, and a small quantity of spirits
the last thing at night.

I told him that I would do my utmost to bring
honour to his name, and that I had no fear but
that in time I should succeed. He seemed very
pleased to, hear these hopeful words, especially
when Lucy added, " Harry will be a great artist
some day, I am sure of that."

Whether my work prospered or not, I was
determined on one thing — that I would bring no
moral disgrace on my, family. If I fell into
temptation1, I would do my utmost that they should
not know it, even though they could save me
fro,m great suffering. My father had had so
much worry over Maud that I was determined
he should have none through me. I would die
first.

CHAPTER V

LEAVING HOME

/

A?TER my birthday was over I began to pack
the few things I intended to take. These
things had been gathered together since the first
day I mentioned the subject to my father and
go,t his easy consent. So that there was not much
trouble — except to pick out and leave behind a
number of things my sister and the housekeeper
had got together, saying that they would come
in useful. However, I would not take them, not
wanting to be troubled with ornaments, only
things I was certain would b,e of use. I said
I would send — after I was settled down — for any-
thing I refused to take or had forgotten, pro-
viding I found suchi things would be of use.
If I had listened to; my father, Lucy, and the
housekeeper, I would have almost needed a whole
train to myself. Of course I was only going
a short distance away, and would probably be

31

3 2 A Weak Woman

back in a couple of months, so that there was
no very deep emotion when I parted from my
family. Again, I was no,t going forth a penni-
less adventurer that would have to do something
at once for my bread; so that there was no
fear of my suffering from starvation, or perish-
ing of cold in the open night. I had nothing to
fear for my body, and the pleasure of everything
to gain for my mind.

My savings amounted to several pounds, and
I had my father's promise of a pound a week ;
so that I was more fortunate than many a young
man that goes out into the strange wide world.
I reflected on these advantages when I was in
the train to London. There was no happier man
in England then, I felt sure of that.

At last I was in the moving train, having
waved a last good-bye to my father and Lucy
on the platform. After doing this I lit a cigar
and sat in a corner of the carriage, looking out
at the fine scenery as it changed while we were
speeding on. Three other men were in the car-
riage, but I had not yet taken much notice of
them. They were at the other end, two on one
side, and one on the other. At last the two,
apparently friends, began to talk, and their sub-

Leaving Home 33

ject was potatoes. They, were well-dressed men,
and they spoke so long on this one particular
subject that I came to the conclusion they,
were potato merchants. At last the subject so
irritated me — against my will — that I could not
help but listen to every word. I could neither
follow my own dreams, nor enjoy the scenery as
we passed, all my thoughts being forced to settle
on potatoes. If they had varied the subject by
some references to cabbages, swedes, carrots,
or turnips, I would not have minded so much.
But as it was they seemed to be interested in no
other than that common sparrow of vegetables
— the potato. Once or twice I thought they were
about to change the subject, and felt happy at
the project, but it was a false hope. Especially
when one of them said, looking out through the
window, " This is a fine country, isn't it?" " It
is," answered his companion, " but it is no good
for potatoes." On another occasion one of them
said, " Do you know Mrs. Johns?" " I do,"
answered his companion. " What a charming
woman she is! " exclaimed the other. " She is,"
answered his companion; "and let me tell you
that she knows more than her husband about
potatoes, and he knows something." Will they

34 A Weak Woman

never change the subject, thought I, wondering
if they would ever exhaust it. But no; they
talked about the soil, the grower, the different
varieties, the market, and everything else con-
nected with the potato; in fact, I came to the
conclusion that either of these men could have
written a large book on the present standing
of the potato, without having the least know-
ledge of its past history or speculating on its
future.

It was a very fine summer's day, and we had
both windows open, as it should be. But when
we came to the first stop one of the potato
merchants closed the window at his end, and
it was then that the man opposite to them first
opened his mouth, saying that it was a hot sum-
mer's day, and it was wrong to close a window.
" But I feel the draught," said one of the potato
merchants. "Nonsense," said the stranger; ''
am facing the engine, not you, and all the wind
blows on me. Moreover," he continued, with
some heat, " I kno;w the rules of railway travel-
ling, and the right is on my side. I know this
quite well — although I know very little about
potatoes." Just as he said this the carriage door
was opened; in stepped a lady, and the next

Leaving Home 35

instant the train began to move. Of course the
complainer had to consult the lady now, and not
the two travellers opposite. So he said to her,
" Would you like to have the window open?"
No.w the lady saw, of course, that the window was
closed, and thought he wished to oblige her and
not himself, so; she answered graciously, " No,
thank you." This was a triumph for the mer-
chants, and the stranger could do no more than
frown at them and bite his lip.

No doubt the merchants were very much
annoyed that the stranger had mentioned potatoes,
for we had not been travelling more than a
minute when one of them said, " If you know
more about potatoes than we do, we are not
above being taught." The stranger did not an-
swer at once, but looked from one to the other.
After doing this he looked out of the window,
and then asked, in a quiet voice, " Will you
tell me, as you both' seem to know so much
about potatoes, whether yonder hill " — pointing
out of the window — " would be suitable to their
growth or not?" After asking this question he
leaned back, smiling with confidence, and looking
at them with half-closed eyes. " I should hardly
think so," said one of the merchants seriously.

36 A Weak Woman

"It is not an ideal position," chimed his com-
panion. " Now," cried the stranger exultingly,
and looking around to draw the attention of us
all, " now ,the man who owns that land, whose
house is to be seen on top of the hill, is ia
friend of mine; and he has told me that he has
no;t only grown good potatoes there, jbut that
he has been awarded prizes for ;them ! ' ' After
saying this, which no doubt was a lie, he waited
for some comment. " He couldn't tell me that,"
said one of the merchants. "Ha, ha, ha!"
laughed his companion. " What strange things
we do hear in the course of our travels."

I was very much amused at this foolish argu-
ment, which continued all the way into London.
Even at the last moment the stranger took a
fling at them. " Don't forget," he said, when
they were getting out of the carriage, " don't
forget that other men know something about
potatoes as well as you." "We believe that,"
retorted one of them, " but you haven't taught
us anything new." "And remember, my good
fellow," said the other, " that although you may
know more in the future, your present knowledge
of potatoes is very slight indeed. Good morn-
ing." How the stranger did laugh at this, speak-

Leaving Home 37

ing to me for the first time, saying, " I never
travelled to London under happier conditions."
" Thanks to you, it became very amusing," I
answered.

I had never been in London before, and al-
though we had one or two friends there, they had
not been told of my coming, for I did not want
any restraint on my own free actions. There-
fore, when I got out of the train, I had no settled
plans wha,t to do. I began thinking of the words
of our housekeeper, who had never left the small
town of her birth, and who had heard the won-
derful accounts of other innocent country people
who had gone ithere for a day. She had often
said, when I mentioned London, that when I
got there I would lean against a lamp-post and
wait for the next train back home. For several
minutes I thought this would surely be the case,
being so confused with the removal of luggage,
the number of people going to and fro, and the
shouting of cabmen, porters, and guards. How-
ever, after I had seen my luggage safely stored,
and had nothing in my hand but a small bag, I
began to walk boldly from the station, making
up my mind to reach the Houses of Parliament.
I had often seen pictures of well-known places

38 A Weak Woman

in London, and it seemed to me that I could
not be lost as long as I was near some well-
known place that I had seen in books and read
about.

CHAPTER VI

KIND STRANGERS

A^IY one who enters for the first time a large,
busy city, after having spent one's life in a
small, sleepy town, will understand my feelings
on the present occasion. The endless houses and
the great number of people affected me as they,
must do all others in the same circumstances.
This effect is so natural in all men, and has
been described so often, that it is not worth men-
tioning. The buildings we saw at home, which
we thought so magnificent, become now like toys
compared with the great churches and institutions
of a large city. There is as much difference in
size between the Thames and the river we have
left as there is between a snake and a worm.
The consequence of this is that we lose confi-i
dence in ourselves, and begin to see our own
littleness. We cannot help thinking that although
we have been one of the chief men in our own

39

40 A Weak Woman

town, yet the poorest inhabitant of this large city
has some superiority over us. He knows the
larger life, and we cannot help feeling that we
are only beginners, and that any man we meet
could be our teacher. Although we were well
educated, we are almost afraid to utter our
thoughts, feeling that the inhabitant of such a
large city as this must have had a far superior
education.

Perhaps I ought at this time to say something
about my own personal appearance. I was a big,
raw-boned youth, with plenty of colour in my face,
and dressed in a brown sporting suit of clothes.
I looked so different from the great number of
pale little men in black that it did not surprise
me in the least to see people's eyes on me. Of
course I saw no signs of ridicule, so I flattered
myself that I looked strong and healthy, and that
they were satisfied with my appearance. When
I became thoroughly confident of this I felt a
great pride in being a countryman, feeling that
I was superior in looks, even though they had
the advantage of knowing a larger life. Of course
they all saw that I was a stranger, for Londoners
are very quick to see that.

Now I had asked a policeman the way to the

Kind Strangers 41

Houses of Parliament, telling him that I wanted
to walk, so as to see the sights of the city. The
directions he gave me were so very clear and
simple that there would be no need to make
more inquiries. Moreover, he gave me a simple
plan, which was to watch the buses, read the
names on them, and follow after them. How-
ever, there was no hurry, and the shops were very
attractive to a man from the country.

All through my life I had suffered a little with
the toothache, and there was hardly a week went
by but what I had an attack. And now, while
I was standing looking into a shop window., I felt
a short, sudden stab in my left jaw. Of course
I knew that a steady pain would soon follow, and
I was unhappy at the thought of it. However,
the pain was not very bad as yet, although my
hand had already obeyed the instinct to nurse a
weak place. Very well, then. While I was stand-
ing there, with my hand to my jaw, a stranger
came forward and in a kind, gentle voice said,
"Are you in pain, brother?" I turned my head,
so as to see what the man was like. He was
a tall, stout man, clean shaved, and about thirty-
five years of age. His dress was all black, and
he looked much like a clergyman. But what

42 A Weak Woman

took my eye most was the kind sympathy in his
face.

' There is not much pain yet," I answered,
" but I expect more to follow. It is an old
complaint of mine — the toothache." " I pity you
from the bottom of my heart," exclaimed the
man in black. " But why don't you take some-
thing for it? A drop of whisky is almost a
sure cure, but unfortunately I have no money
with me now." " For that matter," I answered,
"it is not a question of money, but I never
drink whisky, and would not touch it — except I
was certain to be cured." " I am very pleased
to hear that," said the man in black, " for that
is the reason why it is almost certain to cure
you. If you were a regular whisky drinker there
would not only be less likelihood of a cure, but
it would probably aggravate the complaint. I
am very glad that I thought of it. Come, have
a drink of whisky, my friend," he pleaded kindly,
" before it gets worse." Saying this the kind-
hearted stranger took me by the arm. " I will
go with you," he said, " seeing that you are
timid."

It was not long before we stood inside a public-
house, with two glasses of whisky, which my new

Kind Strangers 43

friend had ordered, on the bar in front of us.
The stranger immediately drank half of his, and,
after I had received my change, I followed his
example. To my surprise and joy the whisky in
an instant hardened my gums and deadened the
nerves. I told my kind sympathizer what had
happened. He was delighted to hear that and
said, " Although I am at present in very low
circumstances, yet I cannot pass others by, whom
I see in pain, without giving them a kind word.
So when I saw you standing there I said to
myself, ' There stands a man in a better position
than yourself, but in pain; go to him like a
Christian brother and help him if it is possible.' '
When I heard this, that this kind-hearted
stranger was in such low circumstances, I lost no
time in placing a two-shilling piece in his hand.
"Really, sir," he said, "you are too kind; I
did not expect this. But are you sure that my
advice has done you good?" "Most certainly,"
I answered, " the pain went as suddenly as it
came." "You had better have another glass of
whisky to guard against another attack," he said.
" Oh, no," I answered; " another glass of whisky
would put me into such a state that it would be
wiser to have the toothache instead." "That is

44 A Weak Woman

very sensible," he said; "but I would not like
you to pay for another for me and not have
one yourself. I would not like you to do that."
" Don't mention it," I answered, calling the waiter
and giving him an order for one glass, paying
for it with a shilling.

When the change was put on the counter a
curious little mistake happened, which I was not
sorry for, seeing that this stranger was more in
need than I was. I did not pick up my change
at once, and just as I was about to do so he
reached out his own hand and picked it up. "It
is very kind of you to leave it there for me,"
he said in a trembling voice, " and I understand
your delicacy; but, really, I don't like to take
it. You have done quite enough for me as it
is." Of course I would not think of taking it
from him, for I could never tell this tender-
hearted stranger that he >{iad made a mistake.
' You are quite welcome to it," I said, moving
towards the door, while he followed. When we
got outside I shook hands with him, thanked him
for his kindness, and we parted, going in opposite
directions.

I had scarcely left this man and was walking
along in deep thought, when I heard a cheerful

Kind Strangers 45

voice at my shoulder say, " Good morning."
Turning round at once I looked, and there saw
a man smiling and holding out his hand. I did
not like to leave the hand unshaken, so I shook
it, with the intention of telling him after that I
did not know him. " Where have you been this
long time?" he asked. "Have you been away?
I am not on that bus now, and perhaps that is
why I have not seen you."

I saw that the man had made a mistake, and
I told him so. "What!" he cried, "don't you
remember me? Surely I am not mistaken, but
a thousand pardons if I am. I have lost that
job now, owing to these new motor buses, and,"
he continued, with a short laugh, " I suppose I
must starve. You must excuse my familiarity,
but I thought you were one of my regular pas-
sengers on the old bus."

" You certainly are mistaken," I answered,
" but "—giving him a shilling—" there is a little
assistance, and I hope you will soon meet friends."
" You are a gentleman, every inch of you,"
said the poor fellow, making a strange face, which
could cover any kind of emotion, as he walked
away.

What friendly and kind-hearted people these

46 A Weak Woman

Londoners are, thought I. Two complete stran-
gers, one sympathized when he saw me in pain,
and the other greeted me in a friendly manner,
which his mistake made none the less kind. What
a pity such fine fellows should be in want, when
we know very well that there are so many rogues
in this city thriving on their wits.

I had now crossed the bridge and was on the
south side of the city, near St. Thomas' Hospital.
I thought that to be a fine neighbourhood in
which to seek lodgings, and was soon walking
down a street called Princes Street. The street
did not seem too high for my small means, so
I determined to see about getting a room there,
for I had seen several cards in different windows.
At last I saw a card advertising a back bed-
sitting-room, so I knocked at the door. It was
answered by a woman, none too clean, who on
learning my errand invited me into her front
room on the ground floor. " Excuse me, but do
you live in London?" she asked, after I had
sat down. " No," I answered, " I have only just
come from the country." "I thought so!" she
cried in a voice of great joy, " I thought so; and
how glad my husband will be. Only this morn-
ing I told him that I had a presentiment >that

Kind Strangers 47

I would let my room to a young gentleman from
the country. ' Nonsense, my darling,' said he.
' We will see, love,' said I. How glad I am that
you came ! Come and see the room at once,
sir."

What friendly and kind-hearted people these
Londoners are, thought I for the second time,
as I followed her upstairs. And yet we know
that London contains thousands of deceivers of
both sexes.

CHAPTER VII

MRS. FIGGS AND HER LODGERS

THE landlady was a low-sized woman, very
fat, red-faced, and short of wind. So, in
spite of her efforts to be nimble, it was some time
before we reached the top of the house, which
was three stories high, where the room was
situated. To make the long journey pleasant, or
really to draw my attention from her helpless-
ness, she tried to keep her tongue in motion all
the time, which of course made matters worse. I
was sorry to see her labouring so, and wished
there had been a few objects of interest on the
way, so that she could have recovered her breath
while I was, or pretended to be, interested in them.
However, we reached the room at last, and my
landlady at once took hold of the back of a chair
and stood smiling, looking at me and taking long
breaths.

" This is the room," she said, " and my charge
48

Mrs. Figgs and her Lodgers 49

is six shillings a week, without any extra charge
for washing the towels and bedclothes."

It was a small rpom, almost the whole space
being taken up with the bed, a very small table,
two common wooden chairs, a chest of drawers,
and the wash-stand; in fact, it was so small that
I could not easily have left while she occupied her
present position. It was quite impossible for two
people to stand side by side in any part of it.
However, that did not worry me much, for I did
not expect any visitors, and only wanted room for
myself. The walls only had a few cheap Scrip-
ture texts and an almanac. On the mantelshelf
and the chest of drawers were some photographs,
which I looked at, but none of them seemed to
be of distinguished men or women. One was of
a common soldier, another was of two fat police-
men. Several others were of young women hold-
ing young babies in their arms, and looking happy
and proud ; and others were family groups, dressed
in their Sunday clothes. Such was the room in
which I now stood.

I have discovered since that this description
will fit almost all the bed-sitting-rooms in a poor
man's neighbourhood. The things that are neces-
sary are of the commonest sort, and the ornaments

50 A Weak Woman

either cost very little or nothing. For instance,
Scripture texts can be bought framed for a few
pence, and the photographs would cost nothing,
being presents from the landlady's friends. Photo-
graphs of this kind can be had without much
coaxing, for young mothers are very proud to be
able to show themselves in that way. And when
men join the army or police force they are so
vain of appearing in the King's uniform that they
cannot help having their photographs taken, and
distributing them among relatives and friends.
The consequence is that a landlady can always
fill a shelf or bare place of any kind in a bed-
sitting-room with photographs of men in uniform,
and young women holding young babies in the
act of bouncing them.

Of course I had not expected a richly furnished
room, but this was much worse than I had ever
seen. However, the house seemed so quiet that
I felt happy to pay for that, without any strong
desire for richer accommodation. An ill-fur-
nished, quiet room was better for my work than
a richer one that took in the round of constant
noise.

In spite of this agreeable thought I could
hardly hope that the house would always be as

Mrs. Figgs and her Lodgers 51

quiet as this; so, after looking round the room,
I nodded my head, as much as to say I was
satisfied to pay six shillings a week for what I
saw. And then I said, " Of course I do not
expect the house will always be as quiet as this,
but I do hope there will not be much noise, for
I need a quiet place for my work." " Lor', sir! "
she answered in a surprised voice, " my house is
always like this. The children have not come
home from school yet, but when they do come
you won't know it up here." Now it was a hot
summer's day, and the window was wide open,
and she had scarcely uttered these words when
I heard children's voices in the back yard, and
the next instant " Rule Britannia " was being
played with great spirit on a mouth-organ. The
landlady went to the window at once, leaned out
and cried, " Go into the street, do you hear
me?"

After doing and saying this she looked at me
with a smile and said, " You see how my children
obey me." They certainly obeyed her order to
go into the street, but they did not stop their
noise, for I heard them laughing and marching
out to the same stirring tune. However, it was
apparent that she could keep them quiet indoors,

52 A Weak Woman

and, after all, they would have no business up-
stairs.

As I have said, this was a back bed-sitting-
room, and I was naturally curious to know who
lived in the front room, the door being close to
mine.

" You would not know any one lived there
if I did not tell you," answered my future land-
lady. " He is a very quiet, respectable man, and
is out all the day; and in the evenings he sits
still, smoking and looking out of the window,
and reading and writing. A friend of mine, who
lives opposite, has told me this, for I never ask
questions nor pry into the business of my lodgers.
He took the room on the same conditions as you
have taken this, that the house was very quiet —
so have no fear of him. A nice, quiet, inoffensive
man, that's what he is. Mr. Smith, another of
my lodgers, lives in the room under this, and he
has been with me for over two years, which ought
to be a good recommendation for a landlady,
didn't it? I cook for him and attend to all his
wants. He is an army pensioner, and I am like
a mother to him, so he says."

" I am glad to hear this," I said, " and will
pay you for the room in advance." "As you

Mrs. Figgs and her Lodgers 53

like, sir," she answered. " Oh, how glad my
husband will be to hear that I have let the room
to a young gentleman from the country ! ' Non-
sense, my darling,' he said, when I told him
that I had a presentiment of that kind. ' We will
see, love,' I answered him." After saying this
she asked me if I could see everything I wanted,
and being told yes, she made a curtsy and left
the room, leaving me alone to think out my plans
for the future.

My first plan was to get something to eat. I
was a very small eater, in spite of being a big
young fellow and a countryman. It was always
my belief that fresh air played a greater part in
our development than abundance of food. For
instance, I had often made a meal on a cake
and a couple of apples; and thousands of men
ate in one meal what would do me for the whole
day.

At the present time I intended to have my
frugal meals in different places, wherever I hap-
pened to be rambling. It would be the best
plan at this time of the year, the days being
hot. The winter, when I would be confined to
the house more, it would of course be more con-
venient and pleasant to have my meals where I

54 A Weak Woman

lived. At the present moment I knew that a
cup of tea, a couple of slices of bread and butter,
and a boiled egg would be plenty, although I
had fasted for several hours. So, as I have said,
my first plan was to get something to eat. And
my second plan was to get a cab and take my
luggage from the railway station to my lodgings.
Thinking of these things I left the room and
went downstairs.

As I was going down I heard steps coming up,
and when I reached the second floor another man
reached it at the same time. " Good evening,"
said this man, speaking in a gruff voice, as he
opened the door of the room under mine. He
was a tall man, well advanced in years, but up-
right, and his moustache gave him the look of
a military man. This must be Mr. Smith, thought
I, answering him more kindly.

When I reached the ground floor I thought it
would be wise to tell the landlady that !J was
going to fetch my luggage; but I did not know
whether she was in the parlour, back room, or
kitchen — all the doors of which were closed — and
stood waiting to hear some voice. At last I
heard two voices, a man's and a woman's, in the
kitchen, and went in that direction. Afc I wanted

Mrs. Figgs and her Lodgers 55

to see the landlady and no other, I stood outside
the door, so as to make sure of hearing her voice.
However, it was the man's voice I heard .first,
which said — I could not help hearing it — " Get
mutton to-morrow, for a change; it is my favourite
meat, and you know the Major is very fond
of it."

" Yes," answered the woman, " we ,will have
mutton, but pork for the Major."

"Why?" asked the man.

"Why?" reiterated the woman in a very,
sharp voice. " Why? If I give him mutton,
wouldn't he eat it?"

" Of course he would," answered the man in
a surprised voice.

" Well, where is my profit to come from if I
give him what he likes and eats?" exclaimed the
woman.

" You are an artful one," said the man, " and
I am glad I am not your lodger."

Although 1 heard these words distinctly, I did
not consider them at the time. I recognized the
voice as that of my landlady, and supposed that
the man was her husband. Without waiting to
hear any more I knocked at the door. The voices
ceased at once, and it was some time before any

56 A Weak Woman

one appeared. At last the door was opened, and
the landlady, seeing me, exclaimed in some con-
fusion, " Oh, dear, it's the young gentleman from
the country! " After telling her what I was about
to do I left the house, saying I would be back
with my luggage before it got dark.

CHAPTER VIII
THE MAJOR

T WAS rather tired that night, having been
•*• walking all day, and went to bed early. Al-
though I could not sleep for some time, thinking
of the future and my new surroundings, yet my
sleep was very sound and long when it came at
last. I did not even turn in my sleep, which
was unbroken from midnight until nine o'clock in
the morning. The house was very quiet then,
for I suppose the children had gone to school, and
the other lodgers had gone out on their several
businesses. No doubt there was plenty of noise
in the street, with street sellers and people passing
to and fro, but as my room was at the back I
could hear nothing of any of them. " This is
good enough for me," thought I, and began to
unpack my paints, with the intention of begin-
ning some work on my return, for I had to go
out for breakfast. Perhaps I would not return till

57

58 A Weak Woman

after dinner, for I was in no great hurry to work,
until I knew more of the wonderful city I was
in. Of course I had a key to my room, so that
it would be locked while I was away. In spite
of that I could not help suspecting that the land-
lady would have another key to the same lock,
and that she would make use of it. But I was
determined to be satisfied with that one lock and
key, without using others in my room, for I did
not want the trouble of locking things up every
time I went out, and unlocking them on my re-
turn. " Let my landlady satisfy her curiosity as
soon as she likes," thought I, locking the room
and going downstairs. I may as well say here
that some time after this I discovered by certain
signs that Mrs. Figgs did enter my room, but
though a number of things were shifted, nothing
was missed, so that it did not matter much.
However, I did not tempt her by leaving money
about.

Having had a late breakfast I -had no appetite
for dinner, and returned to my lodgings about
one o'clock. I met my landlady in the passage,
who said, " I hope you slept well and are quite
comfortable." " I am quite satisfied;," I answered,
about to pass on. " You mustn't take any notice

The Major 59

of Mr. Smith," she continued; "he has been
with me for over two years, and that ought to
speak well for me. But he is very irritable and
hot-tempered, and an angel could not please him,
although she paid the best price for everything."
" Oh no," I answered, " I will have nothing to
say to Mr. Smith." "What I mean is this,"
explained my landlady, " that you will take no
notice of what he says when I take him his meals,
for he is always very irritable then, and shouts
out loud." "These old military men are always
irritable," I said soothingly, " and we must not
place much faith in what they say in their angry
moods." Saying this, and returning her nod and
smile, I went upstairs, while she made her way to
the kitchen, probably to get the Major his
dinner.

I had not been in my room ten minutes when I
heard a great roar in the room below mine.
"That is the Major," thought I; "I wonder
what is the matter with him," and waited to hear
more.

After making this noise he began in the
following manner: "Mrs. Figgs, madam, you
don't care a damn fig for a lodger. These
potatoes are hard — am I a cannon? Do you

60 A Weak Woman

want to ram me with shot?* Woman, these things
will kill me — I am not bullet-proof. And fish
again! An evil-looking bloater. Let slip the
dogs of war ! Blood and thunder ! would you
make a cat of me?" " Mr. Smith/' answered
Mrs. Figgs with great dignity, " you have said,
thousands of times, that you were passionately
fond of bloaters; and Mrs. Shrimpshire never to
my knowledge sold bad ones. " " What ! I told you
that I was fond of bloaters?." roared the Major.
"What a lie! But I won't stand this any longer
— I won't have any more bloaters and lies. Why
do you tease me like this at every meal?. Am I
the monkey on a warship?."

There was no answer to these questions, and
the Major, after several loud grunts, said no
more.

By this I gathered that Mrs. Figgs had left the
room and gone downstairs. The few words I had
heard between Mrs. Figgs and her husband sud-
denly occurred to me now; but, of course, not
knowing how much the Major paid for his board
and lodging, I for that reason did not know in
what way the landlady ought to feed him. If
he paid her anything like a reasonable sum he
could surely expect something better than a penny

The Major 61

bloater for his dinner. Again, there was no ex-
cuse for the potatoes being so hard. However,
it was no business of mine, and I was not much
interested to know which was to blame.

After hearing this little quarrel I settled down
to work. I had a clean canvas before me, which
had not yet received a stroke of paint, but the
subject waj quite clear in my mind. I was so
interested in my work that I had forgotten time
and my surroundings, until I was brought back
to them by the noise of children's voices below.
I looked at my watch and saw that it was five
o'clock. " I will take a little walk now and have
some tea," I thought, and began to wash my
hands. As I was doing so I heard the rattle of
tea-things, and judged it to be Mrs. Figgs
taking in the Major's tea. A moment after
I heard her voice saying, " Here's your tea, Mr.
Smith."

There was no immediate answer to this, for I
suppose the Major was inspecting it. However,
the silence did not last long, for the next instant
he shouted, " The dogs that starve in the streets
of Turkey wouldn't eat this ! A sword-swallower
could not get it down his throat. I couldn't
digest this — impossible ! I am not the goat of

62 A Weak Woman

a Welsh regiment. I can't stand this any longer.
Blood and thunder! No." "All I can tell you,
Mr. Smith," began Mrs. Figgs in a calm, (dis-
tinct voice, " all I can tell you is that I pay the
best price for everything. Could an angel do
more? And still you are dissatisfied, do whatever
I can to please you. You know that you have
told me, thousands of times, that you were pas-
sionately fond of hard crusts." "What! I told
you that I was fond of hard crusts?. Are you
dreaming, woman? A lie ! A most damnable
lie! But I won't stand this any longer. I won't
have any more hard crusts and lies."

This little affair ended in the same way as the
other — by Mrs. Figgs leaving the room and the
Major giving vent to several loud, angry grunts.
I was beginning to feel an interest now in the
doings of this house. For that reason I was not
only determined to open my door when they
quarrelled again, but to stand outside, so as not
to miss a word of it.

I was back in my room again at seven o'clock,
intending to spend the rest of the evening over
a book, which I had just bought for twopence,
dirty and second-hand, but very interesting. Now
I had left my door wide open, hoping that I

The Major 63

would not be too interested hi my book to miss
hearing Mrs. Figgs coming up with the Major's
supper. Whether I heard her or not, I was
certain that the Major would soon let me know
that she had come. At last I heard her, and
went out and stood on the landing. To my sur-
prise, when Mrs. Figgs said, " Here's your bis-
cuit, Mr. Smith," he did not utter one word.
But what surprised me more was to hear his land-
lady say softly, " Let me cook you something for
supper, a mutton chop or an egg; do, there's a
good man?" " No, thank you, madam," answered
the Major in a hard voice, as though forced to
be civil against his will. " Would you like
sausages if I sent for some?" she asked in a
gentle voice. " No, thank you, madam," answered
the Major, his voice getting harder still. " Let
me fry you a nice piece of steak?" she pleaded
sweetly. " Or would you like some nice cold
ham with mustard? Or cold beef with a few
pickles?" she asked in a coaxing voice. " No,
this cup of cocoa and biscuit will be plenty, thank
you, madam. Good night." " I wish you would
let me cook you something nice," said Mrs. Figgs
in a tone of great disappointment as she left
the room, after wishing him good night.

64 A Weak Woman

In spite of these kind offers the Major
grunted several times as soon as she was gone,
in the same manner as when he had quarreljed
with her.

Up to the present time I had not seen the
man that lived in the room adjoining mine. He
was out all day, and I must have been asleep
when he left. In the evening I heard him enter
his room, after which I heard him preparing his
tea; but after that all was quiet; in fact, I was
in this house for several days without seeing him,
and when I did see him it was owing to my own
plans, as I will relate. However, during these
several days I had been indoors a number of
times when the landlady took the Major his meals,
and I could not help noticing one thing, which
I could not account for, which was that although
the Major was quarrelsome at breakfast, dinner,
and tea, yet when it came to supper he had not
a word to say; in fact, Mrs. Figgs had all to
say on that occasion. She offered to cook him
anything he liked, and pleaded and coaxed him
for several minutes. And when I heard the Major
make so many brutal complaints at breakfast,
dinner, and tea, and then heard him refuse the
generous offers she made at supper-time — when

The Major

I had heard these things I was more puzzled
than ever as to which was to blame. However,
on the following morning I was to be enlight-
ened. Mrs. Figgs was a deep thinker.

CHAPTER IX

ENLIGHTENED

WHEN I was washing, the next morning, I
heard the Major's door open and the
rattle of tea-things. Now for another roar,
thought I, beginning to wipe my face. The first
voice I heard was a woman's, which said, " I have
brought your breakfast, Mr. Smith." To my
surprise, i,t was a strange voice, which made me
think that Mrs. Figgs was either ill or wanted
to escape for one week the irritation of her lodger.
Of course he would have to keep his complaints
for his landlady, so that I was not surprised when
I heard him answer quietly, "Thank you." Not
another word was uttered by the Major, although
the woman's tongue was going all the time she
was arranging the breakfast. She told him, among
other interesting news, that Mrs. Shrimpshire, who
sold such nice fresh bloaters, was lying danger-
ously ill, and ;that the measles was everywhere.

66

Enlightened 67

At last she asked the Major if he was satisfied,
no doubt referring to the breakfast. There was
no answer to this question, so I supposed that he
had nodded yes. And the next moment I heard
her leaving the room and on her way downstairs.
I was now ready to follow her, going out for
my own breakfast. So I left my room at once,
not forgetting to lock the door after me.

When I arrived on the second floor I was
very much surprised to see the Major standing in
his open doorway, as though he waited for me.
" Good morning," he said in a very serious voice.
" Good morning," I answered, about to pass on.
" Before you go," he hastened to say, " I would
like to consult you about this she- devil of ours.
Will you come in just for a few minutes?"
" Certainly," I answered, following him into his
room.

" I can no longer tolerate this," he began; " in
fact, I believe that she could be summoned in
court for getting money under false pretences.
Did you hear her this morning?" ** I heard a
strange woman in your room," I answered, " but
did not hear the voice of Mrs. Figgs." "Blood
and thunder, sir! yo'u heard Mrs. Figgs," cried
the Major, banging his fist on the table.

68 A Weak Woman

I did not know what to make of this, for I
was certain the woman that brought his breakfast
had a voice I had never heard before. How-
evjer, I made no reply, although it was impossible
for m'e to be mistaken.

" You heard Mrs. Figgs, sir! " cried the Major
again; "she was without her false teeth. Now
what am I to do about these sham manoeuvres?
It sends a thrill of horror through me when this
woman comes into my room with a different voice
and a different face. I dare not look at her,
and I dare not encourage her to talk by answering
her back. There is something uncanny in it,
for she is not the same woman, I fancy, and yet
I know all the time that she is Mrs. Figgs, and
no other. It startles me, sir; it makes me dumb
with horror. Suppose she took you by surprise,
in the same manner, could you ever forget it?
She is a damn wicked woman, or she would
not frighten me in that way. But what can I
do, sir? what can I do? The she-devil!"

Now although my father had false teeth I had
never seen or heard him without them, so that I
could not quite understand the Major's horror.
However, I told him that I thought it very
annoying, and trusted that Mrs. Figgs would be

Enlightened 69

more thoughtful in the future. " She will not
be more ;thoughtful until she loses my pound
a week, which she has had without fail for over
two years," answered the Major. " I won't have
any more of her bloaters and lies, and her start-
ling changes."

"Do you pay her as much as a pound a
week?" I asked, looking at his ill-furnished room
and thinking of penny bloaters for dinner. " I
do, sir," he answered, " but, blood and thunder !
I will have no ;more of it."

" But you have been here for over two years,"
I said, " and has it always been the same?"
" Always," he answered. " But I won't stand
it any longer. What's the good to complain?
She is always ready armed with lies — she is never
out of ammunition. Do I pay a pound a week
for this?" he cried, picking up a towel and hold-
ing it aloft for me to see. " Look at it, sir— full
of holes, like a flag after the battle." The towel
appeared to be a very cheap one, and not only
full of holes, but dirty also. This towel was
sufficient evidence against Mrs. Figgs. However,
I said nothing, sbut tried to console him by re-
minding him of her generous offer at supper-time,
to cook him anything he liked to mention. " Ha,

70 A Weak Woman

ha! " laughed the Major, in a voice almost hysteri-
cal. "Ha, ha! How innocent you are. You don't
know that I have told her, right from the begin-
ning, that I never take more than a cup of cocoa
and a biscuit for supper, and that is the reason
why she stands there pleading with me to have
fried eggs, mutton chop, cold beef and pickles,
and other things— aye, even chicken, sir ! Why
don't she get me some of these things in the day,
when I could eat and enjoy them? Sir, Mrs.
Figgs is a she-devil; I have done with her, sir,
I have done. , I will give her another month's
trial, and not a day over. I have stood this for
over two years, simply because I hate changes,
sir, I hate changes. Is she mad, think you? No,
sir, she is a she-devil."

A sudden thought occurred to me now, which
gave me some alarm. I was afraid that Mrs.
Figgs would hear us, and I did not want her to
know that I was in conversation with her most
dissatisfied lodger. If she had known this she
would have forced on me a thousand charges
against him, to prove her own honesty, and
I did not want that to happen. So, thinking
of this, I told the Major that I had an appoint-
ment and must leave in haste. " Try to get

Enlightened 71

a better place," I whispered, " where you will
have more value for your money." " But damn
it, sir!" he shouted, "must I change my lodg-
ings after two years in one place? Must I go
looking all over Europe for lodgings? Is it im-
possible to make this she-devil understand her
duty to a lodger? Blood and thunder, sir! I
can't stand this any longer — but must I change?*
I'll put a bullet through my brain, or cut my
throat. She will drive me to do something des-
perate. By God, sir! I will have no more bloaters
and lies. Mrs. Figgs is a she-devil."

I waited to hear no more, and made my way
downstairs. Mrs. Figgs, thought I, is now cer-
tain that the Major is a slave to his surroundings
and will not leave her, and that is why she starves
him. She has heard him threaten to leave so
many times that she knows it will never come to
pass until his dead body is carried out of her
house; in fact, after a little consideration I came
to the conclusion that not only was Mrs. Figgs
enjoying her own cunning schemes, but that the
Major also had some enjoyment in making com-
plaints. I have heard it said that a mouse is not
full of fear in its dealings with a cat, but enjoys
it, not knowing what is to come. Whether this

72 A Weak Woman

is so or not, we cannot say for sure, but I am
certain that the Major was enjoying himself — in
a strange way — as the victim of his landlady's
cunning schemes. The poor fool even played
into her hands, in the same way as a child will
sometimes strike and hurt its own hand or
foot to revenge itself on another. The way he
did this was by refusing to eat his meals and
going out to pay for others. No doubt he
chuckled over this, forgetting that he still paid
his landlady for the meals he did not eat, and
that she would be pleased every time he did so.
However, there was one thing he would not do,
and that was to change his present landlady for
another, and seek fresh lodgings. Mrs. Figgs
could do as she liked, for she had the Major set
for life, there was not the least doubt of that.

I was getting quite used to these quarrels now.
It used to amuse me to hear Mrs. Figgs say
that she paid the best price for everything, and
that the Major knew it well. " For," said she,
' ' you have seen my bills many a time . " " What ! ' '
the Major would roar, "what! I have seen your
bills? What a lie!" "Don't deny it, Mr. Smith,
you know that you have seen my bills often, and
you have seen bacon marked at tenpence a

Enlightened 73

pound," Mrs. Figgs would say. "Woman!" the
Major would then shout, " woman, I have freen
here over two years and I have never seen one
of your bills in all that time. But I won't stand
this any longer, for I have had quite enough."
" Very well, Mr. Smith," Mrs. Figgs would calmly
say, "very well, I am a liar, I suppose." After
which she would leave the room. The quarrel
usually took this one course, by Mrs. Figgs say-
ing, when her lodger grumbled, that she was
serving him with something he had often ex-
pressed a liking for; while he took many an
oath that he had never said anything of the kind.
However, by what I could gather it was not only
the thing itself, but the inferior quality and the
bad cooking that upset the Major. It was this
landlady's object to ruin her lodger's appetite by
serving him with the same kind of food often,
and inferior, ill-done food at that, until he could
only eat enough to keep himself alive, and no
more. She was now rich in knowledge, having
found out his likes and his dislikes; and if he
enjoyed and ate his food she would not be able
to keep herself and her own family on the best of
everything. The Major's money must do this.
Yes, Mrs. Figgs and her husband could have

74 A Weak Woman

plenty of good English mutton at the Major's
expense. The Major must not have mutton, be-
cause he liked it and would eat it ; therefore, pork
for the Major. When I thought of these artful
dodges of a landlady I was very pleased that
I had not arranged with Mrs. Figgs for any food.

CHAPTER X

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE

T WAS now settled down in good earnest to
•*• paint great pictures, without having any doubt
but that they would be great and would fetch me
both a good price and fame. However, I was in no
hurry to finish anything, being sure of a pound
a week from my father. Moreover, I had several
pounds in hand, and was not living up to my
means. Like all young dreamers who do works
of imagination it never once occurred to me that
the business part would be a failure. What I
would do with my work when it was done was
a question to be deferred until the end; in fact,
it never once crossed my mind but what this
great picture which I now had in hand, and which
was a battle scene, would be the making of me.
For that reason I dilly-dallied with it day after
day, sometimes sitting before it in silent admira-
tion, and in no hurry to call it done.

75

76 A Weak Woman

I could hardly resist asking the Major up to
my room to see this great battle scene, he being
an old military man. Mrs. Figgs, who had been
in the room several times on different errands,
was so struck with admiration that I overlooked
her meanness to the Major. No doubt she had
told the latter about it, and I almost felt sick
for the want of flattery. However, I felt confi-
dent that it would come in full force before long,
and that I only had to wait my time. Mrs.
Figgs said that one of my soldiers was the very
image of her friend on the mantelpiece. She
said this in such a way that she ought to charge
me extra for that assistance. She seemed to think
that I could not have painted the picture in any
other place than her room. If I had confessed
that I had been assisted by her friend's photo-
graph, there is not the least doubt but that she
would have raised my rent. I was almost sure
of this.

I remember well the day when Mrs. Figgs told
the Major about my picture. As usual, he was
storming over his food, when all of a sudden he
ceased, to my surprise. It must have been then
that she used whispers and motions to tell him
a secret, thinking to take his thoughts away from

A New Acquaintance 77

his tea. But she did not succeed, for all at
once he shouted in a loud voice, " Damn his
picture of a battle ! Look at this ! Blood and
thunder ! Madam, do you bring me half of a
penny bun? Here's a halfpenny; go and buy
the other half, and stick the two together. By
God, Mrs. Figgs, this is going too far. But I
won't stand it any longer. A fig for you! Half
of a penny bun, and even the piece of lemon peel
gone! A most damnable insult. Give this piece
of bun to a bird." " Lor', Mr. Smith, do you
think I would insult you?" asked Mrs. Figgs in
an offended tone. " You have, Mrs. Figgs, you
have!" roared the Major. "What can I do to
please you?" asked Mrs. Figgs in a slow, calm
voice. " God of battles, have mercy on a poor
old soldier!" cried the Major in a voice of
anguish, and the next instant I heard a noise as
though he had fallen into a chair.

" Now, Mr. Smith, what can I get for your
supper?" asked Mrs. Figgs in a conciliatory tone.
" By God, madam, how many times have I told
you that I do not eat heavy suppers?" asked
the Major sternly. " Can I fry you a nice mutton
chop, or some sausages?" she continued, without
heeding his words. "No, damnation, no!"

78 A Weak Woman

shouted the Major. " I could eat them now if
I had them." When Mrs. Figgs heard this she
left in a hurry, saying, "It is impossible to please
you, Mr. Smith, do whatever I will." She was
afraid to remain any longer, for fear he would
give an order for something else. Under these
circumstances I quite forgave the poor Major for
his brutal reference to my picture.

Although I had now lived in this house for a
week I had not yet seen the man that rented the
next room to mine on the same floor. I had
heard him in the morning preparing his own
breakfast, and also in the evening preparing his
own tea, but he was out all day. He was very
careful in going up and down stairs, and his steps
were heavy, so I came to the conclusion that he
either carried a load or was lame and awkward.
But after he had had his tea and cleared the things
away I heard no more of him until jthe next
morning. I wondered what he could be doing,
sitting still so many hours, without once playing
any kind of instrument, whistling or humming
a note. It occurred to me that he was living a
very serious life, working, perhaps, on a scheme
grander than mine. Although I did not know
what this man was like, I could not help feeling

A New Acquaintance 79

respect for him, that he could concentrate his
thoughts for so long a time on some subject he
must have loved deeply; in fact, I began to think
that this was no ordinary man, that although he
did some common task in the day for bread,
the true man lived at night, when he sat under
a spell of fine dreams. I had not forgotten the
account Mrs. Figgs had given, how he sat for
hours in the window, smoking, reading, or writ-
ing. Perhaps he was a good judge of pictures.
When I thought of this, and cast my eyes on the
great battle scene before me, I resolved to make
his acquaintance as soon as possible, whether it
offended him or not.

These thoughts occurred to me when I was
walking back, having been out to my tea. It was
half-past five then, and I knew that my fellow-
lodger came in about six o'clock or soon after.
So I hurried back, for fear he should come in
before his time, and I did not want to miss him.

Now when I had entered the house and was
on the way to my room, I overtook a man on the
stairs. This man had a large, heavy pack on
his back, with a broad, strong leather strap over
his shoulder. "This is my fellow lodger," thought
I, "and he is a pedlar."

8o A Weak Woman

When he had reached the second landing he
stopped and made room for me to pass him, for
he had heard my steps and no doubt guessed who
it was. Knowing it was me, on the way to the
top of the house, would make him anxious to see
me in front of him, and not retarded by his
slow journeying. " Good evening," we said simul-
taneously, as I passed on. This, of course, was
my chance, so I took my time, and when I
reached my door fumbled so long in finding the
key and putting it into the lock that he was at
my side just as I threw open my door. " Are
you any judge of pictures?." I asked in a friendly
way, stepping into my room, so as to give him
more space to open his own door. " No, I am
not," he answered, " but all things of beauty
appeal to me, whether they are written, painted,
or carved." " I have a little work here/' I began,
feigning indifference, " that may be good or bad.
Here it is," I Continued, pointing in its direction.
When I said this I knew that he could not see it
without entering the room. So I was not sur-
prised when he said, " Wait until I get rid of
my pack, and I will then come in." " No, have
your tea first," I said at once, " and come in and
have a smoke and a chat after that, if you are

A New Acquaintance 81

not busy." To this he agreed and went into his
room. I sat down, smoking", listening to his move-
ments, and wondering what kind of man he would
prove himself to be.

Now, seeing that this man had not sought my
acquaintance, and done nothing to know my busi-
ness, I could not do otherwise than believe him
to be an honest man. But when I stood face to
face with him, and saw the straightforward look
in his eyes, and heard his voice, which was gentle
and low, I knew that he was one to be trusted.
He was a small man, below the average height,
but of a sturdy build. His complexion was dark,
gipsy-like, and he had a dark moustache, not
heavy enough to hide the smile on a large mouth.
According to his clothes he was not in good
circumstances, for they appeared shabby, even in
the dim light indoors. However, perhaps he had
better ones, and these were good enough for work-
ing in. Yes, my first impression of him was
very favourable, and I feel sure that a closer
acquaintance would be to his advantage. There
would be no reserve between us, I felt sure of
that.

I had left my door partly open, so that he
could walk in without knocking, and without wait-

82 A Weak Woman

ing for me to open it. It usually took him
about half an hour to tea, for he had to prepare
it himself; and no doubt he would clear his
table before he left.

CHAPTER XI

A DREAMER

A' last he came and was standing in the room,
looking at my picture. "To me it appears
fine," he said, after a long pause, " but, as I have
already confessed, I am not a good judge of pic-
tures. However, whether it is good work or
bad you are a lover of beauty, and I am glad
to know you on that account. You and I have
the same kind of minds, although we have dif-
ferent ways of using them.'* " May I ask in
what way you use yours?" I ventured. " In writ-
ing," he answered. Of course I knew this, with-
out asking, but I was curious to know his subject.
" But what kind of writing do you do?" I made
bold to ask. " Oh, I write a little poetry," he
answered in an indifferent voice. In spite of
this way of speaking, I could not help feeling
that this man was deeply in earnest in what he
did. I could not think of him as one of the
many thousands that string together a few rhymes

84 A Weak Woman

and call themselves poets. He seemed to have too
much strength in his face to be one of these.
Moreover, there was a certain quiet reserve about
him which would be impossible to one of those
silly rhymers I have mentioned; in fact, he ap-
peared loth to talk on that subject, and began
at once on common matters, asking me how I
liked my lodgings. " I am very much amused
with the/ quarrels between Mrs. Figgs and the
Major," I answered, with a laugh. " She is very
mean, and I have heard them quarrel," he said,
" but I did not know that their quarrels were
frequent, because I am out all the day." " I am
very glad that I have given her no chance to
impose on me," I said. " How do you ikhow
that she has not already done so?" asked my new
companion, with a quiet smile. " I pay five and
sixpence a week for my room. Now what do you
pay for yours? if it is not an impertinent ques-
tion." " Six shillings," I answered, beginning to
look serious. " There you are," he cried, laugh-
ing softly, "you pay sixpence more than I do, and
should pay quite a shilling less, seeing that you
have the back room while I have the front. So,
you see, Mrs. Figgs has imposed on you right
from the first hour of your coming to her house,"

A Dreamer 85

I could see that my companion was not much
inclined to talk about himself, and I was anxious
to lead him on to that subject. With this idea
I began to tell him a little of my own history,
thinking that he would then return my confidence.
Of course there was nothing interesting or
romantic in my life, but such as it was I told
it. I gave the town of my birth, what I was
now trying to do, and how I was assisted in my
dreams by my father's generosity. " I wish you
success," he answered seriously. " As for my
life, it has been one of failure throughout — I have
fallen far short of my ambition. In spite pf
that I have moods when I feel that if I could
only once make my work appear my name would
not be lost on the present times. But I have no
chance, and see none in the future, and no doubt
my words sound idle and vain. Pray take no
notice of them." "Why not take notice of
th,em?" I answered earnestly,. " I believe in you,
and would like to know something of your life,
if you would tell me. Or is it too painful to
relate?" "There is nothing in my life for me
to be ashamed of, and that needs hiding," he
said; "but are you sure that my affairs will in-
terest you? It is a very simple story, of great

86 A Weak Woman

importance to the man that has lived through
it, but of no interest to others." I assured him
that it would be interesting to me, and waited
for him to begin. After a few moments' con-
sideration, he said, " You shall hear it," and
began in the simplest manner possible.

" My parents died when I was very young,
and I was adopted by people that could not afford
to apprentice me to a trade, but they were kind
for all that. In spite of this disadvantage, I
managed to rise from an errand-boy in a grocer's
shop to be its manager in my twenty-second year.
This was not bad, for the shop was a large
one and I was still young. However, I had not
been in that position two years when the grocer
went bankrupt, owing to one of those great firms
that have a big capital opening a branch shop
near. Now at this time, and for years before,
I had been ambitious to become a writer of
books. All my spare moments had been directed
to reading and writing, and I was confident that
I could earn a living that way. Therefore, in-
stead of grieving over my lost position, I be-
came happy, thinking of a change in my life.
For years I h!ad fretted in a shop and, having
no excuse to leave of my own accord, had been

A Dreamer 87

waiting to be made to go by force. I had gone
on Sundays and holidays into the fields and woods,
and when I saw the wild flowers and heard the
birds sing I grew eager to make known my
thoughts of them; and every time I returned to
the shop, after these country rambles, I was in
misery for a whole day. I longed to have my
pencil and book, doing the work I loved, under
the trees, or standing at the stile that divided
fields.

" Now at this time, like most young men, I
had a sweetheart. But I was so confident of
being able to earn my living as an author that
I thought it all the better for her that I had lost
my position. I told her that I was glad for her
sake that it had come to pass. She was a simple
girl and believed me. And when I left her, in a
few days, to begin my new career in London
she seemed as full of hope as I was, which I
was very glad to see.

" I had something like twenty pounds when
I left home, but in spite of my confidence I
knew that it required time to develop my plans ;
and for that reason I went to live in a lodging-
house, paying the small sum of sixpence per
night. But why say more? I had no success,

88 A Weak Woman

and my inouey was going out and not a penny
coming iri, and in less than four months I w&s
penniless and had to leave. \ After that I cannot
very well say how. I lived. Sometimes I was out
all night, without food or shelter; the next night
I would sleep in the very commonest lodging-
house, having made a shilling as a sandwichman.
I could now see, without any mistake, that a man
who falls so low dan never rise again by his own
efforts. You may have a written character for
honesty and long service, but if you have no
home address no man will give you more than
a little temporary employment. Therefore, let
no man leave his friends and home, whatever
happens to him. What happened to me under
those wretched circumstances was very fortunate,
for it would not happen to many, and perhaps
no other man would have taken the same advan-
tage of it.

" One morning, after having been without a
bed for three nights in succession, I happened
to notice something shining on the ground. I
no sooner saw this small round object than I
pounced on it, picked it up, and hurried from
the spot — it was a gold sovereign. I looked so
wretched at this time that I was almost afraid to

A Dreamer 89

change it, for fear of being arrested for a thief.
However, I prepared to make the attempt, and
went to a drinking-fountain and washed my face
and hands. When this was done I entered a
public-house that had the door wide open, and
where I could see a kind of shutter above the
bar. Walking in, I called boldly for a glass
of whisky, the waiter not being able to see me
without stooping. Other customers were at an-
other bar, and when he received my gold an
order came from that way, so he rung my coin
and returned at once with the change. My bar
was a private one, and that accounted for the
shutter above it. When I received this change
I breathed freely, and it was then that I began
to plan for the future. I was determined to make
a living somehow, and have no more hungry
nights in the open streets.

" The plan I settled on is the one you see me
following now. I went that night to a common
lodging-house, where I had been before, and
where a man came around at night selling clothes.
These clothes were so cheap that I could for
about three shillings get a complete change, from
head to foot, and look decent. After I had done
this I got a box and, after filling it with cheap

90 A Weak Woman

goods, began hawking. Of course I can only
make a living from day to day, just making
enough to keep myself going, with never no more
than a pound saved. I spend much time in free
libraries, but if I did not it would not make a
great difference."

He made a long pause here, so I said, " Have
you ever heard from home, from your sweet-
heart?"

" No," he answered, " I gave her no chance,
for I soon saw that my life was done, as far
as marriage was concerned, and wrote to release
her from the engagement, and giving her no
address for reply. However, some time ago, be-
fore I came here, I happened to be hawking
near the town of my birth. Of course I dared
not enter it, for I did not want to be recognized.
But I thought I could safely pass through a small
village six miles away from it, and do some busi-
ness there. As I went along I saw a little school-
girl coming, and, being very fond of children,
made ready to greet her. When she drew near
she looked up, and I saw my sweetheart's face.
I could not be mistaken in it, and the greeting
died on my lips. No doubt my serious expression
frightened the child, for she shrank from me.

A Dreamer 91

' Don't be afraid/ I said at last, ' but tell me
your name.' When she had told me I had heard
my sweetheart's name. I pulled the cap over
my face and left the village without calling at
any of its houses, for fear a door would be
opened by that child's mother. But as I went
I could not help looking back at the child, until
my eyes could no longer follow her. That is
my life-story; simple enough, is it not?" " Thank
you for your confidence," I said earnestly, " and
I hope your life will have a happy ending. Will
you read me some of your poems? I am certain
that they will be sincere and strong, judging by
a life so full of feeling." " If I do," he answered,
with some confusion, " it will be the first time
for me to read my work to others. Will you come
in to tea to-morrow evening? and, if I have the
courage, I will." " Thank you/' I said, and with
that we parted for the night.

CHAPTER XII
A SURPRISE

ON the following evening I did not return
until nearly six o'clock, knowing that my
new friend would not be in until that time. I
had been thinking of him all day, and wonder-
ing what kind of subjects he made poetry of.
He was very plain and simple in his speech, but
perhaps his writing would be more ornamental.
I was almost sure of one thing, that he would
not spoil his work by too many conceits. If he
wrote from his own life's experience, his sub-
jects would be grim; and if he was a man pf
genius his language would be terse, befitting such
subjects. Again, he was a man without education,
so that I did not expect any idle play of similes
and cunning word-tricks, but the reverse. I had
not the least doubt but that he was an able
man; his dreams could not have survived years of
poverty, except that he was a born poet who
would not release them until death.

92

A Surprise 93

My thoughts were still on this subject when
I heard the Westminster clock strike six, and as
it was doing so I heard my friend's step on the
stairs. I opened my door to greet him when he
arrived on the top. " I have been reading some-
thing of interest, and am late," he said in a tone
of apology; "but it will not take long to make
a pot of tea, so let us go in." After he had
opened his door I followed him in and sat in
the window, out of his way, while he set fire to
a few sticks and boiled the water. In less than ten
minutes he had everything prepared, the tea ready
to be poured out, and a loaf of bread with butter
on the table, and a cake which he had then
brought in.

During tea we talked of the small matters of
the day, but when that was over, and he had
cleared the things away, we both lit our pipes
and settled to some subject more serious. But
in spite of that he seemed to have forgotten
why I -was there, for I saw him make no attempt
to get his manuscripts. At last I mentioned this,
saying, " You promised to read me some of your
work." " I did," he answered, with some con-
fusion; "but I am a bad reader, and I know
you will not be able to follow me. However,

94 A Weak Woman

I will try to make you understand, not with much
hope of success, but because I have promised
you." Saying this, he opened a sfcnall book which
he took from his coat pocket, and after doing
this he began turning over the leaves, backward
and forward, as though he had lost confidence
in what was his best, which naturally he preferred
to read aloud. At last he decided on one, and
introduced it by saying that its subject was the
outcast — the man that becomes so very poor that
he at last thanks God when he finds a dirty sack
to warm his limbs and cover his nakedness. After
this short introduction he began to read, and
though his voice was uncertain at first, his sub-
ject possessed him almost immediately. It was
a terrible picture of the outcast. He made me see
the old man lying on the cold stones ; and then
I saw him rise with his stiffened limbs and, like
a little child, practise walking, with his hand
against a wall. And after that I saw the old
man sitting, coughing so hard that he almost
stunned himself by striking his head against a
seat. The poem was brief, with only three verses,
and the language was very simple. " Do you
like that?" he asked after he had done reading,
and while he was turning over the leaves to find

A Surprise 95

something else. " Very much," I answered, and
could not say another word for surprise. Nor
did not seem to expect more, for he felt that he
had written on a subject he knew well, better
than any man that might listen to him. Flattery
was out of place on a subject of that kind.

" I have deep sympathy with these poor out-
casts," said my new friend after reading this
poem. " If I were a great millionaire I would
rent a large house in the busiest thoroughfare, and
after getting together about two hundred homeless
wretches — old men and women made feeble-minded
by hunger, cold, and sleepless nights—have them
bedded, boarded, and clothed. Very well, then.
These men and women should have no work to
do for the remainder of their lives. All I would
like them to do would be to sit in the windows
all day, jeering and making faces at people in the
street who used to pass them by with indiffer-
ence. I would like to give them a chance to do
this for their own sweet enjoyment, after having
suffered so cruelly in the past; and it would
please me very much to watch and listen to
them."

After a short pause he began reading again,
and this time it was a poem on nature. This

96 A Weak Woman

subject, which he treated in a joyful mood, was
a strange contrast to the other, but he seemed
to use the same restraint in his songs of joy as
in his songs of misery. And after that he read
a love poem, but I did not like that so well
as the others. Perhaps it was because of a certain
hardness that came into his voice, as though he
had determined now to let no emotion escape
him. Whatever it was, it was plain that he made
no effort to make the poem impress me. After
reading this he shut the book suddenly, saying,
" I have done," and began to fill his pipe.

"How I wish I could read your work in print,"
I said, " so that I could give it time and justice.
I hope to be able to do so before long." When
he heard this he shook his head despondently,
saying that a new author had to pay money for
the privilege of addressing the world, which I
knew to be the truth. " Yes," I answered, " and
even after he has done so it often requires some-
thing other than merit to sell his books. For
instance, he must be falsely imprisoned, pr arrested
mad, reciting his own work in the street; but
even then it would be of no use if his book was
not already in print.

My companion agreed to this and asked me,

A Surprise 97

laughing, how I would make an author known if
his work had merit and he was neglected. "There
are scores of ways," I answered. " I would fasten
my arms around him when we were in the act
of crossing a 'bridge, and hold him until the police
came. Then he would be arrested, charged with
attempting suicide, be released, and everybody
would buy his book. Or I would take him to
some well-known building, like St. Paul's, that
was under repair, and had scaffolding outside.
Having arrived, he would mount the scaffold and
sit on one of the platforms. When he had done
that I would stand staring up at him, until a
number of people did likewise. * That,' I would
say, when a sufficient number of people were
there, ' there is the author of the Haberdasher's
Apprentice.' * The author of the Haberdasher's
Apprentice, my dear,' says a gentleman to his
wife. ' Yes,' I would say, addressing them in
distinct tones, ' yes ; if ever there was a great
man, he is one. And how he has suffered ! See
how the hair is sticking through the holes in his
cap ! Those holes were made by rats, when the
poor fellow had no other than an empty house to
sleep in. You will read all about it in his book.'
' What do you say the name of it is?.' asks the

n

98 A Weak Woman

voice of a lady. After telling her I begin again,
saying, ' To think that such a man should have
been forced to tramp the hard streets until he
came to the condition in which you see him now,
almost without a boot or stocking to his feet. You
will read all about it in his book, which is called
the Haberdasher's Apprentice.''

" Now by this time there would be thousands
of people there, and no doubt he would be tired
of his strange position. So, to bring matters
to an end', I would say, ' Ladies and gentlemen,
that man is not only very poor, but he is afflicted
in other ways. If he took off his right boot
you would see the loss of his big toe. That
toe,1 I would cry in a loud voice, so as to be
heard by the whole multitude, * that toe, ladies
and gentlemen, was frostbitten when he was on
his way to the North Pole, at which place he
intended, if he saw no immediate prospect of
bettering his conditions, to put an end to his
life.' By this time every one present would know
the name of his book, and they would tell others,
and others would do the same, and he would
soon be rich and famous.

" Excuse my making merry on this subject,"
I said, thinking my companion would be dis-

A Surprise 99

pleased. " I only do so to show the kind of
silly tricks that help merit to its reward."

" I was very much amused at your way of
putting it," he answered, "and of course we
all know that it is true. But, to be serious, I
wonder if we could think of some plan by which
I could get these poems published, and take my
chance with other living authors. Surely it is
possible, with so many rich philanthropists in the
world. What do you think of it?"

I was just about to shake my head when an
idea occurred to me suddenly. There was a
certain rich, titled lady, well known for her
philanthropy, who was a writer of books.
Her name was almost as well known as the
Queen's, so that when I mentioned it to my com-
panion he knew it at once. " I have heard,
through the papers, that she is very good," he
said; "but would she not think that it was lack
of merit that kept me back?." " But you must
send her some work and let her judge for her-
self," I answered. " And, if you like, I will
assist you in such a way that the work will attract
her at once, and lead her on to discover its
merit. " How can you do that?." he asked, won-
dering what I could mean. I lost no time in

ioo A Weak Woman

telling him my plan, which was very simple.
This great lady lived in a castle, and she had a
curly-headed little boy. Now I knew that a pic-
ture of the castle, also of the mother and her
boy, would not be difficult to get. Very well,
then. I would get these, and on the cover of
my friend's manuscript I would paint the castle
in the middle and a curly-headed little boy in
each corner. When this was done the MS. would
be sent, with a letter from the author, saying
that he was very poor and wanted assistance to
publish his work. " She will come to your assist-
ance," I said, " for the sake of her little boy,
whom she will recognize in the four corners. Will
you allow me to do this?" "It is very kind
of you," he said with deep feeling, " and I feel
confident of success. When do you think you will
be able to do the part you have so kindly pro-
posed?. I can do mine in about three evenings."
" When I have the picture to copy from I can
do my part in a few hours," I answered; "and
it will be a great pleasure, I assure you. A true
likeness, well finished, of that little boy is sure
to succeed."

We were so well pleased with this little plan
that we could talk of nothing else until bed-

A Surprise

IOI

time. That my companion was eager and full
of hope was apparent by the way he kept to
that subject; in fact, when I left him he said
that he would write for a couple of hours that
night, so that he should not be much behind me
in doing his part.

CHAPTER XIII
THE ONE THING LACKING

r N three days the manuscript was ready for
•*• the post. The poet was much struck with
my portrait of the little boy, saying that it was
as though I had coloured the photograph. I
was very pleased to hear this, for, as I told him,
success depended more on the mother recognizing
her child than on the merit of his verses. If
she recognized the child and the castle there was
no doubt but that my friend's book would soon
be published, for her charity was so well known
that she had often been imposed on by scoun-
drels. " We will post it to her at once," said
my companion, and we both left the house for
that purpose, for fear that one should make some
kind of mistake and it would be lost.

Of course we expected an answer the very
next day, to say that it had been received, but
we did not get any. Days went by until they
became a week, and still we got no acknowledg-

102

The One Thing Lacking 103

ment from the mother of that boy. And when
the second week had come and was almost gone
we began to lose hope altogether. Did the great
lady not recognize her boy and castle, and for
that reason throw the manuscript into her waste-
paper basket? Whatever it was a whole month
went by and we had received no acknowledgment ;
in fact, the poet never heard any more of his
manuscript, in spite of his letter, which was heart-
rending to read. And if the lady had mislaid
or lost the letter there was still the address on
the manuscript. After all our trouble and confi-
dence this plan, which appeared so sensible, came
to nothing and made the poet sadder than ever.
When I saw this I was sorry I had mentioned it.
He had been so confident of success that he had
spent several more nights in making another copy,
wh'ich contained more matter, in readiness for
a publisher. He had neglected his work of ped-
ling and spent money that should have been saved
for stock. When I heard this I of course told
him at once that I was quite rich enough to
get him out of any small difficulties of that kind,
which he was very grateful to know. " Are you
likely to lose customers through not calling on
them?/' I asked. "No," he answered; "I have

104 A Weak Woman

no certain days to call at certain houses, but go
whenever I like and wherever I like." " That be-
ing the case," I said, " suppose you had a day or
two free, to try and sell your work? You must
do this if you want to succeed, and I will help
you with great pleasure." He appeared delighted
at this plan and proposed that, if I were not busy
that day, we should go together, and see what
we could do. To this I agreed, for I was now
so deeply interested in the poet's life and work
that I had become for the time being indifferent
to my own. Perhaps I had better say as well
that I had a lazy bone in my body, and was
always looking for some excuse to neglect my
own work. But I was very willing and eager to
help him to do his. " How shall we begin?"
I asked, having no plans and being afraid to
make any, thinking of how my pictures on his
manuscript had failed to move a great lady to
pity. "How shall we begin?" I asked again,
determined to make no suggestion of my own, but
also determined to help with all my power to
work out his.

My companion sat in deep thought for a time
and then said suddenly, " I have it; we will first
call on the editor of the Weekly Obltterator, who

The One Thing Lacking 105

has had a manuscript of mine for several weeks.
I have not told you this before because, if it were
returned, I wanted to bear the disappointment
myself, and to give you a surprise if it were
accepted. Let us both go, and I will call at the
office and see that man."

When I heard this I was delighted and felt
sure that if my friend could see and speak to that
editor it would be to his advantage. For I had
often read in the columns of the Weekly Oblitera-
tor how willing that great editor was to help poor
and unknown men of talent. I did not suspect
then, what I know so well now, that editors make
these statements — which cannot be uttered too
often— not to encourage authors, or to be read
by them, but to pose as men of feeling before
people that read and do not write. But on this
particular morning, when I and my friend sallied
forth, I had not the least suspicion of this kind.

At last we reached the office of the Weekly
Obliterator, and it was fortunate that I was with
him, for my companion had now lost courage.
" Perhaps," he said, as we both stood outside
the door, " perhaps the editor has not had time
to read it, and I ought to give him another week
or two." "No," I answered, to encourage him,

io6 A Weak Woman

" no, editors always like personal interviews with
authors, for what could be explained by mouth
in a very few minutes would take very much
longer to write." I said this to encourage him,
but was not certain of its truth. He still stood
undecided for several seconds, and then, with a
sudden impulse, made a rush into the office,
leaving me standing there hoping he would be
successful in seeing the great editor of the Weekly
Obliterator.

It must h'aVe been fully twenty minutes before
I saw him again, and when I did my heart sank
within me. He was lopking sadder than ever,
with his manuscript in his hand. When he
reached my side he said quietly, " Come, let us
go." I was so struck with his serious face that
I could not utter one word, and we walked on
for several minutes in silence. After walking in
this silent manner for sprue time my friend
stopped abruptly, and, laying his hand pn my
shoulder, said in a hollow voice, " Friend, I am
done for now." "Nonsense," I answered; "it
is only the judgment of one man. Didn't he like
your work? Others may." " Yes, he did like it,"
said the poet, " but I am damned for ever, and
all through the lack of one thing." "And what

The One Thing Lacking 107

is that?" I asked, thinking it again was money,
although I had never heard of an editor asking
money from his contributors, knowing at the same
time how often they did not pay their contributors.
My companion walked on in a sulky mood and
I waited for an answer. At last he stopped again,
and, looking me wildly in the face, uttered these
words in a very mournful voice, " Friend, I have
no message. Where's my message? I have
none. It is all over." When I heard this I was
very much surprised, and more so when I heard
the poet's account of that interview, which for
some time I could not well understand.

The editor, it seems, had been most lavish in
praising my friend's work, saying that he found
it full of fancy and an imagination of a high
order. " You are a man of real genius, Mr.
Soaring," said the editor, " but unfortunately your
work lacks one thing. As a teacher and guide
to the public, being the editor of a great weekly
journal, I must think of my duty and nothing
else. Your work is beautiful, strong, and good,
but I cannot find any message in it. I am sorry
to return this fine work, but I have failed to
find the one thing which my duty as the editor
of an influential paper makes absolutely neces-

io8 A Weak Woman

sary; for without that I dare not place it before
my readers." " Message ! " cried the poet, " mes-
sage! I did not think it was necessary." "It
is necessary in the twentieth century," answered
the editor, " for we are more particular in these
days. In this age an author must have a message,
or we dare not encourage him, even though he is
a man of fine genius."

When my companion heard this he was eo
bitter and disgusted that he could not help saying,
" I suppose the future century will require an
author to have more messages than one." The
editor took no notice of this sarcastic remark,
but returned my friend his manuscript and ended
the interview.

This was very discouraging, certainly, for my
friend the poet had no clear idea of what was
meant by having a message.

" Do you know," said the poet, as we walked
back to our lodgings, " do you know that I have
never once, in all my life, asked myself whether
I had a message or not? If I have none there is
no hope at all for my work, no matter how good
it is. But what does he mean by a message?"
" It is all nonsense," I answered. " If a man has
an original mind his message to the world is

The One Thing Lacking 109

in that gift. Think no mor;e of it, for the next
man that reads yo;ur work may think different.
You will be successful some day and live to
laugh at this — I am certain of that. What this
foolish man meant was that your subject would
not interest the readers of his particular journal,
and he foolishly took upon himself the opinion
of the whole world."

In spite of this appeal to his common sense
I could see that my friend was greatly dis-
couraged. So much so that I was afraid he
would lose all interest in his work for some time
to come. And when I saw his sulky mood con-
tinue I was almost certain of it. However, I
was deceived in this, for before we reached our
lodgings he came to another sudden pause and
said in a fierce voice, " To-morrow we will go
the round of the publishers, and I will see them
and tell them the nature of my work, until one
of them agrees to read it. Will you come.?"
" Yes," I answered.

After this his spirits were better and we were
soon laughing at the editor of the Weekly Ob-
literator and the message he thought so necessary.
But in spite of this we could not laugh the sub-
ject away, for every now and then the poet would

no A Weak Woman

burst out with expressions like this: "Take any
old writer whose work has lived, can any man
tell what his message was?" Or, "Hasn't every
writer found his message by making his work
live?" Or, "How can any writer work without
having a message? If he thrills us with joy or
pity, isn't that his message? What else is it?"
At last we got so confused on this subject that
neither one of us could understand our own utter-
ances and co'uld go no further. So we walked
on in silence, my companion every now and then
saying "Tut, tut!" and shaking his head, while
I would answer with a short laugh.

CHAPTER XIV
SELLING A MANUSCRIPT

THE next morning I accompanied my friend
when he went to call on the various pub-
lishers. He carried his precious manuscript in
his hand, for it was much too large to go into
his pocket. On this particular occasion he did
not prepare his own breakfast, but had it with me
in a: restaurant on our way to the East End,
for we knew that Paternoster Row was the prin-
cipal centre of the book trade. So we made our
way in that direction, swearing that we would not
return to our lodgings until my friend had re-
ceived some kind of offer for his work. What
shape this offer would take we did not very well
know, but were determined to be careful in what
we did. " Whatever you do," I said as we went
along, " don't sign your name to any paper with-
out first consulting me. You know the old adage,
'Two heads are better than one.'" "But we
must not be greedy," answered my companion,

in

H2 A Weak Woman

" for publishers must live as well as authors. If
a publisher makes an offer of twenty or thirty
pounds and a good royalty to follow, I think it
will be well to accept his terms without more
ado." When I heard this language I was sur-
prised, for my companion should kno<w, if he took
time to think, that a publisher was more likely to
ask a sum than o'ffer one. However, the poet was
in too hopeful a mood to think of this, and I
did not like to remind him of the truth. He was
now smiling happily, as though he were jingling
twenty gold coins in his pocket, with the pros-
pect of many more before long. So I did not
like to change his happy mood by using common
sense.

At last we reached Paternoster Row, where so
many bookshops were — so many that we walked
to and fro several times before we decided which
to try first. I had noticed one small shop with
the door wide open, and in which I saw a man
all alone behind the counter, packing up some
books. Drawing my friend's attention to this,
I said, "' There's a man all alone, packing up
books, and no better chance will be had."
Hearing this, my friend walked in boldly, while
I stood in the open doorway, pretending to look

Selling a Manuscript 113

at the books, but really to hear what passed be-
tween my companion and this man. " I am trying
to sell an MS.," began my friend, "and would
like to know if you would look at it and make
me an offer. " Saying this, he placed the manu-
script on the counter and waited for an answer.
The man first looked at the manuscript and then at
my friend, and seemed at a loss for words. At
last he took the manuscript in his hand and began
to turn over its leaves, more out of curiosity than
to read. *' I do not expect much for my poetry,"
said my friend in a reassuring voice, "for I
am a new writer, and unknown." When he heard
this the man folded his arms and leaned on the
counter, staring into my friend's face, as though
he wondered what kind of man he was. " What
is it about?" he asked at last. My companion
then went on to explain that the short poems
treated of love, nature, and scenes of poverty ; but
that there was one long poem with a plot, which
told how three fairies quarrelled over a mortal,
and the consequence. " I am sure you will like
the way it is treated," said the poet, " whether
you like the subject or not." I could see, from
the corner of my eyes, that the man was still
leaning on the counter, looking at my companion

H4 A Weak Woman

attentively, and not knowing what answer to make.
But when the poet ceased and stood there wait-
ing the man began to cough, and, after making
his body straight, said, " If you take your manu-
script to the West End publishers you are more
likely to get a good offer, for they are more
up-to-date than we are." "Thank you for the
kind suggestion," answered my friend; "I will
go to the West End with it. Good morning,
and thank you." " Good morning," nodded the
other, beginning at once to pack up a fresh lot
of books.

When my companion rejoined me he looked
quite happy. I told him that I had heard every-
thing, and that there was no need to repeat it. But
I congratulated him on having met such a kind
man in the beginning, who told him to go west
and not waste his time among the publishers of
Paternoster Row.

It was a long distance to the West End, so
we took a bus and got out near Covent Garden,
and we were soon in a street full of publishers.
My companion was bolder now, after his experi-
ence in Paternoster Row, and it was not long
before he was inside a publisher's office. Several
minutes passed before he rejoined me, and the

Selling a Manuscript 115

manuscript was still in his hand. However, he
did not look very discouraged, so I asked him if
he had had an offer and would not agree to it.
He answered that he had had no offer at all,
but that a clerk had taken his manuscript up-
stairs, and that it was brought down again by
a very pleasant-looking man, who said in a kind
voice, " We regret to say that we only publish
the poetry of two or three authors who are well
known to us, and for that reason we cannot make
you an offer. Thank you for showing us your
work." These words appeared reasonable, and
the poet understood the point — that the publisher
did not take work from unknown men, whether
there was merit in it or not. So he was not in
the least discouraged.

In a few seconds we came to another office,
and the poet again left me. But it was not
long before he was again at my side, and the
MS. was still in his hand. This time he seemed
a little worried, and began to tell me what had
happened. He had seen a man and had said to
him, " I am trying to sell this manuscript; would
you like to look at it and make me an offer?/'
" I am not the publisher," answered the man,
" and he is not in at present. The best thing

n6 A Weak Woman

you can do is to write to him, telling him the
nature of your work, and asking if you may submit
it. That is the best plan." This was very un-
satisfactory, but there was nothing to be said,
so the poet left. " Perhaps that plan is the best,"
I said, when he had rejoined me. '* Well, if
you think so we will return to our lodgings,"
answered my companion, " and send him a letter.
Let us take his name and address "; which we
did.

I could see that my companion was deeply dis-
appointed over this ill success, and that he was
loth to leave the neighbourhood without having
some satisfaction. So that I was not much sur-
prised when he stopped suddenly in front of
another place and said in a fierce voice, " I'm
damned if I don't try here!" Saying this he
walked boldly in. I began to think now that
publishers did not like interviews with unknown
authors, but preferred their work being sent by
post.

This last place had the door wide open, like
the one in Paternoster Row, so I stood in the
open doorway, looking at the books, and heard
every word that passed between the poet and
the man in charge of the shop. But in spite

Selling a Manuscript 117

of all my attention being inside, I was quite
conscious that all the books I saw in the shop
window were in a foreign language. " Good
morning," I heard my friend say. The man an-
swered by a smile, I suppose, for I heard no
answer. " I am trying to sell a book," my friend
began; "perhaps you would like to see it and
make me an offer." "What name?." asked the
man with a foreign accent. " Henry Soaring,"
answered my companion. "No, no, no!" cried
the other, " I no mean that. Where you from?"
The poet made no immediate answer, for no
doubt he was irritated at being asked these per-
sonal questions, without any mention of his work.
However, after a long pause he said, " My name
is Henry Soaring, and I was born in a small
town called Appleton, in the county of Hereford."
" No good, no good! " cried the other in a voice
of despair. " Who's no good?." shouted the poet,
his temper getting the better of him. " Why
don't your master leave some one in charge who
can talk and understand English?- What has my
name or the town I come from to do with the
merit of my work?." " I ask you for name," said
the man, "and you tell me wrong; I never hear
it before. I ask you where you come from, and

n8 A Weak Woman

you tell me some town, and no firm. You no
understand— go away." When my companion
heard this he stood thunderstruck for a long time.
At last he shouted, "You're a fool!" but made
no attempt to leave the shop. But when I heard
the man's next words I knew it was time to
step in and get my friend away, for the foreigner
had turned to a boy that was standing near and
said, "Fetch policeman." As soon as I heard
this I entered the shop and, taking my friend's
arm, said, " Come, this is a foreign bookshop,
and they don't buy English writing here." " But
this man is an idiot," answered the poet, with-
out making a move. However, after glaring at
the bookseller for a short time, he turned on his
heels and followed me out. I was very glad
when we were out of that neighbourhood.

It was clearly a misunderstanding between these
two men. No doubt the bookseller had thought
my companion came as the agent of some firm
of publishers, and when he had asked for a name
he did not want to know the agent's. And when
he had asked where my friend came from, he
thought he was putting it more clearly, and was
surprised to hear the name of a small town in
the county of Hereford; in fact, I began to see

Selling a Manuscript 119

now that there was not only a great difficulty
in selling a manuscript, but that if we were not
very careful we would both find ourselves in jail.
Thinking of this I persuaded my companion to
drop his MS. into a publisher's post-box, which,
after due preparation, he did. After that was
done we went to dinner, and having had a good
one, and a couple of glasses of ale after it, we
began to laugh at publishers, and did not spare
ourselves either. I may as well say here that
this manuscript was returned to the author in
a very short time. The publisher regretted that
he could not make an offer, and recommended
the author to read certain books, which could
be had direct from him or ordered through any
bookseller.

In spite of these disappointments I still had
confidence in my friend's work, for I knew very
well how often good work had to struggle hard
to succeed. " Wait," I said to him that night,
when we sat in his room smoking, " wait until I
finish my battle-scene, and I will soon get you the
money to be your own publisher. Trouble no
more about others, but rely on me. The picture
will be done in a couple of months and, when
it is sold, you will not have to come to me— I

120 A Weak Woman

will come to you. Your chance will come soon,
rely on me for that."

We sat together for a long time that night,
smoking and making plans. The poet was deter-
mined to begin no fresh work until he had dis-
posed of the old. " I need some encourage-
ment," he said, " to inspire me to new work.
Poverty writes a good first book, but miserably
fails when it has to write a second. In our
early training poverty makes us strong and active,
and if it leaves us soon we remain in that fine
condition. But if it still remains our instructor
we become over-trained and too weak to extend
ourselves. I never felt so hopeless before."

I wished him good night, saying, " Your book
will be published before the summer is gone.
Have no fear, but rely on me." He did not
answer, but gave a melancholy smile. I could
see that he believed in my intentions, but doubted
my power to make them good.

CHAPTER XV
VAGABONDS

THE next day was Thursday, and I was rather
late in getting up — so late that I was sur-
prised to hear my companion in his room, for
he had generally gone by that time. While I
was thinking of this I heard his door open, and
I expected to hear him on his way downstairs.
But instead of that he knocked at my door, which
I opened at once. " Are you busy?" he asked,
after the usual greetings. " No," I answered ;
"why? Have you any plans for the day?"
" Yes," he said. " If you care to see something
of the City with me perhaps I may be able
to tell you a few things of interest. My experi-
ence of yesterday has taken all energy out of
me and I am going to leave my pack idle until
the beginning of next week." " I am very glad
of company," I answered, " especially with a man
like you, who must know so much." Hearing this
he sat down and waited until I was ready, which

121

122 A Weak Woman

was in a very short time; in fact, I only had to
comb my hair and put on my hat and coat, and
was then ready to start.

When we got downstairs the front door was
open, and a woman was standing there looking
out. Judging by her form it was our landlady,
Mrs. Figgs. When she heard our steps behind
her she turned sideways to give us room to pass.
" Good morning," said she in a strange voice that
drew my attention. It was Mrs. Figgs, without
a doubt, but it was not the voice I had been
accustomed to. And when I heard this, and
looked at her for some reason that it should be
so, I saw that it was not the face that had greeted
me before. Yes, it was Mrs. Figgs — without her
false teeth. She now had sharp, pinched features
that appeared out of proportion to her body, which,
as I have already said, was round and fat; in
fact, she looked now what she was — a mean, avari-
cious woman. Her cheeks were hollow, her lips
were thin and loose, and her mouth looked cruelly
small. However, there was nothing in her face
to horrify a man— although it was far from pleas-
ing— if he had never seen the same face otherwise.
What startled me was to know that this was Mrs.
Figgs, and no other. This change in a woman's

Vagabonds

123

face filled my imagination at once, and I could
not help thinking of it several times during the
day. I could well understand now the dumb
despair of the Major when his landlady came
into his room with a different face and a differ-
ent voice. I could never believe, until this
moment, that teeth could make such a great
difference in a person's expression. Where was
that full, benevolent smile with which she had
greeted me on the first day? Where was that
voice which pronounced its words so distinctly and
with such smooth deliberation? This woman, with
her sharp features, with a thin, weak voice that
could not say " good morning " plainly, was the
same smiling, kind-looking, round-featured woman
who had greeted me with a smooth, clear voice.
This was a most disagreeable surprise, and I
felt quite upset, and told my friend so. But he,
happy man, had taken no notice of either the
landlady's voice or face, and could, not understand
my feelings, any more than I could when the
Major had told me his.

When we were in the streets it suddenly oc-
curred to me to ask my companion how so many
men, such as paper-sellers, toy-venders, board-
carriers, etc., were made in the first place, and

124 A Weak Woman

whether such men ever looked for better work.
" Are they afflicted in some way, and can no
longer do the work they have been accustomed
to?" I asked, pointing to three middle-aged men
who were carrying boards. " As for how they
were first made what they are is very simple,"
answered my companion. "That man with the
red beard, whom I know, wa>s a carpenter by
trade. But he got out of a job and could not
get another after three months, and his savings
were then exhausted. Very well, then; he had to
do something to earn bread, and for the time
being became a sandwichman. And when you
once become a sandwichman, and leave a private
home for a common lodging-house, you not only
have no time to look for work at your own trade,
but soon lose all desire for it — in short, you be-
come a sandwichman for the rest of your life.
The same thing applies to the paper-seller, toy-
vender, and men that do nothing at all — tramps.
The history of that man with the red beard ap-
plies to all the others. If the conditions of labour
were better, so that a man could get honest work
in a few weeks, before his savings are gone,
he would never become one of these." " Do
you believe in legislation for such men?" I asked.

Vagabonds 125

" No," laughed my friend; " you can do nothing
with them now, except to build large institutions
and make them work as prisoners, for they are
now quite satisfied with what they are. It is not
worth the expense and trouble of doing that.
When men can get honest work in a few weeks
vagrancy must die, and our object should be to
make it more easy to do so, and not trouble about
the tramp that is already made. When times are
better vagrancy will die out, without our making
any efforts to suppress it. These men have become
so weary and dull that they would rather starve
than do steady work. But if they could have
found it within a few weeks when they were
trying hard, and still had their social ties, there
would be no able-bodied men in our gutters sell-
ing papers, toys, and carrying boards, and holding
horses and babies outside public-houses, or tramp-
ing our hard country roads."

I was very much struck with one part of this
speech, which was a mystery to me. "I quite
understand your reference to men holding horses
outside public-houses," I said, " but what do you
mean by men holding babies, or did I misunder-
stand you?" "What!" he laughed, "don't you
know that vagrants have just taken advantage of

i26 A Weak Woman

a new law? But why should you — you are from
the country, and know nothing of how vagrants
live in a large city. Look! There is a baby-
holder across the road." On hearing this I
looked across the street, and there I saw a ragged
man standing outside a public-house. This man
had a baby on his right arm, and his left hand
held a perambulator, in which there was a baby
asleep. Of course I did not think for one mo-
ment that this man was the father of those two
babies, so I asked my friend what the meaning
of it was. " You have heard about the new
law which prohibits publicans from serving drink
to women that have young children with them?"
he asked. " Yes," I answered, " and a good law
it is." " Well, that man used to sell laces outside
that public-house, but one day a woman rushed
up to him and placed her baby in his arms. The
man was astonished, as you may well believe ; but
seeing her go into the public-house, he, instead
of following her in, waited outside until she re-
turned. In a few minutes she came out and,
taking the baby again, said, ' Thank you very
much,' and gave him a penny. This opened his
eyes to a new business. In less than a week
after he no longer stood outside that house try-

Vagabonds 127

ing to sell bootlaces, but waiting to help mothers
to quench their thirst. He has taken advantage of
the new law, and it is not often that he is seen
idle, without a baby in his charge which belongs
to some thirsty mother. He is now a baby-holder,
well known to all the mothers of this neighbour-
hood."

When I heard this I could see well that these
men, after once being cast adrift, would do any-
thing rather than work steady for one master.
The old respectable life had gone, and they would
make no effort to regain it. Again, if they had
any desire to do so, their rags would damn their
efforts. They would never have a chance until
every man went naked.

Thinking of these matters, we reached the Em-
bankment, the Blackfriars end. I was still plying
my companion with questions when, all of a sud-
den, I became aware of a man's voice behind me
saying, " Buy a pennyworth of fishes to feed the
poor birds!" Of course I understood at once
that he meant the gulls that were flying in a
circle over the Thames. But what struck me
was the deep feeling in the man's voice. I had
never before heard such a pathetic note uttered
in a public thoroughfare, and turned my head

128 A Weak Woman

to see what the man was like. When I looked
I saw a ragged, low-looking fellow with a basket
that contained a number of little bags full of small
fishes, which people bought and threw to the birds.
'* I know that man," said my companion; " I
used to live with him in the same lodging-
house. He drinks as much as he can get hold
of, and if he has one bag left this evening, after
making a good day's profit, he would rather keep
it until to-morrow than give it to the birds. And
if you came here to-morrow on the same errand —
to sell fishes to feed the poor birds — that man
would fight you. He is a low, drunken black-
guard, but can always manage to get money some-
how."

When my companion had told me this man's
hard character, and I had again heard the deep
pathos of his cry, I could not help laughing out-
right. As I walked along those pathetic words
began to haunt me. Every now and then I could
hear that tender cry, " Buy a pennyworth of fishes
to feed the poor birds!" I was so much struck
with it that I determined to return next day and
hear it again. The man was so false, and his
voice sounded so sincere. The tender emphasis
he put on the adjective " poor " could not be

Vagabonds 129

forgotten when once heard. I should remember
it as long as I had life, I felt sure of that.

It was now noon, and we began to think of a
cheap place for dinner. My companion knew of
one in Waterloo Road, so we left the Embank-
ment and crossed the river, with the intention of
remaining on the south side of the City for
the rest of the day. " I hope you will meet
some more strange men you know," I said, " for
I am very interested to know something (about
them." "No doubt I shall," he answered, "for
I lived in a common lodging-house for several
years, and, although these men have forgotten me,
I still know their faces and characters well. Per-
haps they have not forgotten me, but not seeing
me in a cpmmon lodging-house now, think that
I am in too proud a position to acknowledge
them. Whatever it is, they do not speak; and
I would not speak to them as long as I am too
poor to help them. It would be a pity to renew
their acquaintance, which would lead them to
expect some help, and then to leave them dis-
appointed after all. It would be a great pity
to do that, but I would like to speak to some of
them very much."

CHAPTER XVI
PETTICOAT ALLEY

A^TER we had done dinner we entered the
New Cut, Lambeth, with the intention of
making our way to the Borough, to which it
was a straight road. " This is an unpleasant
street," I said, " with so many venders of meat
and fish, and so many public-houses in which
men and women are drinking together. And see
how poor and shabby the people look, and few
of them are clean. These people must have
wretched homes." " Yes," answered my com-
panion, " they are never happy except when they
are drinking, and although they have homes, they
are as hopeless as those that have none. It is
impossible to teach them a different life, and
we must not waste time and money on them. We
must attend to the children, and let the old die out
as they are ; the same as tramps must die out when
men that seek work can find it in a short time.
We must see to the education of the young,

130

Petticoat Alley 131

and the old order of things must die out in a
few years. To make one of these people re-
spectable would be a miracle. Their childhood
was wretched, and when they have been drinking
for twenty or thirty years it is almost impossible
to make them better women and men." " But,"
I said, " you cannot very well help the children
while their parents tie them to such wretched
conditions." " It can be done in spite of that,"
answered my friend. " The young people can
attend classes and parties, and can take pride
in themselves; and when they marry, or their
parents die, they will want far better homes than
they have had. The result of this plan of at-
tending to the young is already to be seen, al-
though it is not developed yet. For you can often
see smartly dressed, well-mannered, and well-
spoken girls and boys, whose homes are still with
ignorant, drunken parents in the slums. One
thing is most certain— you will never persuade
those parents to lead a different life. However,
the example of their children often acts as a
check on them, and makes them ashamed to
openly indulge in their lifelong weaknesses."

While he was talking a certain thing came
under my notice that surprised me. I saw that

is2 A Weak Woman

although this thoroughfare was so wretched and
the people looked so poor, yet, for all that, there
were quite a large number of poor men standing
in the gutter selling trifles, crippled or blind,
and singing or playing some kind of instrument,
and often doing both. And not only these, but
barrel-organs, in charge of strong, able-bodied
men, were coming and going all the time. I
drew my companion's attention to this, and told
him that I thought it strange in such a poor
street. " There is nothing strange about it," an-
swered my companion, "for these poor musicians
make the street lively and attract customers to
the shops. For that reason the shopkeepers are
always ready with their pennies. Again, you know
how good the poor are to help the poor; if they
can afford it they will always give a halfpenny
to one of these blind or crippled men. But I
am sorry to say that they are too often filled
with that strange pity that comes from drink.
Look!" he cried quickly; "probably there is an
instance of what I mean."

When I looked I saw nothing but people pass-
ing, and told him so. " No matter," he an-
swered, " I will tell you what happened. A dirty,
ill-dressed slattern came out of that public-house,

Petticoat Alley 133

and, seeing a poor beggar standing there selling
bootlaces, gave him some money. Now, drink
affects women in two ways: it either makes them
hysterically happy or hysterically sad. Very well,
then. This woman is in the latter state, and she
is ready to weep at anything. But the cruel part
of this is that she is probably giving away money
that should be spent on her own home. For most
likely that woman's children are without boots
and stockings, all in rags, and cannot get enough
to eat. I am sorry to say that many a good deed
of that kind would not be done if it were not
for drink. They help strangers while their own
children cannot have clothes or enough to eat."

When we reached the Borough my companion
said suddenly, '* By the way, I would like to
take you through a narrow passage, which is only
a few yards from here. It connects the Borough
with some dirty, back slums, and is not known
or used by strangers; in fact, it is so narrow
and insignificant that strangers would think it
was meant for the back of the houses on both
sides, and would never think of going into it.
However, if you stand and look you will see some
typical slum creatures going in and coming out.
I don't know, what its name is, but I call it

134 A Weak Woman

Petticoat Alley, owing to what I have seen there.
The thing I saw is so common in that passage
that you may have a chance to see it without
waiting long. I have seen it done often, for
I used to live in those back slums, and used
that passage every day as a short cut to the
Borough. It is only a few yards from where
we are."

In a few moments my companion stopped in
front of a narrow passage, which was about the
breadth of two men's bodies, and no more. Look-
ing up the passage, I saw a woman who seemed to
be in difficulty with her clothes, and I was about to
walk on, saying to my companion, " There is a
woman in the passage now, and her clothes have
become undone; let us go, and return after
awhile." " Follow me," answered my companion,
and strode up the passage. We passed the woman
with some difficulty, and she said, laughing, and
stepping out of her petticoat, " I am dying for
a drink." We made no answer to this, but passed
on. But when we got to the end of the passage
and saw before us a large open space, my com-
panion stopped and said, "Look! there she goes
into the pawnshop with her petticoat in her
hand."

Petticoat Alley 135

Up to the present I had not understood, but
now, when I turned and saw that woman going
into a side-door, it became clear to me. I had
often heard of men taking the shirts off their
backs so as to buy drink, but here was a narrow,
passage where it was quite common to see women
taking off their petticoats for the same purpose.
This passage had a pawnshop on one side and
a public-house on the other, and both these houses
had side-doors; and a woman could slip off her
petticoat, pawn it, and be in the public-house
in a minute or two. Of course these women were
half-drunk when they did this, and would not
take time to go to their homes, which were not
far away. I had noticed, when we were in the
passage, that the side-door of that public-house
was wide open, and that it led into a room that
was full of drinking women of the very lowest
class. Everything was so tempting and convenient
that I 'almost excused those women for what they
did, and blamed the law instead, that granted
licences for two houses to stand together under
such conditions. Here was a dark, narrow pas-
sage, never used by decent strangers, and where
a man could take off his shirt and a woman her
petticoat; and here was the side-door of a pawn-

is6 A Weak Woman

shop, and, facing it, three feet away, was the
side-door of a large public-house. It was a great
combination to ruin private homes.

As we went into those back slums I saw the
pale, ragged, and half-starved children that were
the sufferers. " When I see this," I said to my
companion, " I feel inclined to banish drink from
me for ever." "Yes," he answered; "I drink
very little now, for I have seen what foolish slaves
it makes of us. For instance, the landlord of that
public-house is one of the most brutal of men.
Every one of his many customers has cause to
know this, for every hour he is throwing either
a drunken man or woman into the gutter, and
yet they go to him again with their money.
Landlords and landladies of public-houses soon
lose respect for a familiar face; the respectful
4 sir ' is soon dropped for a curt ' good morning '
or ' good evening. ' Drink, like death and sleep,
can be called a leveller of men; it makes the
great man level himself with the low, and makes
the low man rise to familiarity with the great.
For if a man of position drinks with his in-
feriors, he soon loses his power to command re-
spect; he becomes the common talk of a public-
house, and the men drop the 'Mr.' and call him

Petticoat Alley 137

by his surname. Whereas another man, who never
drinks with his men, and who may not be in
such a good position as the other, is respected,
although he may be disliked. And what a nuis-
ance these public-house acquaintances are ! A
man to whom you have done no more than nod
will meet you in the street and want to shake
hands with you. He stops you when he is drunk,
and you are sober and with a lady. Perhaps,
after all, seeing that so few people can take one
glass and enjoy it without craving for more, the
world would be the better without drink. It too
often leads women to infidelity; but, of course,
very few women ever enter a public-house for
the first time except in the company of a man
and at his instigation, so that a young husband
is much to blame for the evil that follows. It
too often raises the brutal passions in a man
to take advantage of the weak. Say what we
like in praise of ale or wine, and laugh at our
weaknesses, yet the truth must be faced that no
woman's life is safe with a man that drinks, and
no man can trust in the honour of a woman that
does the same. People under the influence of
drink may be as quiet as lambs and as merry as
birds, but one word or look from another can

138 A Weak Woman

make a strange and unreasonable difference in
them. A dog or a cat may be treated kindly so
long as it remains patient under a drunkard's
play, but let the poor thing, hurt, show the least
sign of anger, and the man's brutality is seen
at once; in fact, I dread to see a dumb creature
anywhere near a drunken man, in spite of his
apparent fondness for it. I often wish that ill-
treated donkeys, mules, and horses would kick to
death their drunken drivers when they had them
in the stables, with no room to escape. I would
not be very sorry to hear of that."

The day was still young, it being no more
than three o'clock, and we did not intend to return
to our lodgings until after tea. So we crossed
over Southwark Bridge and made our way past
St. Paul's towards Trafalgar Square. On Lud-
gate Hill my companion nodded to several street
hawkers, who nodded in return, but did not make
any further advance. Perhaps the reason was
that they did not know what to make of me, for
they all gave a good stare. No doubt my clothes,
being new and good, and my companion's old and
shabby, set them wondering what could be be-
tween us. And they were not the only ones, for
I saw several policemen with their eyes on us,

Petticoat Alley 139

and many a stranger looked hard as we passed.
It was only now that I began to notice this,
and I hoped with all my heart that it would
escape my companion. I was afraid every moment
that a policeman would come forward and, grasp-
ing my companion by the shoulder, say, " Where
are you taking that young gentleman?" Whether
my companion noticed people's looks or not I
cannot say, all I know is that he went on talk-
ing in his usual easy way.

CHAPTER XVII
PUNCH

WE made our way through Fleet Street into
the Strand, and were soon in Trafalgar
Square. Now while we were standing talking,
leaning against the low wall around a fountain,
my companion nudged me and, making a motion,
said, " There stands the merriest little man in
all London." Looking in the direction in which
he had pointed, I saw a short, stout man, ill-
dressed, standing in the Square, looking at a
paper he had in his hand. As I was looking I
saw him shaking with laughter at something he
saw in that paper. After which he turned over
a page, when he saw something that again made
him laugh heartily. He enjoyed himself so much
this time that he held the paper in one hand and
used the other to clap himself on the knee. I
could see, from where I stood, his round red face
shining for joy and his head nodding with laugh-

140

Punch 141

ter. " Who is he?" I asked, smiling to see him
in such a happy mood in spite of the patches
on his clothes, which were torn. I judged him
to be about middle-age. His boots had a rusty
look, his clothes were old and shabby, and his
hair was sticking out of a large hole in his cap.
But this little man had such a cheerful look that
I was surprised at it. " He appears to be enjoy-
ing life," I said. " Who is he, and what does
he do?" "He is only a poor sandwichman,"
answered my companion, " and those that know
him call him Punch. But in spite of the hard
life he leads, being often without food in the
day and a bed at night, nothing can make him
sad. When I first met him it was in a common
lodging-house, and he was the only real working
man living there. How he got to such a low place
is a mystery, for, although he was no more than
an unskilled labourer, yet he earned enough to
live in respectable private lodgings. But I have
often heard him pour ridicule on relations, so
perhaps the mystery is partly explained. Very
well, then. This man finished his job, which
was only temporary, and had to seek another.
He had a few pounds saved, and not being fond
of drink was sure that he could find work before

A Weak Woman

all his money was gone. For two months he
tried and failed, and then his money gave out.
So he had to do something or starve, and became
a sandwichman. And, as I have said before,
when men are driven to do these things from
necessity, they never make any effort to regain
their lost position. He is now a sandwichman,
earning one and twopence a day, and the one
ambition of his life is to carry boar,ds for a
certain firm that not only pays as much as one
and threepence a day, but also gives their men a
cup of tea and a bun. Although he had failed
to get this position — as he told me a month ago
— he was still the same merry little man. A night
out is nothing to him: he takes it as a matter of
course. If he sees a few scraps of a comic
paper on the ground — which is a quite common
sight — he saves them till night, and then reads
them, laughing under the street lamp. Nothing
can make him care."

I was deeply interested in this merry little
fellow, who still seemed intent on his dirty copy
of a comic paper. " Let us speak to him," I
said to my companion. " We will," he answered,
" and invite him to have tea with us, for he is
idle to-day, and no doubt is hungry and penniless.

Punch 143

He is sure to rep&y the few coppers spent on
him by relating a,n anecdote worth hearing; for
his mind is always ready to relate something he
has either heard or read."

In a few moments we stood before Punch, and
he looked up to see who we were. He recog-
nized my companion at once and cried in a cheer-
ful voice, "Hallo! where have you been for so
long?." " Come and have a cup of tea and a
bun with us," answered my companion, " and
we will say more then." When Punch heard this
he put the paper into his pocket and prepared
to follow us, saying, " Good luck to the both
of you."

It was no.t long before we were seated in a
cheap coffee-house, with three large cups of tea
and some penny scones on the table. " This is
more than I expected," said Punch, and began
to eat. I saw that he was hungry by the large
mouthfuls he swallowed without the help of drink.
When I saw this I passed on to him one of my
scones, saying, " One is enough for me." He
looked grateful for this, but ate and said nothing
more for some time. But when he had eaten
a scone and a half he became more easy and,
turning to my companion, said, " Did I ever tell

144 A Weak Woman

you of a strange experience I had a few years
ago, when I was at Brighton?" " No matter
if you have," answered my companion, " it will
be new to my friend."

Of course I understood at once that Punch
wanted to give me some pleasure to repay me
for the money I had spent; but I also understood
that he took a delight in telling a story. So when
he looked at me, I smiled and said, " I would
like to hear it very much."

" Ten years ago," he began, after clearing
his throat, " I was earning good money as a
bricklayer's labourer. I was never without work,
and the consequence was that when holidays came
I always had a few pounds to go away with for
a day or two. For I did not drink much, and
wanted to escape my fellow- workmen who did.
Not only that, but I wanted to see strange towns.
So one fine Whitsun Monday I took train for
Brighton, with the intention of staying there over-
night and returning the next day. I had never
been in Brighton before, and walked about very
much interested in all I saw. But when night
came, and I had to think of a place in which to
sleep, I 'did not feel at all comfortable, for it was
not often that I had slept in a strange place. And

Punch 145

you must remember that I was only a brick-
layer's labourer, and could not afford anything
better than an ordinary inn. I had seen several
places that appeared on a level with my position,
but dilly-dallied until at last the lateness of the
hour made me enter one and tell the landlord my
wants. After paying for my bed I ordered a
glass of beer, lit my pipe, and sat smoking for
some time; after which I went to bed, the land-
lord showing me the way.

" Now I was not a nervous man and, in spite of
my strange surroundings, was soon fast asleep. But
I had not been asleep long when I suddenly became
conscious of a hand on my face. I was startled,
as you may well believe, for all my life I had
been a plain, matter-of-fact man, laughing when
people mentioned ghosts. When I became con-
scious of this hand on my face I reached out, and
could feel by its form that it was the hand of a
woman. However, I soon got over the shock,
and was fast asleep again in a short time. But
how long I slept I cannot say — perhaps two hours,
perhaps three. One thing was certain, I woke
again and felt that hand on my face. You can
imagine my feelings. Again my limbs trembled,
and every nerve in my body thrilled. For the
L

146 A Weak Woman

second time I reached out, and could feel by its
form that it was the hand of a woman. This
happened, I believe, about three times, the last
occasion being in the morning. Three times my
sleep was disturbed by the hand on my face, and
on each occasion I could feel by its form that it
was the hand of a woman.

" As soon as I was downstairs the next morn-
ing I left with all haste, for I did not like to
tell the landlord what had happened to me in his
house. It was a strange experience, one that
would make me remember Brighton for many a
long day."

" It was certainly a strange experience," I said,
seeing Punch make a long pause, and thinking
the story was done. " It was," answered Punch,
swallowing a mouthful of cake and taking a
drink of tea, "it was; but wait, for the strang-
est part is t,o follow." Punch sat eating arid
drinking for a couple of minutes, I should think,
and then began again. I could not help but
notice that his eyes were brighter and his face
shone more than ever, but did not know the
cause. Perhaps it was because his belly was
satisfied; or it might have been the excitement
caused by the recital of a very strange experience

Punch 147

that had happened to himself, and which he knew
tp be nothing but the truth.

" Three years after that/' he began, " I was
about to take another holiday, and decided that
it should be spent at Brighton. , Of course I
had not forgotten my former experience in that
town, but that 'did not matter in the least. Now,
as I have said, I was not a hard drinker, but
being a strong healthy man, who never neglected
food, I could drink several glasses without showing
any effects. And, of course, on a holiday every
man that drinks at all oversteps his usual allow-
ance. Therefore don't be surprised when I say
that before noon I had had several glasses of
ale. And even after I had had a good dinner
I still felt somewhat careless and muddled.

" It must have been about two o'clock when
I decided to have another drink, and for that
purpose I marched into the first public-house I
came to. • Now, although I had taken notice
that it was a public -house, I had not taken any
notice of its peculiar features; so that you may
guess my surprise when, being inside, something
about the place seemed familiar. And when the
landlord came forward I saw at once that I
was in the house where I had slept three years

148 A Weak Woman

before, and had felt a hand on my face. How-
ever, it was too late now, so I ordered a glass
of ale, at the same time looking hard at the land-
lord. But whether he recognized me or not, he
did not make any sign.

" I was standing there, looking quite innocent,
confident that the landlord did not remember me,
when I suddenly heard a side-door open, and
wh&n I turned my head I saw a woman standing
in the doorway, with a little boy at her side.
Something seemed to tell me that there was going
to be trouble in that strange house, so I picked up
my glass, finished the ale, and turned towards the
front door. But before I could go three steps
this woman rushed forward, clutched my arm,
and cried in a loud voice, '* Stop ! I want you —
you are the father of this child! "

CHAPTER XVIII
RELATIONS

OUR tale has a strange beginning and a
strange ending," I said to Punch, " and
it requires some thought to be thoroughly under-
stood." Punch seemed to be disappointed at these
words and answered, " You will see through it
after a time." Saying this he began to chuckle
hard and to wink at my companion.

Now it suddenly occurred to me to ask this
man, thinking of his lonely life, if he had no
relations near to help him in his most distress-
ful hours. It was very strange that I should
ask this question, for I had quite forgotten my
companion's words, that Punch was fond of pour-
ing ridicule on relations. " Are relations good
to any man?." he asked at once, laughing, and
without the least trace of bitterness. " Take my
advice, young man," he continued, adopting the
tone of a serious old man of experience, " take
my advice, young man, and beware of relations I

149

150 A Weak Woman

For if you rise in the world they will disgrace
you; and if you fall they claim the right to insult
you. It is better to be poor among rich stran-
gers than to be rich among poor relations. But
would you like to hear a story about them?"
" Certainly," I said; "nothing would delight me
more." "Very well, then. I hope you will un-
derstand this," he answered, " for it is not a
ghost story, like the other one I told." After
he had chewed the last piece of cake he finished
his tea, folded his arms on the table, leaned on
them, and began.

" Some years ago we had a great sensation in
the town of my birth, owing to the arrival of
a rich man. This man had gone abroad in his
youth, and after making a large fortune returned
to his people, who were still very poor. How
he made this large fortune was a mystery, for
he had little knowledge of human nature and no
common sense, as will be proved by his later
ventures at home. He did not want money for his
own sake, but often had dreams of how he would
help his people if it should ever come his way.
So he had no sooner made this money than home
he came, filled with a certain happy scheme that
concerned his whole family.

Relations 151

" He lost no time, when he arrived home, in
getting together his scattered relations, and began
in this way : ' My dear relatives, I am going to
build a large mansion, where we can all live in
happiness together — sisters and brothers, their
husbands, wives, and children; mothers and
fathers, uncles, aunts, nieces, and nephews; in
fact, all who are mine by blood and connected
with me by marriage.' On hearing this there
was naturally a great stir, as you may well be-
lieve. Brothers and sisters told their children
to run at once and kiss their uncle. Mary, the
rich man's eldest sister, looked at Maud, who
had married into the family, and with whom she
was not on good terms — Mary, I say, looked at
Maud as much as to say, 'Are you proud now
of marrying into our family?/ Maud of course
understood the look, and tossed her head, as much
as to say, ' No, not even now! '

" However, the children were kissed one by
one and returned to their parents. Mary had
taken particular notice that he had dallied longer
with her children than with the others, and whis-
pered this good news to her husband, but that
simple fellow said that he had not noticed any-
thing of the kind.

A Weak Woman

" After these things had happened the rich man
said, ' My dear relatives, this is not a new idea
with me, no sudden impulse or whim, it is a
dream that has been mine through long years
of poverty, and which I never expected to have
power to make good. It is very pleasant to. see
the different portions of one's family still living
together in their native town, though often miles
apart; then how much more pleasant it will be
to see those portions joined together under one
roof, and in daily communion with each other.'
After he had said this they all parted for their
different homes. Mary thought she saw a very
strong likeness between her eldest boy and her
rich brother, and said so to her husband, but
that simple, honest man said, ' Nonsense, not the
least; it is only your fancy."

" Now it happened that this good man heard
of a fine large mansion to be let, that stood in
its own grounds, and was on the outskirts of the
town. So he went to see this house, became
thoroughly satisfied with it, and made his plans
without delay. Yes, in less than a week the
house was furnished, and the poor relations began
to move in. The good man had already told
them that the house was furnished throughout,

Relations 153

and advised them to bring nothing except what
they valued most. But this advice was not fol-
lowed, for his poor relations thought their goods
too valuable to be given away or left to stran-
gers, and the things were not quite good enough
to sell. One old man, eighty years of age, who
was not a blood relation, insisted, in spite of
the entreaties of sons and daughters, in taking
with him a ton and a half of rusty old scrap-
iron. His explanation was that he was in the
prime of life and could not remain idle, and that
he would make one of the rooms into a smithy,
in which he would do any repairs the house
needed.

" Another, an old woman, insisted on taking
with her a brood of young chicks, and every
dirty rag she possessed.

" However, the good man had prepared a feast,
and after he had shown the different members
of his family their respective rooms, showed them
his own, where he could be found if wanted.
And what a happy household it was on that first
night! The good man smiled all night in his
sleep, and the next morning he visited them and
saw that his work was excellent.

" It was about the third morning after this

154 A Weak Woman

when the good man, who was sitting reading in
his room, heard a sharp knock at the door. Open-
ing it at once he saw the old female relation who
had brought the young brood of chicks. Thinking
she was in need of something, as she must be,
he said, ' Don't be afraid to ask if you want
something done, for I want to make you all as
comfortable as possible.' 'Well, it is like this,'
answered the old dame in a sharp voice, ' I
strongly object to be shoved upstairs, out of the
way, so that I cannot see any life at all.' The
good man had no time to answer this, for there
was a second knock at the door. This time an
old man entered, who began at once, ' Ever since
I have been here I have been annoyed by the
noise of children, who all come downstairs to
play. For that reason I think the people up-
stairs have the best of the bargain.' Hearing
these two complaints the good man became
thoughtful, fearing that his plans had not been
altogether successful. However, he promised to
see to their wants, and they retired, grumbling
in no quiet voice.

"Alas! in less than ten minutes after this a
younger woman burst into the room, without
knocking, and, throwing down an old boot, de-

Relations 155

manded in a shrill voice, ' What do you think
of that?.' He was quite astonished at this, and
did not know what to think. But without loss
of time the woman began to explain. ' I was
standing in all innocence on the stairs,' she said,
1 leaning on the banister, and thinking of many
things, when I heard a voice above me say,
"Eavesdropper! " and before I could recover from
my surprise I was struck in the bosom with a
boot.' On hearing this the good man was as-
tonished. It now occurred to him that the night
before he thought he had heard angry voices, fol-
lowed by the breaking of furniture.

" The next morning he left his room with the
intention of seeing into things, but he had not
gone far when he slipped on a piece of orange-
peel. However, he recovered his balance, not
dreaming the truth, that it had been placed there
as a trap to break the leg of a certain man.,
And soon after this he walked into a bucket of
water at the foot of the stairs, and a little boy
ran away, saying, ' Mother didn't mean it for
you 1 ' And after this the good man saw scratched
faces and broken furniture, and he knew that
the voices he had mistaken for merry were fierce
quarrellings.

A Weak Woman

" He returned to his room and began to think,
but in less than an hour he heard a terrific noise
in the far end of the house, which soon began
to spread. He went out to see what the matter
was, and lo ! the whole place was in a riot, so
bad that he had to send for the police.

" The next day the good man had the mortifi-
cation of seeing his house watched by police-
men all day. He could not endure the thought
of this, and in a few hours was to be seen leav-
ing the town. He was soon on board a ship,
determined to spend the rest of his days alone
in a strange country, and trouble no more about
his relations. That," concluded Punch, " is what
relations will do for you. Take my advice and
keep away from them, and you will be happy,
whether you are poor or rich."

"Where are you going to sleep to-night?"
I asked Punch after he had finished his story.
" A night out," he answered, with a short laugh,
" but that won't kill me after having had this
tea." When my companion heard this he gave
Punch a few pennies, and I did the same.
" Good luck to the both of you! " cried the little
man cheerfully, as we were on our way out. " I
shall get a day's board-carrying to-morrow," he

Relations 157

said, " and earn one and twopence, and if either
of you are in want of anything cojne to me."
This was an extraordinary offer, but I could see
that the merry little fellow meant what he said.

After we had left Punch we crossed the water
again. It still wanted many hours to bedtime,
and we had nothing to return to our lodgings
for. Moreover, we had been walking easy, and
were not tired, although the day had been sultry
and dark. The air began to get fresher and
cooler now, towards night, and the freshness of
the morning returned to us. We also had a glass
of ale, and did not spoil its bracing effect by
another; in fact, I felt so fresh now that I would
have made no objection if my companion had
proposed walking about all night.

CHAPTER XIX
AN EVENING OUT

WE were in the Blackfriars Road, near St.
George's Circus, when my companion
asked me to wait for him while he went into
a shop to buy some tobacco. So I stood on the
pavement outside, looking at the traffic passing
to and fro.

Now it happened that there were several
customers in the shop, and he was a long time
being served. If he had been one minute longer
I would have lost five shillings in a very simple
manner, for he had hardly gone when a man
came to my side, slipped something into my hand,
and said, "Tell me what you think of that."
First I looked at the man, and then at the object
in my hand, which was a heavy ring. The man
was of that certain kind that are only to be found
in large cities, and never seen in villages or small
towns. He was about medium height, and built in
proportion. His face was white and yet not thin,

158

An Evening Out 159

and his skin was soft and smooth. I noticed
that his hand was white, soft, and plump, like
a woman's. And yet, in spite of all this, there
was a certain low, common look about him that
proved he had never been a clerk or shop assistant,
men that would have a little refinement. Very
well, then. If he was not one of these, and
was not a common worker, as his flesh proved,
what was he? I have found out since that this
class of man, whose hands prove that he has
never done hard work, and whose low, common
look proves that he has never served in a shop
or office, is the street arab come into manhood.
He has managed to live somehow by his wits,
which is only possible in a large city or town,
or by travelling among strangers. The man was
dressed in black clothes that were not much the
worse for wear, but they were not a good fit,
which proved that he had either bought them
second-hand, begged, or stolen them. But where
his low character was seen at once was in the
black muffler, which was tied in a knot, and gave
him a ruffian's look. This is the kind of man
that is to be found outside railway stations, watch-
ing everything that is going on, ready to carry a
bag or steal it, and in conversation with pros-

160 A Weak Woman

titutes. However, at this time I knew nothing
about men of this kind, and had no doubt of the
man's honesty, although I did not like the look
of him.

When this man placed a ring in my hand and
confidentially asked my opinion of it I was not
even surprised, for I thought at once of the man
who sympathized with my toothache, and the other
man who mistook me for a passenger on his
old bus. They were both very friendly men,
thought I, and this man is another of the same
kind. The man had asked me a fair and simple
question, and I could do no other than answer it
in the same straightforward and friendly way.
First of all I felt that it was heavy, and, looking
at it close, saw that it was well finished. , " I
believe it is gold," I said at last. " Do you
think so?-" he asked. "Wait a second," I said,
getting nearer to the street lamp, " I will see
if it is stamped." When I looked I saw that
it was marked nine carat, and, weighing it in
my hand, told him that I was certain jt was
gold, without the least doubt, and made an offer
to return it. " Will you give me two shillings
for it?" asked the stranger, without making any
attempt to take it from me. " It is no good to

An Evening Out 161

me," I answered; "why don't you take it to a
pawnshop?, you will then get five shillings for it,
I am sure of that, for it is a heavy ring." " Why,
if I took this ring to a pawnshop, dressed as I
am, I would be arrested at once," he answered.
" It would be all right if I were as well dressed
as you are. Will you give me a couple of shil-
lings for it? I picked it up this morning, and
must sell it at once for something to eat and the
price of my bed." " If I did buy it," I answered,
" you should have five shillings for it, for I would
not think of making money on a poor fellow
like you." "Give me what you like," he said
hastily, "and it will satisfy me."

When I heard this I did not know what to do.
For here was a poor fellow, without food and
lodgings, who had picked up a valuable gold
ring. Very well, then. What was he to do with
it?< If he went into a pawnshop to sell it he
would be suspected and arrested, owing to his
shabby appearance, and tried, perhaps condemned
for a thief. Shall I assist him out of this diffi-
culty?' It will be no loss to me, for if I want
money I can pawn it for the same amount as I
give. If I buy it, it will be a gain to this
poor fellow and no loss to me,
M

1 62 A Weak Woman

While I was busy with these thoughts the
stranger, to my surprise, took the ring out of
my hand and put it into his pocket. " Hallo 1 " he
cried, addressing some one at my side, " hallo !
is he with you?." Turning my head I saw my
companion standing near, who answered quietly,
" Yes, he is with me." " I had no idea of that,"
said the stranger, laughing; " I thought he was
by himself. Where are you living now?* I have
not seen you about for a long time. Good-bye."
After saying this he turned on his heels and went
off, whistling. His conduct was a mystery to me,
and I asked my companion for an explanation.
" Do you know that man?" I asked. " Yes,"
answered my companion, " we have lived together
in the same lodging-house. Was that a ring
he took out of your hand when I came?." " It
was," I said, " and I was just about to give
him five shillings for it." " It was fortunate
you did not," answered my friend, " for that ring
was not worth five pennies, in spite of its weight,
its appearance, and mark. However, it will not
be long before he finds a victim."

I was much surprised at hearing this, and said,
" This is the first rogue I have met, although I
know London is full of them."

An Evening Out 163

Now I had already told my companion about
the two men I had met on my first day in London,
but he had made no striking .comment on those
adventures; but now he began to laugh, and
said, " Are you sure this is the first rogue you
have met?' What of the man who sympathized
with your toothache?. What of the other, who
pretended to know you as a passenger on his
bus? And what of Mrs. Figgs, who charges you
one and sixpence more rent than she should?. I
am sorry to undeceive you, but it will do you
good to know these things." It was now, for
the first time, that I suspected the two men who
had greeted me so kindly on my first day in
London.

After wandering about for a long time it began
to get late, and we made our way towards our
lodgings, going through the New Cut again. That
market street was now crowded ; the public-houses
were full of people, drinking; others were doing
their shopping; and the shopkeepers were shout-
ing lustily, "Buy! buy! buy!" And in front
of these shops were stalls and barrows full of
various things, and the people's faces looked
ghastly in the light. It seemed an unnatural
life to see all these poor people together, with'

1 64 A Weak Woman

hardly space to move, for I had visions of the
green country roads, so free of people that rabbits
cross them in easy leaps. And I knew that my
companion had the same kind of thoughts, and
did not like to be where he was.

" Every time I come through this street," he
said at last, as though in answer to my thoughts,
" it makes me sad, especially at night. Even the
laughter of young girls has a hard sound, like
parrots mocking their mistresses. And those that
look the most healthy have a flush that looks like
a disease. I cannot stand another summer in this
part. I must either be in the green country or
on the outskirts of this great city."

When we got back to our lodgings we spent
a couple of hours together in his room. It was
his intention to begin work again on Monday,
but he said despondently that he did not know
when his thoughts would settle enough to allow
him to begin writing again. Of course I cheered
him to the best of my ability, saying that when
my battle-scene was done it would be to his
benefit. " And while you are away on Monday,"
I said, " no doubt I shall do a lot towards it.
It will not lose anything by being untouched for
the last few days." " I hope you will be sue-

An Evening Out 165

cessful with it, for your own sake," he answered.
With these words we parted for the night.

Up to the present I had thoroughly enjoyed my
experiences in London. I had no worry over
money, and was not likely to have any trouble
about that in the future. And although I had
thought the New Cut a most wretched place, it
had filled me more with interest than disgust.
It would take a little more time to make me feel
the full horror of life in such a place, as my
companion had felt. I had not been away from
the green country long enough to miss it yet; and
when that time came there would be nothing to
prevent me from returning to it, so I hoped.
Perhaps it was this — the knowledge that I could
leave my surroundings at any time — that made me
feel so self-satisfied.

Of course Mrs. Figgs and her lodger the Major
amused me very much. I was much surprised
and delighted when one day I heard her take a
new line of argument. No sooner would the
Major utter a complaint than Mrs. Figgs would
exclaim in astonishment, " Lor', Mr. Smith, what
a strange man you are! " " There's no pepper in
this box," the Major would say in a tone of
irritation. " Lor', Mr. Smith," Mrs. Figgs would

1 66 A Weak Woman

exclaim, "what a strange man you are!" And
when the poor Major would cry in a vexed tone,
"Damn it, madam, this herring is almost raw!"
Mrs. Figgs would then answer in a voice of great
surprise, " Mr. Smith, how strange you are get-
ting!"

This new line of argument completely took
away his power of speech, for he was not pre-
pared for it, and could not get used to it; in
fact, Mrs. Figgs used to say these words so im-
pressively that I believe the Major began to think
that he was really getting queer in his ways,
and that his landlady was not altogether to blame
after all. He began to think that he would have
to study his own character a little before he at-
tempted to deal with expressions of that kind.

CHAPTER XX
HELPING THE POOR

MY companion did not go out on Sunday,
saying that it was seldom that he left the
house on that day. I was surprised to hear this,
for I knew that he liked the open air and the
sun, and it was summer now. It seemed strange
to me that he should sit indoors, instead of going
into one of the parks. The idea occurred to me
that he had no clothes for that day, and that he
did not like to be seen with a much better
dressed companion. No doubt he would go out
alone after I had gone. So I did not see him
on Sunday morning, and left the house early,
so as to have the whole day out, but with no
particular object in view.

In the morning I went to St. Paul's Cathedral,
and heard the boys' voices and the great organ ;
the former so clear and fresh, and the latter so
solemn and deep. The afternoon found me in
the parks, sitting on a seat and watching the

167

1 68 A Weak Woman

children at play, or lying on the grass, staring up
at the clouds which, in spite of their size and
member, never once crossed the sun and made
the air cold. When evening came, and I had had
tea, I returned to my lodgings, to read and smoke
until bedtime.

On the following morning my companion in-
tended to follow his occupation of a pedlar.
Knowing this, I made up my mind to start work
in earnest. Therefore, when Monday morning
came, I left the house at the same time as my
companion and parted from him at the end of
the street, he going one way and I another. He
would be out all day, and I would only be out
long enough to get breakfast. However, I went
so far that, after I had had breakfast, I made
up my mind to cross Waterloo Bridge and return
along the Embankment to Westminster. • This
walk would get me back to my lodgings just
after ten o'clock, which was quite early enough
to start work.

Now when I had almost reached Westminster
Bridge I had my attention drawn to some barges
going down the river, and leaned on the low wall
to look at them. But I had not been there a
minute when a man came to my side and said,

Helping the Poor 169

"Could you spare me a pipeful of tobacco?"
" Certainly," I answered, giving him my tobacco-
pouch so that he could help himself. " Thank
you," he said, taking the pouch. " There is no
work to be had anywhere. I have been out all
night and have had no breakfast yet. For all
that, this pipeful of tobacco is a great consola-
tion." " I will give you a few pennies to get
breakfast with," I said, "and hope you will get
some work before the day is out." " I am willing
to do anything at all," he answered, "but the
country is in such1 a wretched state."

While we stood there talking I noticed a man
come near and begin to arrange a few pictures
against the wall. " This is a pavement artist," said
my new acquaintance, " and to-day he will make
three or four shillings by sitting here, but I have
no means at all for making money."

When I saw this pavement artist and had heard
these words a sudden thought occurred to me.
Why should I not lend this poor fellow a few
sketches that I had, and give him a chance to
make a day's wages? Again, I was curious to
see it done, and to see how much he made. Of
course I would have to waste the whole day in
attending on him, for I could not trust this com-

1 70 A Weak Woman

plete stranger with my valuable sketches, although
he looked a simple and honest man. " Surely,"
I said at last, " you would not sit on the pavement,
exhibiting pictures, like this man?" "Wouldn't
I though," he answered, with a laugh; "I wish
I had the chance." "Will you meet me here in
half an hour?" I asked impulsively. "I will,
sir," he answered at once. I had already given
him threepence to get a cup of tea and a little
food, so I wasted no more time in talking to
him, but went off in a hurry, full of a certain
plan. !

However, in spite of my hurry, it was three-
quarters of an hour before I could get back to
him. " I thought you were going to disappoint
me," he said, when I came. " The distance was
more than I judged," was my answer. " Here
are a few small sketches; where shall we go?"
When he heard this his face brightened at once.
" We will make a pitch outside Kensington
Museum," he answered; " for I have not seen any
pavement-artist there for a long time. It is a
good distance from here, but we will have all
the afternoon and a good part of the evening
there." "Are you sure that you will do well?"
I asked. "I am likely to take from two to

Helping the Poor 171

four shillings," he answered. " That being the
case/' I said, " we will take a bus, because time
is valuable to you for this one day. Here's one
now; jump in."

It was not long before we reached Kensington,
and I gave the sketches to him and told him that
he was free to have them till dark, and hoped
that he would collect enough money to keep him
all the following day. Of course I did not stand
talking long, for he at once began to put the
sketches down and people were looking already.
So I took a short walk, intending to come back
in half an hour and see how he was doing. " Be-
fore you go," he said, " I would like to tell you
a little plan of mine, which has just come into
my mind. Suppose you drop a penny into my
hat every time you pass. Keep account of how
much you give, for of course that money will
belong to you, which I will gladly return, for I
am certain to do well without it. But the idea
is this — when people see others give it reminds
them of charity. A number of people, who would
not do so otherwise, will give a penny after see-
ing the example of another." " I am very glad
that you have mentioned it," I answered. " It
will draw people's attention to you; I shall not

172 A Weak Woman

forget." Saying this I left him, with the inten-
tion of returning that way in about twenty
minutes. However, I kept in the same street,
so that I could see him a long way off, for I
was not sure that he might not be tempted to
steal my sketches. These sketches were of con-
siderable value in my eyes, and I could not help
thinking how remarkable they would look as the
work of a poor, ragged outcast, like the man in
charge of them was. They ought to do him some
good.

In about half an hour I returned, and, throwing
a penny into the stranger's hat, asked him in a
low voice if he had had any luck. " Yes," he
answered, " I have received several pennies."
Hearing this, I passed on for another walk. By
this time I trusted the man, for he had had his
chance to steal away and had not done so. The
consequence was that I was not afraid to leave
the street and go away without looking back.

In another half -hour's time I returned again
and, after throwing another penny into the man's
hat, asked if he had had any more luck. " Two
pennies and a sixpence," he answered quickly, in
a low voice. I was delighted to hear this and
left him again in the same haste.

Helping the Poor

'73

After the second time I passed the poor ex-
hibitor several times, but did not question him,
because we began to understand each other's
looks. All I had to do was to raise my eyebrows,
and he would answer with a smile. It was a
very strange smile, no more than a broadening
of the mouth, the rest of his face taking no
part in it at all. And it did not come and go
gradually, like a real smile of joy, but appeared
to be done by some kind of mechanism. How-
ever, that did not matter, for it served its pur-
pose, which was to enlighten me and not others.

It was now five o'clock, and I had thrown
eightpence into his hat, and had no more change,
so I went into a shop and had a small lunch,
which I judged would cost threepence. But they
charged me fivepence, so that when I changed a
shilling I received sevenpence in change, a six-
pence and one penny. This penny went into the
poor fellow's hat as soon as I reached him, and
I was again without coppers. " But what does
it matter," I said to myself, " if I throw him a
little silver?- it will be all returned to me after
his day's work is done." So when I passed
the next time I gave him sixpence, which ap-
peared to surprise him very much. After this

174 A Weak Woman

I did not go near him again until I thought
it about time to end our little game. Therefore,
when I saw him the next time, I asked him at
once, " Shall we finish now? Have you done
well, and are you satisfied?" " I have had such'
extraordinary luck," he answered, " that I would
like to have another half-hour at it, and I shall
not then be in want for a couple of days." I
was delighted to hear this and said, " I will take
another walk and return in half an hour." At this
time I had nothing less than a shilling, and I did
not like to be seen talking to him and going away
without giving him something, so that piece of
silver went into Ms hat. He now owed me over
two shillings, but so long as he had done well,
I felt quite satisfied to receive my money back
with the sketches. I felt quite happy at having
this strange experience, which I could relate to
my friends in after years, to my enjoyment and
theirs.

I did not like to appear in a hurry to take
possession of my sketches, so that it must have
been three-quarters of an hour before I came to
him again. Suddenly I came to a halt and began
to look around, for I thought that I was in the
wrong street. " No," I said, " this is the street ;

Helping the Poor 175

but where is the man with' my sketches?" I
could not see any sign of him anywhere. I looked
around in every direction, thinking that he would
be standing near, waiting, with' the sketches ready
packed under his arm. " He must be near here
somewhere," thought I, beginning to walk up an,d
down, but not going far away. However, I waited
and waited, making every kind of excuse — that
the man had gone to get a glass of ale or a
cup of tea, and would be back in a few minutes.
But when a quarter of an hour had gone, and
there was still no sign of him, it came on me
in full force that he had done very well indeed,
so far as his own self was concerned. For of
course it must be remembered that I set great
value on my sketches, and thought they were
worth at least twenty or thirty pounds. The
money he had taken did not trouble me at all.
When I at last felt sure that the man had gone
for good a sick feeling came over me. I stood
motionless in the middle of the pavement, like
a man in a dream. Several people bumped
against me, but it was a long time before I re-
covered my senses. At last I became more col-
lected and began to think. It occurred to me that
it was the money I had thrown into his hat that

A Weak Woman

had made him so ungrateful and dishonest. And
then it came to my mind that it was he who had
proposed the plan of getting money from me, as
well as from strangers, so that he must have been
a rogue from the very beginning.

Up to the present I had felt quite happy in
London, but I felt very sad and disappointed
now.

CHAPTER XXI
DEATH AT HOME

WHEN I got back to the house I lost no time
in seeing my companion, thinking that his
advice would lead to the recovery of my sketches.
It was rather late now, and I knew that he would
have finished tea and be sitting alone in his room,
so instead of opening ,my own door I at once
knocked at his, and soon heard his step. " Come
in," he said, opening the door, " and tell me
your day's experience. But how sad you look! I
hope you have not had ill news from home."
" No," I answered, " I have been robbed of my
work." In a few minutes I had told him all,
and then asked him if he recognized the man by
my description of him. He shook his head, say-
ing, " There are so many men of that kind in
London, and I only know a few of them."
"What will he do with my sketches?" I asked.
"Will he exhibit them again, do you think?"
" Perhaps he will," answered my companion; " but

N 177

1 78 A Weak Woman

most likely he will sell them for a few pence."
" But they are worth pounds/' I said in an in-
dignant voice. " For all that, this man will be
satisfied with much less/' answered my companion,
speaking quietly. " The money you threw into
his hat has made him do this. You gave him
several pennies, then a sixpence, and at last a
shilling. He was a poor man, and the tempta-
tion was strong, and I am not much surprised at
the result."

As we sat there talking, my companion doing
his utmost to cheer me, there came a sudden
knock at the door. My friend got up, looking
quite alarmed, for he had no visitors except the
landlady and myself. He knew it was the land-
lady, but could not guess what she could want
at that time of the night. With a puzzled look
on his face he went to the door and opened it.
" Is Mr. Randall with you?«" asked Mrs. Figgs
— for it was she— in a very polite voice. I may
as well say here that Mrs. Figgs was always very
polite to me, more so than to her other lodgers.
The only way I can account for this is that I
received letters, whereas the others did not. These
letters, which I received with great regularity,
proved that some one was interested in me, gave

Death at Home 179

me a cast of respectability, proving that I was
still a member of Society, although now in a
strange place; whereas my companion, who re-
ceived no letters, might have been a common
outcast, as far as Mrs. Figgs knew, for whom
no one cared. They also proved — and this
is what struck my landlady most — that if I
became poor, or too sick to earn money, my
friends would assist me to pay my rent. No
doubt this last idea struck Mrs. Figgs very
forcibly.

When I heard my name mentioned I went to
the door at once, and reached it before my com-
panion had time to answer her. " Do you want
me?." I asked. " Yes, sir," answered Mrs. Figgs,
with a mournful look and beginning to snivel,
" yes, sir. I have a telegram for you. It has
just come, and I have brought it at once."
" Thank you very much," I said. " Don't men-
tion it," answered Mrs. Figgs, beginning to sigh.
" Good night," I said, as she turned slowly to
go. " Good night, sir," she answered in a trem-
bling voice, and putting the corner of her apron
to her eyes. I could not help but notice this
strange conduct, but had no idea of its mean-
ing. When I had read this telegram I could do

i8o A Weak Woman

no more than stand motionless in the room, staring
at it. It was only two days ago that I had
received news from home, and there was no men-
tion of illness, not of the slightest kind. And
now, two days after, some one must be very ill
or dead. " Is my father dead?" I asked my-
self, and feared that such was the case.

" Excuse me," I said at last to my companion,
who had been quietly watching me, " excuse me,
I have bad news here, and must go to my room
for awhile." "But do not go to bed without
seeing me again," he answered kindly, shaking
my hand. " You must have courage, no matter
how bad the news is."

When I got to my room I sat on the bed,
with the telegram at my side, without courage
to move. I kept on asking myself, " Is my father
dead?" until at last I forgot that all would be
explained by going home. However, I was
brought to myself by hearing a knock at the
door, and went to open it. It was Mrs. Figgs,
who said that she had forgotten to ask if there
was any answer to go back, and that the boy was
still at the door waiting to know. " Yes," I
said, and went downstairs, and sent an answer to
say that I was coming home at once. After

Death at Home 181

doing this I looked at a time-table and found
that I could not get a train for a couple of
hours. This being the case, I made up my mind
to take what few things I had with me, and
began to pack them. This was done in a very
short time, and I still had more than an hour to
spare, so I went again into my friend's room
and told him what I feared was the matter. " My
father," I said, " is dead, and I must go home
at once. I believe that must be the case, but
I am not sure." "Hope for the best," he an-
swered. " Perhaps he is only ill, and sick people
more often recover than die, and you have already
told me that he is not very old." " My father,"
I said, '* is not likely to be troubled with sick-
ness; he has a very weak heart, and is likely to
drop dead at any moment, and this is what has
happened, I fear. He was a very good and kind
father, and if anything has happened to him I
shall feel it all the more for that. I must look
after my sister; she is all alone now, with the
exception of her brother. My other sister left
home some time ago, and we don't know what
has become of her. Now, before I go, let me
say this: If what I fear is true I will not for-
get you, remember that. Your book will be pub-

1 82 A Weak Woman

lished soon. We have been good friends, and it
will be a little thing for me to do, and may
be the means of greatly altering your condition."
11 Don't trouble about my affairs," he answered,
" until your own are settled. If I never hear
from you again I shall always remember you as a
man of the deepest feeling and sympathy."

After I left my room I saw Mrs. Figgs, and
told her that I had to leave at once, and was
not likely to return. However, I gave her a
week's rent, telling her that if I did not return
within a week I was not likely to come any
more. After doing this I got a conveyance for
myself and luggage and drove to the railway
station. When I got there it still wanted twenty
minutes before the train started, and it seemed
a very long time. My thoughts would not let
me sit down, I wanted to be in motion all the
time. And when the train started it seemed to
be going along like a snail, and every stop it
made seemed to be the last of its career. I
had no interest in the three — a man and two
women — that shared the carriage with me, and
I could not read, so that I had nothing to dis-
tract my thoughts. However, the journey came to
an end at last, and I was soon with my sister

Death at Home 183

Lucy, who was waiting for me on the platform.
My father was not with her this time, as on the
day when I left home, and one glance at her face
made words unnecessary; in fact, we both left
the station without having spoken a word, for
she seemed to know that I was aware of what had
happened, although the telegram did not mention
death.

After a long time I spoke, saying, " When did
it happen, Lucy?" "This morning, after break-
fast," she answered, " when he was walking in
the garden. I was looking through the window
and saw him fall. He had been in his usual
health up to then, but his heart failed him sud-
denly." After this short conversation we said
no more, but made our way silently to the house.
When we reached it it seemed to me that no pass-
ing stranger would make a noise there, for death
seemed to hold the air around, so quiet was it.
It seemed to me that no living thing could be
near that house and not know that there was a
dead body in it. "How quiet it is!" said my
sister Lucy, with a sob.

" We know nothing of Maud," my sister said.
" You know — I told you in one of my letters—
that father ordered me never to mention her name

1 84 A Weak Woman

again. I have been myself to see the friends
of those people she went abroad with, but she
is never mentioned in any letters that come to
them."

After my father was buried, and the will was
read, we found that he had disinherited his eldest
daughter, leaving his property to be equally
divided between Lucy and myself. When we
heard this we were much surprised, and, in spite
of the will, decided between us that if Maud
could be found she should have her share of the
property, to do whatever she liked with it, squander
it or not.

As soon as everything was settled I lost no
time in sending my friend a sum quite large
enough to publish his poems, and received his
grateful acknowledgment in a short time. And
in little more than a week he sent me a small
book, containing about forty poems. In my
answer to this I told him that most likely I
would see him soon, as my sister and I had
decided to live somewhere in London, or very
close to it. I trusted that he would have all
the success that his work appeared to deserve.

My sister Lucy was only too happy to leave
home and live in London, and agreed to my

Death at Home 185

suggestion at once. She had lived for her father
and, in spite of her charms and sweet disposi-
tion, would not make intimate friends. And now
that my father was dead she was happy at the
prospect of a change. As for myself, I could
not possibly settle quietly at home, in such a
small, sleepy town, after having had a taste of
life in a large city. In spite of that, I intended
living in some part where I could have the ad-
vantages of both town and country. " Perhaps
we can find a nice house in Hampstead," I said ;
" that is a fine part of London, with plenty of
green open spaces on the Heath."

CHAPTER XXII
HAMPSTEAD

WE had some difficulty in finding a house to
our liking in Hampstead, and were almost
afraid we should have to take one we did not
much care for. But at last we saw one that
would make amends for all our trouble, and we
were glad that we had not been in a great hurry
and taken one less to our taste. This house was
not far from the Heath, and it stood in its own
grounds, back from the road. It was an old-
fashioned house, not very large, with ivy leaves
on its walls, several large trees in front, and the
grounds were large for that part of the world.
These grounds made it a tempting house for
people from the green country. So we had no
sooner seen this large garden than we were will-
ing to forgive a number of serious faults in the
house itself. " We must take this house," I said
to Lucy, " even if the roof leaks and the rain

186

Hampstead 187

drops on our faces while we sleep." "Yes,"
answered Lucy, laughing, " because the garden
is so large and beautiful. I believe we will grow
to like the place so much that we will try to buy
it, so as to be safe as its tenants." "That is
my opinion too," I said. " It would be a pity
to surrender it to others after we have perhaps
lived here for several years."

We had been living in Hampstead about three
months, enjoying that lovely neighbourhood, when
I happened one day to have an adventure on the
Heath. It was seldom that a day passed but
what I would, early or late, spend some time
on the Heath. Sometimes I would only cut across
a corner, and sometimes I would take long walks
across it. No day seemed to be complete unless
my feet touched the Hampstead Heath. It was
now late in the year, but I was a countryman, and
had no wish to escape the cold winds on the open
Heath and shelter in the narrow streets.

On this particular day, in the afternoon, I was
walking across a lonely part of the Heath when
I saw a lady in the distance and a rough-looking
man approaching her. Although this looked sus-
picious, I did not like to rush forward boldly,
for, after all, they might know each other well.

1 88 A Weak Woman

So I took advantage of some bushes and drew
closer, without being seen. But at last I got to
the end of the bushes, and then took a peep to
see whether the man passed her or not. When I
did so I saw that the man wias near her, and that
she, after looking around, began to shrink back. In
a moment or two he began to make what looked
like threatening motions, and the young lady ap-
peared to be shaking her head in despair. When
I saw this I thought it was time to show myself,
and left the bushes for that purpose. Now it
happened that the man was the first to catch
sight of me, and he must have betrayed the
knowledge by his looks; for the young lady
turned her head at once, and, seeing me, stood
quite still, with no more signs of fear. In spite
of these signs I did not know what to do under
the circumstances, and pretended tt> pass on, go-
ing very slowly, to show that I was at her service.
However, I had not passed her by more than three
steps, although I was several yards away, when
she said in a clear, sweet voice, " This man de-
mands money of me, and I have none here."
When I heard this I came forward and stood at
her side. For the last minute or two the man
had stood in a careless, sullen attitude, with his

Hampstead 189

two hands in his pockets. But when he heard
what this young lady said, and saw me standing
at her side, a change came over him suddenly.
He was not very tall, but big-limbed and broad.
And now, when he took his hands out of Jiis
pockets and clenched his two fists, he fell into
a low crouching attitude, and looked almost as
broad as he was long. He seemed to have so
much strength concentrated in that strange posi-
tion that I thought to myself, if this man makes
a spring, whatever he fastens to will be held
till death. I was so impressed with this idea
that I was determined to let him get no hold on
any part of my body, but to fight him at bay, if
it should come to using brute force.

He was still in this vicious, brute-like attitude
when he said savagely, with his face working
in a fierce passion, " Now that you are here,
what are you going to do?" "Whatever this
young lady asks me to do I will try to do,"
I answered quietly. "Wait and see." When he
heard this his manner changed again. Unclench-
ing his two hands, he again put them into his
pockets, and straightened himself; his face ceased
working, and he stood in the same careless, sullen
attitude as when I had approached. The only

A Weak Woman

way I can account for this is that he had expected
I would try my strength on him; but now, when
he saw I had no wish to try and punish him in
that way, he had a better opinion of me.

Turning to the young lady, who had shrank
back several steps when she saw him ready to
spring, I said, " Will you have this man ar-
rested?" Before she could answer the rough-
looking stranger blurted out, " Of course she will.
You can either go for a constable while I wait
here, or I will go with you." Without taking
much notice of these words, I turned to the young
lady again, "Shall I give him in charge?" I
asked. " Oh, no," she answered in a gentle
voice. "It is very annoying, but perhaps he
had some strong motive." " I am out of work,"
the man broke in bitterly, " and must either beg,
steal, or starve. If I am not arrested now I will
knock some one on the head before midnight."

When I heard these words I knew that this
poor fellow was at that dangerous stage when
a man has spent his savings and cannot find
work, and becomes either a beggar or a rogue
for life. But this man was too proud to beg,
and saw no other way to help himself than by
highway robbery. With these thoughts I felt

Hampstead

quite relieved at her words, for I had much sym-
pathy with a man of this stamp. So I turned to
the young lady and said, " This man has annoyed
you, and if I give him assistance you will be
annoyed at me." " On the contrary," she an-
swered hastily, " I am only too sorry that I cannot
help him myself." Hearing this, I gave the poor
fellow some money, which appeared to surprise
him. First he looked at me, then at the money,
and then at my fair companion, but could find
no words to express his feelings. At last, when
he saw us going, he said in a broken voice, " I
never thought the rich were so kind and thought-
ful ; I always thought they were cold, selfish, and
hard." We left him standing there, 'with ,the
money in his hand, with his head bowed, and
looking very much perplexed.

" I am glad you came," said the young lady,
as we walked away, " before that poor man did
something more desperate. He would not believe
that I had no money with me." "I am very
pleased to have been of assistance to you," I an-
swered. " Are you Mr. Randall?-" she asked
suddenly, to my surprise. When I heard this, it
was now, for the first time, that I took a good
look at her. And when I did J was sure that

192 A Weak Woman

if I had seen her once before her face would
have always been remembered for its rare beauty.
" Yes/' I answered, wondering where she could
have seen me and how she came to know my
name. " You are very much like your sister,
whom I met a short time ago," said my fair
companion, " and I saw the likeness at once.
I live near you." " I am very pleased to hear
that you know my sister," I answered. " I hope
we shall see more of each other."

As we were walking along, chatting in this way,
my beautiful companion dropped a small ,book,
which she was carrying in her hand. When I
had picked it up and returned it to her she said,
showing me the front cover, " Do you know this
man's work?" When I looked at the author's
name I saw to my surprise that it was another
book by my old friend. " I know his first book,"
I answered, "but not this."

I did not tell this young lady that I knew the
author personally, for fear of a number of awk-
ward questions, bu,t simply said that I was inter-
ested in his work and had his first book at home.
" But," I said, " this second book has escaped
my notice." " I am not much surprised at that,"
she answered, " for it is only just out. No doubt

Hampstead 193

you would have heard of it in a day or two, for
it has already been talked about."

Yes, I had certainly heard of my old friend's
success, and knew that he was already one of the
greatest of living poets. All his worry must be
over now, thought I, and his pedlar's pack a
thing of the past.

I had noticed from the beginning that my com-
panion's voice was remarkably clear and sweet.
But I had no second chance to look well at her
flace until we parted near our homes. And when
I did I was struck by its expression, which was
open, simple, and childlike. Her eyes were blue,
and the dark lashes gave them a warm light.
Her features w:ere round: her lips being small
but full, and showing more red than was good
for a man's ease. It was a sweet face, and I
knew that it had taken a life -hold on my imagina-
tion.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE SONG

\\7 HEN I got back home I told my sister
* * Lucy the news — the manner in which I
had been introduced to Miss Ransom, and the
result. She was expecting news of some kind,
for I had promised to be back soon, and was
quite an hour beyond the time I mentioned.
Neither I nor my sister ever went out without
telling each other what time we should be back,
and we had never been more than a quarter of
an hour over the time specified; in fact, we were
so particular in this duty, that if we did not see
each other we left word with a servant. So
when I was so late, on this particular day, my
sister knew that something had happened to detain
me, and had begun to feel alarmed. And when I
came in she was all attention to know the reason,
which I soon told her. She was quite surprised
at such a dangerous adventure on the Heath; but

194

The Song 195

what surprised her more was that the young lady
was Miss Ransom, whom she had met some time
before. " She is the only girl that I have ever
taken a strong liking to," my sister said, " and
I am very glad you have met her, although the
circumstances were extraordinary. This incident
will give me a chance to know her better, for
I only have a slight knowledge of her up to the
present."

A few days after this Miss Ransom had tea
with us, and it was the happiest little tea-party
I had ever known. She was not in the least
shy, and instead of being quiet and reserved in a
strange house, it was really her own gaiety that
made us feel at home; in fact, she seemed like
our own sister Maud, or a friend we had known
from childhood and never lost sight of for one
whole day. Lucy and I had had lonely lives,
not mixing much in society, and if this girl had
been shy and reserved we could not have made
her feel comfortable. But as it was otherwise
her good spirits were contagious, and I never
heard Lucy, who was such a . quiet girl, laugh
so much as on this occasion.

Miss Ransom was full of her adventure on the
Heath, explaining to my sister, in the words of

196 A Weak Woman

romance, " how a certain knight came to the
rescue of a damsel in distress." But in ppite
of the mock-heroic tone, she spoke very soft and
gentle when she came to explain how the robber
had been driven to desperation for the want of
food. "If I ever meet him again," she said
seriously, " I will stop and inquire into his cir-
cumstances, and give him a little help if he needs
it, no matter how ragged he is, nor who sees me
talking to him." When I heard this I began to
understand that Miss Ransom had a will of her
own and was unconventional. It was her careless-
ness of convention that made her so free of speech,
she being indifferent to the opinion of others, and
which made her feel so easy and comfortable
among strangers. These things became her very
well and added to her charms.

She was so simple and free that I was not at
all surprised when she got up suddenly, walked
over to the piano, and began to sound the keys.
"Will you play us something'?" I asked. "Oh
yes," she answered at once, sitting down and
beginning to play. After she had been playing
a minute or two she turned round and said, " I
would like to sing a song, to see if you can
recognize the words." Saying this she began

The Song 197

in a very simple and sweet voice to sing a tune
I had never heard before. However, she had not
gone far before I recognized the words as a lyric
in my old friend's second book of poems. " It
is a song from Kenry Soaring's second book,"
I said when she had done. " Yes, and I have
composed the music." She laughed, like a de-
lighted child. " But I would not like the writer
of such fine lines to know that so poor a novice
had set them to music, although I feel quite
proud of the result." " I see nothing wron'g
with the music," I answered, " and am sure that
if the writer were here and saw any fault he
would freely forgive it for the sake of a voice
so sweet." "Your brother is good at compli-
ments, Miss Randall," the young lady said. " If
my brother had not said it, it would have come
from me," answered Lucy, " for it is one of those
truthful thoughts that must have occurred to any
one." " Oh, you are as bad as your brother!"
exclaimed that familiar young lady, pretending
to be annoyed. " However," she added decisively,
"he is the only living poet that could make me
attempt such a thing."

I had already asked Lucy to be careful not to
mention that I knew the author personally, but

J98 A Weak Woman

I was very much afraid she would forget her-
self. I had nearly done so myself several times,
and I knew that women were more impulsive in
breaking into speech than men. Knowing this,
I changed the subject at once. If I had said
that I knew the poet, it would have only led to
a number of lies, for I not only did not want
to talk of my own experience with him, but
thought I had no right to make use of his past
history, of which she knew nothing. He was a
well-known man now, very much respected for his
talents, and I thought it best to let people know
him only through his work. The fact of the
matter was that I stood in some awe of him since
he had become so well known, and that was
one reason why I had not gone to see him.
Another reason was that he would probably think
that I came for the money I had sent him, and
insist on returning it. If I had had the least
suspicion that he was in want of my assistance
I would have lost no time in seeing him; but
this, of course, could not be, after so much praise
in good, influential papers. And then, strangely
enough, as time went on I lost all desire to
see him personally, although my interest in his
work became greater than ever. I was also much

The Song

199

annoyed and angry that such a good man should
have been forced to live in common lodging-
houses and carry a pedlar's pack for so many
years, and not succeed without another's assist-
ance. If it were not for the money I sent him
he would have died unknown, in spite of his
merits. When I thought of that man's suffer-
ings and how he at last owed his success to my,
accidental acquaintance, else his merit would have
died with him, I felt too angry to discuss his
life with others. I had often mentioned these
things to my sister Lucy, who quite agreed with
me. It was these reasons that kept me from
renewing our acquaintance, and, as you will hear,
there was soon to be a much stronger reason,
for all my thoughts were to be taken by a
personality of the other sex, one that was to
become such a live subject that my very sisters,
much less friends and strangers, were but cold
shadows when I thought of her, which was con-
tinually. My sister Lucy had taken a strong liking
to Miss Ransom. "No wonder!" thought I.

But this happy meeting must have an end, and
all too soon Miss Ransom was taking her leave.
After she had gone the house for several moments
seemed like a cage without its singing bird. It

200 A Weak Woman

was the only time that I had ever been left by
one whom I wished to come back immediately.

" Where did you meet Miss Ransom?/' I asked
Lucy as soon as we were alone. " Mrs. Burdett
introduced me," answered my sister, " when I
met them together a few days ago." Mrs. Burdett
was a friend of my father's, and lived near us.
" Miss Ransom is a very charming girl," I said,
looking at Lucy and puffing at my pipe. " Isn't
she like Maud in her ways?>" Lucy said, laughing.
" What a meeting it would be between two such
lively disposkions! They would be sure to do
some mischief before long." " Yes, they are alike
in their ways/' I answered, " but you could trust
Miss Ransom for not doing any serious wrong;
that would disgrace herself and others. She has
not only too much will-power for that, but has
no inclination, I believe. But poor Maud is not
so strong, as we know well. " I wish we knew
where Maud was." Lucy sighed. " We can do no
more than advertise," I answered. " We have
done that, and heard nothing at all. Do you
think we shall ever see her again?." asked Lucy
in a trembling voice. " Of course we will," I
answered cheerfully, knowing how much she
thought of her sister Maud.

The Song 201

After this there was a long silence, so long
that my sister, who, as I have already said, was
a very quiet girl, became suddenly aware of it
and looked my way, curious to see what I was
doing. However, I was doing no more than
smoke and stare at her. " What makes you so
thoughtful?" she asked, puzzled to see me in
that mood. " I am wondering whether Miss Ran-
som's fancy is free or not," I said without a
moment's hesitation. " I am sure I cannot tell
you," answered Lucy slyly, " we have only known
her a few minutes." "Suppose I try my luck,"
I said; " you like her, and so do I." " If you would
be successful you must not speak to her in that
cold, matter-of-fact way," answered Lucy, smil-
ing; "and don't forget to take the pipe out of
your mouth." "Lucy," I said, standing up and
speaking seriously, "you must find this out. If
Miss Ransom has no*: made her choice, I must
enter at once, an unopposed candidate, elected for
life. Do you hear, Lucy? You must find this out
as soon as possible, so that I may take advantage
of the first opportunity. In a week from now it
will, perhaps, be too late, for a girl of that kind
would not be without a great number of ad-
mirers

202 A Weak Woman

Three days after this my sister was able to tell
me that Miss Ransom had no lover at all. "Are
you sure?-" I asked, incredulous that this could be.
" Quite sure," answered Lucy in a decisive tone.
When I heard this my heart bounded for joy, but
I said nothing, for somehow a man does not
like to speak seriously of love to a sister. But in
spite of that we talked of Miss Ransom for the
rest of the day. Every fresh subject we began
turned to her at last, every spring of conver-
sation ran into that one deep well. Whether my
sister Lucy dreamed of her that night I cannot
say, but I am certain that I did. I could not
paint pictures of clouds, trees, and rocks while a
living woman filled my imagination with her
warmer beauty.

CHAPTER XXIV
LOVE

A 5 I have said before, I seldom missed a day
without spending some time, more or less,
on Hampstead Heath. It was a habit that had
grown on me in the first few days of my life
in that part. But I had an object now, which
was the likelihood of meeting Miss Ransom alone
on the Heath — alone with the exception of a
dog, which my sister Lucy said she always took
with her since the day she had been molested there.
It was a small pet dog, too small to protect her,
but it gave her confidence. However, I feared
that she would not have the courage to go into
a lonely part, where I would like to meet her.

Of one thing I was quite .certain, which' was
that her parents would raise no objection to my
suit, and that all my hopes were in winning!
their daughter's favour. Her father was not a
rich man, but lived quite comfortably with his

203

204 A Weak Woman

wife and only child. He had held a good posi-
tion under the Government, and was now retired
on a pension. I had already been to their house
with my sister Lucy, and was quite certain that
neither Miss Ransom's father nor mother had any
desire to see less of us. Her father was a great
reader and a man of considerable culture. The
four walls of his study had books from the floor,
to the ceiling almost, and it was only over the
mantelpiece that the wall had other things. He
had also been at our house and seen my paint-
ings, which appeared to interest him very much.
" You are too well off to be industrious," he had
said, " or you might have done well by your
work. But you are still young, and must settle
down to make a name for yourself. When I was
your age, how I did yearn for riches and leisure,
so that I could do the work I liked, and receive
payment in fame ! But I was afraid to leave
my office stool, where I sat every day doing sums
of arithmetic, and strike out for my own ideal,
for fear of failing to reach it. Yes, so many
fail and so few succeed that perhaps I did wise
to stick to my stool. For I now have the means
to listen to other minds, although the power to
produce anything of my own is gone. I thought

Lo

ve

205

to have been a creator, but instead of that I have
become a silent judge of other people's work
—but that is a great pleasure too."

Thinking of these things, I felt certain that Miss
Ransom's father would have nothing against me.
But I almost felt as certain that he would not judge
me by the position in which I could place his daugh-
ter, but by my character to make her life happy.
It was my mind he would weigh, and not my purse ;
and I flattered myself that he had weighed it to
his satisfaction. However, I don't suppose he
had the least suspicion that his daughter had made
any impression on me.

His wife was a nice, thoughtful woman, and
appeared very friendly towards us. No doubt
this was owing to our still being young arid both
our parents being dead. This fact would escape a
good number of men, but would escape no woman,
especially one that was a mother; in fact, Mrs.
Ransom was very much interested in our parents,
and was too simple a woman to think the subject
would cause us any pain. The mother and her
daughter were nothing alike in nature ; the mother
was simple, quiet, and melancholy, whereas the
daughter was clever and full of happy thoughts.
No doubt the daughter inherited this disposition

2o6 A Weak Woman

from her father, who even now had a heart quite
young and fresh'. And of course her clever mind
must have come from him as well. Mrs. Ransom
was such a kind, thoughtful, and simple woman
that if she had had any scheme to make a match
for her daughter she would have been too artless
to hide it. No, wh'en I thought of Miss Ransom's
parents I had no fears, but when I thought of
the girl herself I was ready to sink into the earth.
I knew that she would not give her life up to
a man she did not truly love; and, with her, posi-
tion was of no consideration at all. She had not
shown the least sign that I was more to her than
other men ; in fact, she was so easy and unreserved
that I was afraid to startle her with a confession
of love.

One morning, when I was out walking on the
Heath, I happened to look far ahead of me, and
there she was in the distance— the cause of my
trouble. I came to a sudden halt at once, for
I knew that it was impossible to speak to her
alone and not tell her my feelings. And when
I looked I saw that she was in the same place as
she had been before; and oh, that some desperate
robber were at hand! thought I. But instead
of that there was only a nurse approaching her

Love 207

with a child in a perambulator. But this meet-
ing turned out to be dangerous indeed, for there
was great trouble immediately. For the nurse
was followed by a little dog, much the same as
the one Miss Ransom had. And these two little
dogs no sooner came face to face than they sprang
at each other's throats. The next instant they
were both rolling and fighting on the ground,
without the least sign of either one giving in.
The nurse stood by, helplessly looking on, and so
did Miss Ransom, without power to interfere..
At last Miss Ransom looked around for assist-
ance, fearing that the dogs would tear each other
to pieces. Of course I was there almost immedi-
ately, and soon succeeded in parting them, much
to the relief of those in charge. However, it was
necessary to carry both dogs away, for they were
still eager to, renew the combat. But we were
soon safe, for the nurse went off in a hurry, and
did not slacken speed until she was some distance
away.

" This is the second time you have come to
my assistance," said Miss Ransom, as we walked
along. " Am I to get into trouble every time
I come walking on this Heath?" " A few days
ago I saved your life," I began boldly, but feeling

208 A Weak Woman

very timid at heart, " and to-day I have saved
the life of your dog Peter. For the future both
your lives belong to me." "Are you listening,
Peter?" she laughed, turning a red face towards
the dog, who, robbed of the joy of a good fight,
was sulking behind. I could say no more — the
next instant I had her in my arms. And when
her face turned — which was very red, but whether
from anger or joy I could not tell — it was so
managed that her lips met mine. I knew that I
would never have the courage to tell her my
feelings in a studied way, and my only hope of
winning her was to. do something desperate and
bold like this. But when it was done I became
seriously happy, and told her the whole history
of my love for her, making many a pause, owing
to my heart being so full. She only smiled, and
offered no assistance in words, but did not seem
to grow tired of listening to my passion.

" I must go home now," she said at last. " I
am very late, and my mother is waiting for me."
So we made our way towards home, but could not
walk fast, in spite of the anxiety of those that
awaited our coming. Our thoughts wanted to
be gently rocked and not shaken into a wild state.
The faster we walked, the sooner we must part,

Love

209

so that every step was to be cherished and re-
membered on that account.

There was not much said when we parted; a
look into each other's eyes was enough. There
was nothing for the passing world to see or hear ;
people would not be able to tell whether we were
friends or lovers, but we knew which.

This was the first time I had ever been taken
by a woman, and I was wild with joy. When
I reached home late my si,ster Lucy asked, before
I had time to speak, " Have you had another
adventure on the Heath?" This was said in a
tone of banter, but when I answered " Yes," she
became serious. " Nothing dreadful, I hope?"
she inquired, thinking I had perhaps witnessed
a murder done. However, I did not keep her
long in suspense, but told her what had happened.
She was surprised and amused at such sudden
love-making, but said that she could not imagine
me making love in the usual way. " If those
dogs had not fought," she said emphatically, " you
would not be Miss Ransom's accepted lover to-
day, nor perhaps for a good many days to
come."

I knew this to be true, and I cannot understand
how I took advantage of that dog fight and

210 A Weak Woman

turned it to such a good account. How I had the
artfulness to tell her I 'had saved her life and
that it belonged to me, and how I had the courage
to embrace and kiss her, is a mystery. If she
had stood face to face with me, I would not
have dared to touch her. But J no sooner saw
her turn to speak to her dog than I knew my
chance had come, and took advantage of it.
Everything was in my favour, and I did not let
the chance go. !

While I was in this restless mood of a lover
I could not settle to work. I spent as much
time with her as I could, and when she was absent
I was neither satisfied indoors nor out, and I had
no use for either my eyes or ears. Little did she
know how many times I passed her house, and
a,t what strange hours, until I almost feared to
be arrested by the police for a person intending
to do some wrong.

Lucy and myself swere almost alone ,in the
world; we h'a,d few friends, and our relations had
never lived near us, so that we saw very little
of them. For that reason I was very glad to
see how much my sister arid my sweetheart liked
each other. If they had not, and I had been
fascinated by some strange woman Lucy disliked,

Love

211

how sad it would have been. My sister Lucy,
who had lived for her father and now lived for
no one else but her brother, would have had no
outlet for her sweet affection. When I thought
of this I blessed myself that such a thing had
not happened. My sister Lucy was so gentle
and good.

CHAPTER XXV

THREE YEARS AFTER

1HAD now been married three years, and in
the house there was a young tyrant who took
four pairs of eyes to watch him. He tried to
swallow everything that came in his way, from
a thimble to a table. He was certainly a mys-
tery, full of laughter, anger, and tears ; but which-
ever mood was on him, it was impossible to find
the cause. Every minute of the day he demanded
some one's care, for we knew that if we neglected
him for ten minutes he would be a corpse, with
a fork stuck in his neck or a poker half-way down
his throat. His anger was a fearful thing to wit-
ness: he would clench his two little hands, kick,
bite, stiffen his body, and bellow like a storm
in the trees, with his two eyes shut fast. He
was a thoughtless, selfish little tyrant, not caring
who starved so long as he was fed; and when
he saw us enjoying a short rest he would always
do something to disturb us. When he was awake

212

Three Years After 213

he was determined that no one else should sleep.
He would not be bound to any rules, for he not
only had meals with us, but had his own meal-
hours as well. He also slept when he liked,
without troubling whether it was day or night.
No one would think, to see him lying asleep in
his cradle, what a little tyrant he was when awake.
I have seen him in such a passion that, in trying
to scream in even a higher and louder key, his
voice would fail him altogether, and we would
think his end had come. This proved what he
would do if he only had the power. But in
spite of this I liked him, and both my wife and
Lucy thought of no one else.

One morning this little tyrant was in such an
ungovernable passion that nothing could please
him. His nurse was about to take him out, but
his mother did not want to lose sight of him
until she was sure his troubles were over. How-
ever, all her efforts to please him were in vain,
and, seeing this, I snatched up my hat and rushed
out of the house, after shaking my fist at him,
which he did not see, for he always shut his
eyes when he opened his mouth in earnest. I
could hear his voice in the street, although the
house stood a long way back, and several horses

2H A Weak Woman

and carts were passing by. However, I was soon
out of reach of that sound, pleased to think that
my wife and Lucy were more happy than vexed
at the child's wonderful spirit of anger. I had
not left to escape it, as I had intended taking
a long w^lk; but I must say that I left in a
great hurry, without saying where I was going
or what time I would be back. Not that any
one troubled about me while that little tyrant was
in such a wilful mood. He was the first con-
sideration, and he seemed to know it, in spite of
his very early age.

On this particular day I did not go for my
usual walk on the Heath, but turned towards the
City instead, walking at a rapid pace. In a few
moments I was on the top of a tram-car, for I
felt inclined to go beyond my usual day's ramble,
which was generally within a couple of miles of
home. It was not long before I changed my
tram for a bus which would take me to Trafalgar
Square. When I reached that open space I was
quite satisfied to go no farther, but to spend
a couple of hours in the National Gallery, and
return home by the underground railway. How-
ever, something occurred which altered one of
my plans, for just as I was about to mount the

Three Years After 215

steps leading to the Art Gallery, I heard a cheer-
ful voice say, " Good morning, sir." I turned
my head at once, and was then confronted by
a red face full of smiles. It was little Punch,
and he was blushing hard, for I suppose he had
been almost too timid to address me, and had
made a great effort, and was troubled at the
consequence. He was standing in the gutter, a
board in front of him, and one on his back.
He was not only advertising, back and front of
him, the best butter at is. 4d. a pound, but he
also had small bills for distribution. When I
reached his side he offered me one of these bills,
which I took and read at a glance, for there
were only a few large words, giving the name
and address of the man that sold the best butter
in the City at is. 4d. a pound. " You are the
third that has taken a bill out of my hand,"
said Punch, " although I have been passed by
thousands of people. But I have managed to
get rid of quite a number for all that." As
he said this three little children happened to come
along, and to these Punch offered his bills. One
of them was almost a baby, and could hardly,
walk, but Punch took great pains in putting a bill
into her little hand, which appeared to give him

216 A Weak Woman

as much delight as it gave the children. '" Come
and have a drink," I said. " But perhaps you
will lose your job if you quit work for five or
ten minutes. Do you think you are being
watched?" " I don't care much if I am," an-
swered the little man, " for these people expect
too much for one and twopence a day. I don't
mind carrying boards, and I don't mind giving
away bills, but to do the both at the same time
is expecting too much for the little they pay.
It is worth one and threepence a day at the
least."

When I heard this I thought of the words of
my poet companion of the past, when he told
me that Punch's one ambition was to carry boards
for a certain firm that not only paid their men
one and threepence a day, but also gave them
a bun and a cup of tea. A penny more a day
meant a lot to these poor fellows, and the little
refreshment would be worth another penny. This
would make a board-carrier's wages one and four-
pence a day, and a board-carrier that was for-
tunate enough to earn this amount would be an
aristocrat among his kind, and in his pride he
would make his own class.

In about five minutes we came to a small

Three Years After 217

public-house that had a side passage, where Punch
could hide his boards from people passing be-
fore it. After I had seen him do this, being
very careful to turn the advertisement against the
wall, so as not to even draw the attention of
such few customers as went in and out, I led
the way to the bar, while he followed close at
my heels. "What will you have to drink?" I
asked when we were inside. " A pint of ale,"
answered Punch. So I ordered a pint for him
and a glass for myself. " Now," I began, after
he had taken a long drink and stood waiting for
me to speak, for of course he knew nothing about
me, " now, Punch, I want to know if you ever
see that man who was with me three years ago,
when the three of us had tea together." ' You
mean Darky?" asked Punch. " Yes," I an-
swered, for I knew that these men always knew
each other by their nicknames . ' ' The last time I met
him," Punch said, " was about ten days ago, and
he gave me threepence; in fact, he never sees
me but what he gives me a copper or two. I
don't expect anything from him for, to tell you
the truth, he looks as much in want as I do.
When I met him, ten days ago, he looked ill,
and his clothes were almost as shabby as mine."

218 A Weak Woman

I was surprised to hear this, but I knew that
men of genius were not always particular about
their clothes. " Do you know anything about
him?" I asked, wondering whether Punch knew
anything about him as a writer. " Know him !
I should think I do/' answered the little fellow,
with great emphasis. " He is one of the kindest-
hearted fellows you could meet. When we lived
at the same lodging-house he was always, every
night, helping poorer lodgers to pay for their
beds. If a man was a penny or twopence short
he would always go to Darky, and was never re-
fused. He used to be a pedlar then, but I don't
know what he does now. All I know is that
we never meet but what he gives me a few
pennies, although he does not seem as though he
could afford to help others. I don't get much1
chance to speak to him, for all he does is to
say, * Hallo, Punch ! ' slip money into my hand,
and walk away. But I thought you knew him
well?," " I do," I answered, "but I now live a
good distance away, and have not seen him
lately." Saying this, I finished my ale, and
Punch did the same. And while Punch was get-
ting his boards ready I gave him some silver,
which made his eyes open in astonishment.

Three Years After 219

" Thank you, sir," he said, beginning to fumble
at his old cap, for he knew nothing about me,
and I could see that he was considerably mystified.
As I was returning home I was thinking all
the time of my old companion. Punch had said
that he was looking ill, and I thought that it must
have been through over-work. Punch had said
that his clothes were shabby, which I thought
must be owing to his scorn of outward show.
But what struck me was that he, now a well-
known man, respected for his talents, should not
have forgotten his old and still very poor com-
panions of the past. He was not too proud to
go near them, in spite of their standing between
boards in the most public thoroughfares. It was just
what I should have expected of him, for he was not
a man to acknowledge class distinctions. I could
imagine him shaking hands with a king and then
with a beggar, and being his natural, unaffected
self in both cases. I remembered now how, when
we were walking together through the City, police-
men looked suspiciously at us, judging by our
clothes that I was a gentleman and he a rogue,
who was decoying me to some place to rob me ;
and how that he, of a free and independent spirit,
walked carelessly at my side, unconscious of other

220 A Weak Woman

people's looks. Again, when we had met Punch,
and we were together at tea, he had acted in the
same easy manner, as though there were no differ-
ence between us. I liked my old friend for this
very much.

CHAPTER XXVI
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

1WAS home in less than half an hour after
leaving Punch, and it still wanted an hour
to dinner. The little tyrant was now in one of
his most pleasant moods, crowing his delight and
bouncing in his chair. Since our marriage I
had told my wife of my past acquaintance with
Henry Soaring, whose work she so much admired.
So, on the present occasion, I lost no time in
telling her what I had heard that day. "What
a strange coincidence! " she cried. " It was only
a few minutes ago that I was reading to Lucy
a review about him in to-day's paper. He has
published another book, and the notice is very
favourable. Oh, Harry, I wish you would try
and get him to come here, so that Lucy and I
may have the pleasure of meeting him. We would
like to meet a man that has made such a name
for himself in so short a time."

221

222 A Weak Woman

My wife had, times out of number, spoken in
this way, but I was still too timid to call on
my old friend. He is sure to pay me back the
money I sent him, thought I, and that will spoil
the pleasure of meeting him. Moreover, he must
now have plenty of literary friends, men to his
own liking. Again, I was, up to the present,
a failure as an artist, although, thanks to my
dead father, I was not in need of money for my
work. I felt quite ashamed to meet him and have
to tell him this, for there was not the least doubt
but that he would be interested in my work,
and little else. Although I did not mention these
things to my wife, I felt them very much. So
I did not answer her when she spoke of getting
Henry Soaring to come to our house. My wife,
of course, thought I was a very clever man, and
a fit associate for any man of genius. But I
could not help thinking that my pictures graced
no other walls than our own and her father's, and
that I still had to make the first step towards
being a famous artist.

On the following morning I suddenly made
up my mind to do something desperate. " I don't
know what time I sh&ll be back," I said to my
wife, " so don't worry if I am away all day."

An Old Acquaintance 223

These words surprised her, and she looked for
an explanation. "It is nothing very serious,"
I said, " and I will tell you all about it when
I return, which is hardly likely to be later than
tea-time." Saying this, I left at once, so as to
avoid any questions, for I could see that both
my wife and Lucy were very curious to know
where I was going and what I was about
to do.

The first thing I did, after leaving the house,
was to make straight for a library. When I
got to one I took hold of a Directory, which was
supposed to be a list of the names and addresses
of well-known people. When this book was in
my hand I turned to the letter " S," and looked for
the name of Soaring. To my, surprise I could
not see the name of the well-known poet. There
were only three great men named Soaring — one
was a butcher, another a brewer, and the other
a jockey. But there was no mention of a poet
of that name. I was very much surprised at
this, for there were hundreds of names of men
who had done nothing, and were only distin-
guished by the possession of money. "I am
looking for the name and address of Henry Soar-
ing," I said to ,the librarian, who was standing

224 A Weak Woman

near, "but I cannot find it in this Directory."
" I am surprised to hear that," answered the
librarian, taking the book out of my hand anu
looking for himself. " I am surprised to hear
that, "he repeated, " for his name is so well known.
He js one of our best living poets." How-
ever, it was not there, and there was nothing else
to do but to get the address from his publisher,
so off I went.

When I reached the publisher's and got my
friend's address I was more surprised than ever,
far, I found that he lived in the same place as when
I had left him. And, as I have said before, the
locality was a very poor one, for although the
street looked respectable enough with the houses
three stories high, it must be remembered that
every house contained several distinct families.
Thinking of this I asked myself, " Has he be-
come a cat to his old surroundings, and will not
leave them for a place more befitting his posi-
tion?^ Surely," I thought, " he must have become
an eccentric man, that he still remains in the old
lodgings and takes no pride in his personal ap-
pearance." For I was now thinking of what
Punch had said, that he had met Darky ten days
ago, and his clothes looked shabby and old.

An Old Acquaintance 225

After I had crossed Westminster Bridge, and
had turned the corner of St. Thomas' Hospital,
I saw a man approaching, whom I recognized at
once — it was the Major. I was very glad, as I
desired to get some information before I reached
the house. "How are you, Mr. Smith?" I said,
coming to a standstill before him. He did not
know me immediately, and straightened himself
and looked rather offended. " Don't you know
me?" I asked, holding out my hand. "I do
now," he answered, grasping it heartily. "Are
you still in the same lodgings?" I asked. "I
am," he answered, " but not for much longer, for
I am going to leave soon. Blood and thunder,
sir! You know Mrs. Figgs. She is a fair she-
devil. Bloaters and lies, from morning till night.
I have to go out for half my meals, and still
I pay her for full board. I will cut my throat
if it goes on much longer like this. That woman
has shortened my life by ten years." "But why
do you let her do it?" I asked. " I am not
going to," answered the Major in a fierce voice.
" I can stand it no longer. If she does not alter
in less than a month, by God, sir, I shall leave
her ! I am no fool, and she will know that in
a very short time." " Is my friend still there,
Q

226 A Weak Woman

on the top floor?-" I asked. "He is; but Mrs.
Figgs says that he has not been out of the house
for three days, and that he is ill. And if he
has no money to pay Mrs. Figgs for attendance,
as well as his rent — well, God help him! Blood
and thunder ! that woman, sir, is a fair she-
devil."

When I heard this I left the Major at once,
and made all haste to my old lodgings. In less
than five minutes I was knocking at the door,
but it was some time before I got an answer.
But at last it was opened and my old landlady
stood in the doorway. "Lor'!" she exclaimed
in a happy voice, " Lor' ! if it isn't the young
gentleman from the country." "Yes," I answered
in a cheerful voice, for I thought it good policy
to appear friendly, " yes, I have come to see
my old friend, Mr. Soaring." " He will be very
pleased to see you, sir," said Mrs. Figgs, " for
he has been ill for three days, and you are the
first friend to come. But don't think he is in
want of anything, for he has paid his rent regu-
larly; and if he was in want I wouldn't have
taken it from him. You know me too well to
think I would be so mean, and so does Mr.
Smith. My husband has often said, * You are

An Old Acquaintance 227

too soft-hearted, love.' * We can't be too soft-
hearted, darling1,' I always reply."

When I heard this false woman a sick feeling
came over me. I knew well that she would do
nothing for a sick man who was too poor to pay
her, and would rob a man who paid her for
good food and attendance. It was a case of
plain, matter-of-fact business with her, and shady
business at that, without a question of sentiment.
This landlady had studied the poor Major's tastes
and then systematically supplied him with food he
did not like, until she had succeeded in ruining
his appetite. He was paying her for good board,
and was supplied with a cheap, monotonous
diet that almost drove him to commit suicide.
And the poor fellow was too helpless to look
for pther lodgings. Moreover, she was very civil
and obliging with her tongue, which succeeded
in pacifying him day after day. I began to
think of her gentle and sweet persuasions at night,
when she knew that the Major cared for no more
than a biscuit and a cup of cocoa for supper —
how she used to, stand at the door, taunting
him. " What can I get you for supper, Mr.
Smith? Let me fry you a nice mutton chop or a
piece of steak? or would you rather have a new-

228 A Weak Woman

laid egg fried, or cold beef with a few pickles ?
I wish you would let me get you something nice,
there's a good man!"

When we reached the room Mrs. Figgs did not
knock, but opened the door and walked straight
in, saying, "An old friend has come to see you,
Mr. Soaring." He was sitting at the window,
with his back towards us, but on hearing these
words he got up and came to meet us. I was
rather taken aback by his personal appearance,
for he had nothing around his neck, and his shirt
was open, showing his naked breast. He did not
seem to be aware of this, for he made no attempt
to button it before Mrs. Figgs. He was also in
need of a shave, and his clothes were worse than
I had ever seen them before; in fact, he looked
more like a tramp in a common lodging-house
kitchen than one of the best of living poets.
However, he stepped forward briskly, and, when
he saw who I was, shook me heartily by the
hand and said in a cheerful voice, " I am very
glad to see you." Mrs. Figgs was still standing
in the room, and I did not want her to hear any
more, so I went to the door and, taking hold
of it, looked at her and said, "Thank you."
She saw, of course, my meaning, and left the

An Old Acquaintance 229

room, and I closed the door after her. How-
ever she knocked as soon as she was outside, and
when I opened the door again said, " I am making
you a custard pudding, Mr. Soaring, and will
bring it up as soon as it is done." "That is
most extraordinary," said my friend when she
was gone, "for I have had very little to eat for
three days, and she did not appear interested to
know whether I had food or not. However, she
has had her rent, and that is all she seems to
trouble about."

CHAPTER XXVII
THE WORLD'S MOCKERY

AFTER the landlady had gone we both seated
ourselves near the window, facing each other.
" I am very glad to see you again," he said at
last in his simple, earnest way. " You look ill,"
I answered, " and if I had known this I would
have come to see you before now. Again, you
do not seem so prosperous a£ I had expected,
and for that reason I would have come long
before, if I had only known. But I thought to
find you in good circumstances and with more
friends than you would want. Tell me what has
happened, for I can see your great reputation
has been something of a mockery. You have
not had any substantial benefit from it, have you?
Or have you made plenty of money and lost it
foolishly? It would be far less painful to be-
lieve the world has paid you for your work and
that you have squandered the money, than to
believe it has done no more than give you an

230

The World's Mockery 231

empty name. That would be cruel indeed."
" The latter has been the case," he answered.
" I have had no money to squander, and, since
we parted, have only just managed to live and
nothing more. But I will tell you all, for it is
a very simple story, but extraordinary it must
be admitted." "Go on, then," I said, "for al-
though I am very inquisitive to. know all, never
doubt but what I am still your true and faithful
friend." He said nothing to this, but got up and
shook hands for the second time, and then seated
himself again.

After a long pause, in which he seemed puzzled
how to begin, he continued. " You know, do
you not, that my first book was well received?"
*' I have read enough about you to know that you
deserve to be in better circumstances than these,"
I answered. "Very well, then," he said; "so
long as you know what kind of name I have
made for myself, it will make it more easy to
understand how strange my experiences have
been. For I have had all the disadvantage of
fame without having the least assistance from
fortune. For instance, what little profit I get
on my books has to be paid away in stationery
and postage stamps to answer my admirers. Not

232 A Weak Woman

only that, but I also get begging letters, which
always upset me, knowing how powerless I am
to assist those that perhaps deserve it. Only the
other day one came from an old woman in want.
This poor old woman had seen my name in a
paper, and, judging from my being so well known
that I was in good circumstances, had written to
me for assistance. When this letter came I had
just received ten shillings for a poem, and on that
amount had to live for a week. However, I cut
my expenses down to eight shillings and sent
the old woman two, for you must understand that
I gave up peddling as soon as my first book was
published and was so well praised, thinking that
I could surely manage to live by writing. I did
not expect to make a good living, by any means,
but thought to live as well as a common unskilled
labourer, on a pound a week. But I soon found
that although critics praised my poems in a book,
editors were not very eager to accept them as
contributions. Not only that, but their pay is
small. Of course it is impossible for any one,
except myself, to know how I have been mocked
since my name first appeared in print. I have
had letters asking for my autograph when I have
not had the price of a meal ; and I have been

The World's Mockery 233

invited to great houses when I have not had a
clean collar to wear. You will see by these things
that the poets of the past, whom we waste so
much pity on, died peacefully of starvation, and
were blessed indeed, as compared to a poet of
the twentieth century; for the former were un-
known in their day, and did not die mocked by
letters of admiration, requests for autographs, and
appeals to deliver addresses to assist a certain
cause. But the poet of the twentieth century is *
likely to suffer the last pangs of hunger with
one of these letters in his hand." " I am really
surprised to hear this," I said, " for we know
that there is a fund to assist poor authors, and
that the State every year confers pensions for
merit in science, art, and literature." " That is
so," answered my companion; "but these things
are, I am told, all done by influence. For in-
stance, although one's work may be praised by all
the leading critics of the day, and one's poverty
be advertised in every review, yet, for all that,
nothing would come of it. And yet, though all
these well-known judges of literature would fail
to draw the State's attention to one, a little
whisper from a great man of title would do the
thing at once, and that great man of title would

234 A Weak Woman

probably know more about horses than books ;
in fact, these rewards gt> by whispers, and people
often get assistance of this kind, and no one
knows what they have done to deserve it."

" But have you never had any one of conse-
quence interested in your life as well as your
work, and eager to give you assistance?" I
asked. " Oh, yes," he answered. " When my
second book appeared a certain kind-hearted
critic, who knew something of my life, drew the
attention of a couple of well-known members of
Parliament to my career, and these two men be-
came interested at once, for they belonged to
the people, the same as myself. Either one of
them had enough influence to persuade the State
to reward me for merit, much more the two of
them. So at their request I called at the House
of Commons to see them. When I was on
my way I was wondering all the time what kind
of offer they would make; whether they would
offer me a small pension and liberty to con-
tin,ue my work, which the critics thought good,
or want to employ me in some other way, such
as standing in a corridor with stripes on my
trousers, or as a small official in Saskatchewan.
However, there was not the least cause to worry,

The World's Mockery 235

for when I called they sent word to say they were
too busy to see me, so I left the House of Com-
mons and went back to starvation."

" And didn't those two great representatives
of the people trouble any more about you?" I
asked, with some indignation. " That put an
end to their interest," he answered, with a short
laugh!.

A sudden thought occurred to me now, and I
asked, " When did this happen? Was it last
summer?" " Yes, it was," answered the poet.
" Then, no wonder those two great members of
Parliament born of the people, were too busy
to see you, for you called at a very critical
time. No doubt that was the day when they had
that great debate about the price of strawberries
on the Terrace. Didn't you read about that?"
I asked. " It was in, all the papers. Members
of Parliament and their friends used to sit eating
strawberries on the Terrace — strawberries and
cream;. Very well, then. Now the caterer was a
mean scoundrel and charged them at the rate of
a penny a berry. The noble members were so
indignant at this that they made it a subject of
debate. And no doubt you unfortunately called
at that time. No wonder they could not see a

236 A Weak Woman

starving poet! But for all that, I am surprised
that such a subject, however important it was,
should have sent your name, life, and work clean
out of their memory."

" I have certainly been very much annoyed over
that visit," said my friend, " for, you must re-
member, it was all done at the request of others,
and I did not push myself forward in any way."

It occurred to me now — and I was sorry to have
forgotten it — that my friend was not well, and
I apologized for uttering so much nonsense, and
asked him if he had seen a doctor.

" No, a doctor is not necessary," he answered ;
"it is only a general weakness brought on by
worry and low diet. To tell you the truth, I am
expecting a small cheque for work printed some
time ago, and have had to measure my rations
until it comes."

When I heard this I understood at once that
he had been in want for some time, and that
his present state had come on him through in-
sufficient nourishment. However, I made no
mention of this, but got up and said, " Let us
now go and have lunch."

He went to the bowl to wash his hands and
face, and I stood waiting, feeling a great joy

The World's Mockery 237

that I had come to save him, perhaps from star-
vation. But just as we were about to leave the
room we heard steps on the stairs, and the next
moment there came a knock at the door. It
was Mrs. Figgs, with a letter for my friend.
He opened it at once, read it, and the next instant
sat, or rather fell, into a chair, and covered his
face with his hands. The letter fell on the
floor, and I picked it up and placed it on the
table. " Read it," he said, looking up with a
very white face, " read it, and it will give you
an idea of what I have been saying."

Taking the letter in my hand I read it, but I
was too much amazed to make any comment.
It was a letter from a well-known society asking
for a subscription to assist poor authors! What
a cruel blunder to make, thought I. If these great
people, that would assist poor authors, do not
know who are the poor authors, how can we
expect autograph hunters and others to be wise ?
What humbugs these societies are ! And what
stupid fools there are at the head of them ! When
will there be a society founded that will have the
advantage of being thoughtful and practical? A
society that will know when a man of genius cannot
live by his work, and will write to him often,

238 A Weak Woman

asking him what he has had for dinner, and if his
rent is paid. However, although I was very in-
dignant, I thought it wise not to worry my poor
friend, in his present weak state, by any more
bitter reflections. But if any one had told me
that a man could be so well known as to receive
letters of this kind, and yet be in extreme poverty,
I would not have believed it. I could not imagine
a more cruel life than this. What a romantic
death my friend the poet would have died, of
hunger, with this letter in his handl This could
very well have been, thought I, looking at my
friend's pinched face, if the letter had been a
couple of days later, and I had not come to him.

CHAPTER XXVIII
A POET'S REVENGE

IN a few moments we were downstairs, where we
found Mrs. Figgs waiting for us in the pas-
sage. She had heard us coming and did not want
us to leave the house without hearing what she
had to say. So when we reached her she said,
looking at my friend with a motherly smile,
" Don't forget that I have a nice custard pudding
for your tea." "Thank you," answered my
friend; "it is very kind of you." No doubt
Mrs. Figgs had been alarmed about her rent,
for she must have known of his poverty. But
now, since she had seen me, her fears seemed to
have gone. She had not failed to notice that my
clothes were good, although I was far from being
a lover of white collars and cuffs. The contrast
between my companion and myself was even
greater than it had been when we first became
acquainted, and drew the attention of the police.

239

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242 A Weak Woman

Again, my wife is deeply interested in your work
and would be only too glad to know that I had
been of some help to you. Will you come and
live with us?" " If I was more independent I
would gladly do so," he answered, " but not under
the present circumstances." "Well, let me hear
your plans," I said, " for I am not going to
lose sight of you again." He did not answer for
some time, but at last said, " You are quite sure
that you can lend me money without making
any sacrifice?" ' Yes," I answered, wondering
what his plans would be, and taking notice that
he used the word "lend." "That being the
case," he continued, after another long pause, *' I
will let you know what I propose doing. I will
write something that will not only pay me for
my trouble, but pay me well, more than I deserve.
Will you help me to write a novel?" "Cer-
tainly," I answered. " I will help you with
money, if that is what you mean." "Thank
you," he said cheerfully; "that is all I want to
know. The way you can help is to lend me a
pound a week during the time I am writing it,
finding a publisher, and waiting the result of its
sale. All this will take something like nine or
ten months, but I know the result will be good.

A Poet's Revenge 243

Never fear but what the book will have a good
sale, for it will not be very pure, I assure you.
If I cannot make bread by writing pure poetry
I will make cake and wine by writing filth."
" It is a great pity to do that," I answered; *' but
still, if there is no one of influence interested in
rewarding and encouraging good and pure work
you are quite justified in taking advantage of
your name and saving yourself from starva-
tion."

With this understanding we got up and
left the restaurant, but not before I had slipped
a piece of gold into his hand, which he ac-
knowledged by a look and a grateful shake of
the hand.

We walked slowly along together until we came
to Westminster Bridge, where we intended parting.
When we stood there, near St. Thomas' Hospital,
I told him that I would see him often, and write
in advance, so as to be sure to find him in when
I came. " I will not be out much, except for
my meals, until I have finished that book," he
said. "It will be done in a month." 'Take
care you do not make yourself ill by overwork,"
I answered. But in spite of all I could say he
would not promise to visit me and my family

244 A Weak Woman

until his novel was published and he had received
the first account of it.

When I reached home and told my wife and
Lucy of my day's experience they were both con-
siderably surprised. " You must not neglect him
again," my wife said, " until he is in a more
independent position, and after that he will not
only not forget you, but be a great personal
friend, I hope." However, although I told my
wife and sister that Henry Soaring was going
to write a novel, I did not tell them that he was
going to make sure of a good sale by making
it filthy. I would have to defend him for this
after the book had appeared, which would not
be for a couple of months at least. My wife
had always praised his poetry for being so pure
and childlike, and the change in his pose would
surprise her.

I went twice a week to see my friend, but did
not stay with him long, for he was writing at a
rapid rate. On my eighth visit he shook hands
more heartily than usual, and said, •" The book
is finished and gone to my publisher. And when
you come next time I may have good news to
tell you. I am also glad to say that I have had
a couple of little poems accepted, which will not

A Poet's Revenge 245

bring me in much, but with your pound a week
will enable me to live without stinting myself
for anything." " I am very pleased to hear that,"
I answered, " for you are sadly in need of clothes,
and I did not like to mention that before."
" Yes," he said, " I do need clothes, and, seeing
that I can live comfortably on a pound a week,
I will spend what little I make on poetry in that
way." Saying this we walked out together, for
his work was now off his hands.

The next time I saw my friend he not only had
arranged everything with the publisher, but was
in the act of correcting the printer's proofs, which
was a sign that the book would soon be out.
" I hear that it is to be published as soon as
possible," said my friend, rubbing his hands to-
gether lor joy.

One morning, when I was sitting at home,
my wife came into the room with the morning
paper in her hand. " Read this," she said, point-
ing to one of the pages; "it is an account of
your friend's novel, which has just been pub-
lished. According to this account, it is an im-
moral book and caters for the worst passions."
" I am not surprised at that," I answered. " He
is a poet and not a novelist; and if he had made

246 A Weak Woman

the book as pure as his poetry, it would have
not been worth writing. It is time for him to
have some reward for his work, and I am certain
he will get it now."

When I had read the review of my friend's
book I saw at once that it would have a great
sale. It condemned the author for writing an
immoral story, saying that it was hardly con-
ceivable that a man whose poetry was so
pure could write such filth. And, seeing that
this paper was a leading one, I knew that a
number of others would echo its views. Henry
Soaring's chance had come at last, I felt sure
of that. A filthy book will make its way
and sell, even if no papers review it and give it
advertisement.

Two or three days after reading this review
I paid my friend another visit and found him
in the best of spirits. He had already had a
number of reviews, and they all condemned the
book as immoral, but they all mentioned how
good and pure his poetry was. " If those two
great members of Parliament had thought more
of a starving poet and less of the price of straw-
berries on the Terrace you would have had no
need to write an immoral story," I said. " Those

A Poet's Revenge 247

great men should have considered that a good
poet is not to be despised and overlooked because
his present-day readers are few; they should
take into account that its work will also give
pleasure when he is dead and their own names
forgotten. He should be rewarded for the sake
of posterity. You are sure to make a lot of
money out of this book, and then you can answer
that letter you had, when you were on the point
of starvation, asking for a subscription to a fund
to assist poor authors."

I was never so much delighted as when I read
these attacks on my friend's novel, knowing what
the result would be. All poets that make a
name for themselves and whose merit is recog-
nized have a chance to do this. Then why should
they starve? Let them look to themselves and put
no trust in others.

I kept on visiting my friend twice a week until
he had the first settlement with his publisher.
The latter had told him that the book was going
well and that several large editions had been
called for ; but when the result was known my
friend was surprised, as you may well believe.
For he made over two. thousand pounds from the
first six months' sale and the book was still sell-

248 A Weak Woman

ing. In fact, my friend, having no family ties
and being a man of inexpensive habits, was now
comfortable for life,, for he would still make a
pound or two occasionally by his poems.

CHAPTER XXIX
THE ABSENT ONE

ONE morning, when I returned after being
out walking, I found Lucy and my wife
in great excitement over a letter that had come.
It was from abroad, and my sister Lucy had
recognized Maud's handwriting. The letter had
been directed to our old home, and was for-
warded to our present address. Poor Lucy was in
such a state of curiosity that she said she would
have opened it if I had been much later coming
in. "Why didn't you?" I asked; " it concerns
the both of us."

I lost no time in opening the letter, and then
saw that it was addressed to my father, whose
Christian name I bore. When I read " My dear
father," instead of "My dear brother," I felt
touched to the heart. Of course I soon got over
this surprise, knowing that she had never written
home and was in communication with no friends,

249

250 A Weak Woman

and that she was quite ignorant of what had
happened in her absence. The letter was not
a very affectionate one, being rather hard and
business-like. It expressed no wish to see her
family again, but rather implied that she was
happy enough to be where she was. When I
had read it through it was clear to me that she
would not have written at all if she had not
been in want of money. She explained that she
was in business and needed a certain sum to
enlarge the premises, asking my father if he would
send it without delay. " I wonder if Maud is
telling the truth," said Lucy, laughing, " for I
cannot for one moment imagine Maud as a staid
business woman."

In answer to this letter I told Maud all that
had happened since she had left home; but I
did not care to tell her that her father had dis-
inherited her, but gave her to understand that her
presence was needed at once and would be to her
benefit. Lucy and I had always intended that
Maud should have her share, in spite of my
father's will, but for all that I did not like the
thought of her squandering it among wild com-
panions and drinking herself to death. So, for
her own sake, I wanted to be sure of her way

The Absent One 251

of living, which I could not know while she re-
mained abroad. Thinking of these things I wrote,
asking her to come home at once, and sending
enough money to pay her expenses, if she hap-
pened to be in low circumstances, as I believed
she was.

Having read this letter to my wife and sister,
and hearing their approval, I went to the post
office at once, which was not far away, and posted
it, after enclosing a money order. When this
was done I went to pay my friend the poet a
visit, who was now living not far away. We
saw each other often, either at my house or his.
He was out of all worry now, for he had made
enough out of his novel to live on the interest,
without touching the capital. It must be re-
membered that he was a man of very simple taste
and no extravagant habits, so that he could live
comfortably on two or three pounds a week.
However, he was more extravagant in clothes than
I would have expected of him, but the reason of
that will be explained later on.

When I saw him, on this particular morning,
he was just ready to go out, so we went to-
gether, neither one of us having any particular
business in view. We were very open and con-

252 A Weak Woman

fidential with each other, so that it was not long
before I told him of Maud's letter and my own
in return. "There are not many brothers and
sisters that would act so generously towards a
disinherited one," he said, " and I Tiope the money
will do her good. If the dead live, I am sure
your father will bless you for such a noble reso-
lution. I wonder if she is less wild than in
former days. If she is not, money will do her
harm."

After I had left my friend I began to have
fears for the future. I thought of Lucy's words
— " I wonder if Maud is telling the truth." And
then I thought of my friend's words — " I wonder
if she is less wild than in former days." These
thoughts worried me so much that I came to a
sudden resolution, and hurried home at once to
put it into effect.

When I reached the house I went immediately
to my study and sat down to write another letter.
This was to the chief of police in the town where
Maud lived, asking him confidentially to let me
know what kind of life my sister led. This letter
I posted at once, making no confidant of any one.
I was now in a state of anxiety to receive his
answer. My great worry was that when his letter

The Absent One 253

came it would be seen by Lucy and my wife,
who would be curious to know who it was from.
For they knew I had no correspondence from
abroad, except from Maud, and they would see
that it was not from her. However, I was deter-
mined to tell them nothing until I was sure the
news was not favourable to my elder sister. But
it was needless to worry yet, for it was impossible
to get an answer in less than twenty days, and
he would probably not write back immediately.
For one thing he would not have to investigate,
for the town was only a very small one, and
every man, woman, and child would be known to
the chief of police, and what they did for a
living. Men and women that led a fast life of
open depravity would be well known to him, I
knew that well. i

One morning, about three weeks after posting
this letter, I received a reply. When the letter
was brought my wife and Lucy were not in the
room, so I just glanced at it to make sure who
it was from and then slipped it into my pocket
until I had a chance to open it without fear of
being disturbed. So as to be quite safe in doing
this, I went out, making my way towards the
Heath, and feeling uncomfortable all the way.

254 A Weak Woman

I dreaded to read the contents of this letter,
which I knew would be straightforward and brief.
At last I opened it, and when I had read it I
almost dropped down. There were only two or
three sentences — a few cold, damning words that
left no doubt as to the kind of house she lived
in and the life she led in it. I would not have
courage to mention these things to either my wife,
Lucy, or friend. Her drinking habits and free-
dom from family ties had led her into a bad
life, and she was no longer fit to be near pure
women and children.

When I was returning home, with this letter in
my pocket, the words seemed to burn my flesh.
And yet I could only put it under lock and key
—I could not destroy it. It seemed to be a
thing that I was forced to keep, whatever the
consequences might be; so as soon as I reached
home I locked it up, for fear it would drop out
of my pocket and get into other hands. I did
not feel safe until this was done, for while I
was talking to my wife and Lucy I thought I
felt it coming out of my pocket, and even put
my hand there to force it back. This frightened
me so much — it seemed a living thing — that I
left them abruptly and went to my room and

The Absent One 255

buried it under a hundred other things in a strong
safe.

I knew that if Maud came home to us it would
not be long before some disgrace would follow.
Again, my wife, whom I deeply loved, was full
of life, and was not like Lucy, gentle and meek.
She would drink a glass of wine and smoke a
cigarette with as much enjoyment as a man. And
when I thought of this I feared that she should
come under the influence of my sister Maud; for
my wife only did these things at home, and not
elsewhere. But although I had confidence in her,
believing that no strange woman could lead her
seriously astray, yet, for all that, it would be
another thing when she was with my sister Maud.
For my wife would be more free with her, know-
ing that she was my own flesh and blood, and
think, if she overstepped the mark of prudence,
there would be an excuse on that account. They
were both of a wild, adventurous nature, and,
knowing what my sister's nature had led her to,
I was in horror that the two should ever come
together. I believed that Maud would have power
to persuade my wife to drink in strange places,
and I could never trust a woman who did that ;
in fact, the more I thought of it, the more I

A Weak Woman

trembled for what must follow if Maud came to
live under the same roof.

Up to the present my life had known no sorrow,
with the exception of Maud's home-leaving and
the death of my father, but now I was in a
fever of torment every day. Every day my mind
was occupied with thoughts which I dared not
share with either my wife, Lucy, or my friend.
And every night I would sit alone, after my wife
and Lucy had gone to bed, thinking of the future.
I used to have one vision in particular that
haunted me often, whether I was alone or not.
I used to see a woman, full of loud laughter
and cheap smiles, getting on board a ship. Even
the common sailors knew what she was by her
bold ease, and, when they saw her, winked at
each other and laughed. And when I saw this
the blood would mount to my eyes, and I would
fidget in my chair, to try and shake off that dis-
gusting dream. But the next instant I would see
that woman again, this time leaving the ship and
riding through London. " She is coming here,"
I would say, and would again fidget in my chair.
But it would be of no use, for I was no sooner
calm again than the dream would continue. But
when it did so the woman was then at the gate,

The Absent One

257

and the next instant she was in the house, laugh-
ing with my wife and Lucy.

That was the beginning and the end of my
dream, and I would then hasten to bed, for fear
that it would come again, for it had a way of
repeating itself time after time. The woman I
saw in my dreams was not the Maud we used
to know. This woman on board a ship, and
who rides through London, has no fresh look in
her face, although she is still young. And she
has a bold, knowing, inquisitive look, like those
women that eye well-dressed men and wonder
whether they can be made victims. The woman
I saw in my dreams had no eyes for her own
sex. " She will bring disgrace to this house,"
I said to myself, " before she has been here a
week." And yet what could I do? She was my
own sister, and I could not turn my back on
her. My wife and Lucy knew nothing, and I dare
not tell them. All I can do is to watch her,
and, if I see anything wrong, tell her then what
I know of her past life. And if she once knows
that I have the secret of her past life she will
go abroad again in all haste, which will be better
for all of us. I will be firm with her.

That I was a great deal worried at this time

258 A Weak Woman

was apparent to all. My wife Helen, and Lucy,
and also my friend Soaring had noticed my care,
and had mentioned it. But in spite of their
curiosity and interest I was determined to keep
my thoughts secret as long as I could.

CHAPTER XXX
THE ARRIVAL

SOME time after this, when we were all at
breakfast, my sister said, "We should have
had a letter from Maud by now, to say that she
is coming home. But she is not very thoughtful
in that way, and no doubt she will take us by
surprise." "Most likely that is what she will
do," I answered, trying to affect a cheerful voice.
For Lucy was very fond of Maud, and did not
believe that she would do anything seriously
wrong, although she knew her to be wild and
easily led astray. My sister Lucy was of such a
trustful nature that she would not have believed
the chief of police, in spite of how I might prove
that such a man would have no motive for telling
a lie. It would be no good to explain to her
that he was a man without sentiment, as far as
strangers were concerned, who would call a
woman a prostitute or a man a murderer without
any personal ill-feeling; that he only did his

259

260 A Weak Woman

duty, and was paid for it, to protect good and
innocent people from those that would do them
harm. And now, when she was so happy in
expecting to see her sister she was less likely
than ever to believe any harm of her. It must
be remembered that Lucy had had no love affairs
and had lived entirely for her own family; and
that was the reason why she was so happy in
expecting Maud, whom she was continually talk-
ing about.

On this particular morning I did not go out,
but went to my studio, which was at the top of
the house. I may as well say here that although
I was not a well-known artist I had made a
small reputation, which I had great hopes of en-
larging before long. But I may as well have
gone out for a walk, for when I sat down before
my easel I could do no work. The dream that
had haunted me for the past two weeks pos-
sessed me as soon as I was alone. I saw the
woman getting on board ship and saw her landing
in this country and riding through London. And
then I saw her at my gate, and the next instant
she was in my house, laughing with Lucy and
my wife. And now, just as I heard this laughter
in a dream, I became suddenly alarmed. " This

The Arrival 261

is no dream/' I said to myself, " I did hear laugh-
ter in the house." I listened attentively and then
heard quick steps running up the stairs, and the
next moment Lucy burst into the room, crying
breathlessly, "Maud has come! She is here-
downstairs." After saying this, simple and happy
Lucy waited for no answer nor my company,
but was off again to rejoin her sister.

When I heard this I stood helpless in the
middle of the room, trying to collect my thoughts
before I went downstairs. And when I did make
a move I went with such slow steps that it was
a considerable time before I reached the front
room, where they were waiting for me. I took
so long that my wife Helen said, after I had
greeted Maud, " Harry, you are getting an old
man, judging by the way you come down the
stairs. We thought you would never be here,
and yet we have heard your steps coming for a
long time. Poor old fellow!"

I don't know how I managed to take my sister's
kisses and embrace without showing any repug-
nance, and was very glad when our greeting
was over and we sat apart, the women having
all the conversation to themselves. This gave
me a chance to study Maud's face, and I was

262 A Weak Woman

considerably surprised to see how old she looked.
It was a clear proof of the life she had led, for
such women not only look old soon, but also die
long before women that lead a pure life. There
was only the difference of three years between
Maud and Lucy, and yet they almost looked like
mother and daughter. Maud had a jaded look,
while Lucy looked quite young and fresh. But
it was the expression that I noticed most; it was
not kind and soft, but hard and bold. She was
not the weak, charming woman that appears for
a man's protection, but looked as though she
could take care of herself. While I was think-
ing of these things I was looking hard at her,
and she turned her head, and, judging rightly
that I was studying her, said, " Don't you know
me yet, Harry?" And when she said this she
looked so boldly that I felt confused and was
glad when my wife drew her attention another
way.

The three women seemed to get on very well
together, and I never before heard so much
laughter in our house. It is not likely that either
Lucy or my wife were surprised at Maud's old
looks, for I had often heard them talking of the
great trouble she had been through. But the

The Arrival 263

truth of the matter was that Maud had always
been selfish and too light-hearted to worry over
anything. First of all she had parted from her
husband without the least concern, and then she
had gone abroad without any care of" her family,
and, again, she had not heard of her father's
death. No, she had brought on her present jaded
appearance by the manner of her life, which she
had taken of her own choice ; in fact, it suddenly
occurred to me now that although Maud had been
told of my father's death she had passed it over
quickly, without showing any interest as to how
he died, or whether he had inquired of her. If
he had died cursing her she would not have
shown any concern, I felt sure of that. When
I told her that he had disinherited her, but that
it would make no difference as Lucy and I had
resolved that she should have her share, she only
smiled and nodded her head, as though she had
expected us to do that. But what displeased me
was that she did not express the least sorrow
that her father had judged her unworthy of an
inheritance. If she had loved her father she
would have most certainly been affected to hear
that he had died with a bad opinion of her
Hfe.

264 A Weak Woman

For two or three days after this Maud went
out with either my wife or Lucy, and sometimes
the three of them together. Whatever her habits
had been in the past, she appeared to lead an
ordinary woman's life now. It is true that she
drank several glasses of whisky in the house,
saying that her heart was weak and she had been
advised by a doctor to drink whisky. Of course
none of us thought anything of this, for she did
not seem affected, except that she laughed more.
Several times she went out by herself, but I
know nothing of her doings on those occasions.

On the second night of her arrival we had the
usual visit from our friend Henry Soaring, for
we always expected him for certain on Wednes-
days. As I have said, my wife and Lucy were
great admirers of my friend's work, and they
had now taken a great liking to him personally
because of his simple unaffected ways. He was
also very fond of children, and the baby, as
young as he was, never failed to welcome him
and held out his little arms to be taken. And
seeing that a woman will always trust to her
baby's judgment, which she thinks is divine in-
stinct that cannot go .wrong, even so my wife's
friendship for the poet was very firm. Very

The Arrival 265

well, then. We were all seated, talking on some
subject which I cannot remember, when I hap-
pened to glance at Maud. My wife was talk-
ing at the time, and Lucy was facing Henry Soar-
ing and looking at him in no unusual manner,
while she was listening to my wife. Now when
I happened to glance at Maud I saw that she
also was looking at Henry Soaring, but in a
different manner from Lucy. It was a sly,
searching look, and I was sure that I read her
thoughts aright. However, her look did not last
long, and the next moment she was looking at my
wife in apparent forgetfulness of others.

On this occasion Henry Soaring remained
longer than usual. When he rose to go I said
at once that I would accompany him home, as
I had not been put all day and wanted a little
fresh air before I went to bed, so we both left
the house together. But jn spite of all my efforts
I could not be cheerful company, and my com-
panion noticed my silence and mentioned it. So
we walked along, saying .little, until we were
ready to part at his door. " Soaring," I said,
shaking hands with him, ." I want to say some-
thing before I go. Will you promise me not
to call any more at our house for a week or

266 A Weak Woman

two? Will you promise me that? But I cannot
give you an explanation now. " "Certainly I
will promise you that," he answered in a reserved
voice. I could not help noticing by the light in
the passage that his face was flushed painfully.
I thought of these things after we had parted,
and I was horrified to imagine that he had
guessed Maud's true character. " He is an
author," thought I, " and a student of faces, and
perhaps he also saw that look which had so
alarmed me. Why did he flush so painfully?
Does he know Maud's character and think that
I am afraid to trust him to enter my house?"

Thinking of this, I reached home and found
my wife and two sisters together, as I had left
them. When I entered they were talking of
Henry Soaring, and Lucy was saying that he
came without failing every Wednesday evening
at the same time. "Yes," I said; "but he will
not be here next Wednesday and perhaps not
the Wednesday after." "Why?" asked my wife
in a surprised voice. "He is writing another
book," I answered, " and wants to get it off
his mind now that he is in the right mood."
"You see," said my wife, turning to my sister
Maud, " you see, these authors think more of

The Arrival 267

their books than they do of their wives and
children, so that it cannot 'be expected that they
will study their friends. We must scold 'him
when he does come." While my wife ,was saying
this I happened to glance at Lucy, and lo ! her
face was as red as Soaring's had been when I
parted with h,im at his door. " Hallo! " thought
I, with a great sigh' of relief, " Hallo, Soaring
must have been 'thinking of Lucy and not Maud
when I asked him not to call again for some
time. And instead of him discovering my .secret
he is pained to think that I have discovered his,
and object to his love for Lucy." Poor Lucy
must have felt quite upset when she heard my
wife say that authors thought more of their books
than their ties of flesh and blood.

No doubt Lucy and my friend had guessed each
other's secret, but I am certain that nothing up
to the present time had passed between them.
When I had a chance to tell my wife of my
discovery she laughed and said, " How blind you
have been!" "Have you noticed anything be-
tween them, then?/' I asked. " I have noticed
that he takes more pride in his personal appear-
ance than he did when he first came here," she
answered, " and also that he has a different tone,

268 A Weak Woman

a little softer than his usual tone, when Lucy is
near. And of course I have noticed that Lucy
gives an extra touch to her appearance on Wed-
nesdays." "He is a fine noble character," I
said, " and she is a sweet, simple girl; and they
can make each other happy, I am sure of that."

CHAPTER XXXI
A PAINFUL EXPERIENCE

I HAD made such a mess of things now that I
was almost sorry for what I had done. It
had given pain to Lucy, thinking that Henry
Soaring thought nothing of her and only con-
sidered his books; and I had made my friend
think that I had discovered his regard for my
sister and wanted to discourage it. Although I
could not very well deal with Lucy, I did my
best to set my friend's mind at ease by telling
him often my good opinion of him, and that I
would probably be able to give him an explana-
tion soon. I went so far as to tell him that
everything was all right until Maud came, and
that my wish to see him often— but not at my
house — must be taken as a proof of my friendship.
" We all think a lot of you," I said, " my wife,
Lucy, and myself, and we believe you think some-
thing of us. But I cannot explain matters yet,
and hope you will not be suspicious." When he

269

270 A Weak Woman

heard this he appeared better satisfied, saying
that he was glad to hear that nothing had been
wrong before Maud's coming, and that he would
ask no curious questions. However, to set his
mind altogether at ease, I thought a small con-
fession would be wise, so that he could be certain
I was not thinking of anything between him and
Lucy. So I said, " To tell you the truth, my
sister Maud drinks, and I am afraid you will
come some day when she has taken too much. It
is hardly likely she will go so far as that, but
still the danger is there. For that reason I want
to keep the house very private, until I get more
confidence in her. So now you know the truth,
and need not worry about any other cause." When
he heard this I saw a look of relief come into
his face, which I was very glad to see. " That
is a great pity," he answered kindly, "and I
hope she will soon overcome that weakness. It
is surprising to hear of the number of good and
decent women that have that one failing of
drink." I lost no time in changing the subject,
for I was very much afraid that he would in
his friendship question me of Maud's past.

My sister had not been with us more than a
week when she began to lose restraint, as I had

A Painful Experience 271

expected. Almost from the first day she wanted
to be out all the time, and was accompanied
by either my wife or Lucy. But they would no
sooner return than she would be off again, saying
that she was going out to buy some small thing
and Would be back almost immediately. Of course
she always returned with what she went out for,
but I am certain that she also called at some
house for spirits. One time, when she went out
suddenly in this way, without waiting for any
company, she did not return for several hours ;
and when she came at last it was apparent to
me, whatever my wife and Lucy thought, that she
had been taking strong drink. I mentioned this
to my wife when we were alone, and although
she agreed with me she was ready with an ex-
cuse, saying, " Poor Maud has had a lot of
trouble!" Alas! my wife did not know that
drinking had not been Maud's only sin. She
knew nothing of the letter upstairs in my strong
safe, or she could not have remained in the same
house as my eldest sister, I was sure of that.

One evening I Was returning home after dark,
having just left Henry Soaring. As I was coming
near the house I saw a woman leaving its gate,
after which she went with quick steps towards

272 A Weak Woman

the City. I was coming from the other way, and
she did not look in my direction. " Where is
she going now?" thought I, for of course I saw
it was Maud. Being very curious to know, I
passed my gate, when I came to it, and followed
in my sister's footsteps. She had a good start,
but my long strides soon overtook her short steps.
However, when I got near her I did not speak,
as I had intended, but made up my mind to follow
her and see what she did and where she would
go. With this intention I fell back to a safe
distance, which was not very far away, but was
safe, owing to the number of people in the street ;
in fact, the number of people was so great that
I thought it better to cross the street, for fear
she would go into some place without my seeing
her, or that I should pass lier unawares. Think-
ing of this I crossed the road, and then had no
difficulty in keeping her in sight. I felt thoroughly
ashamed of playing the part of a spy, but thought
it my duty, for the sake of dearer ones, to know
as much of Maud's doings as possible.

We had not been walking ten minutes when
I saw Maud stop in front of a public-house, and
the next instant she was inside, opening a door
that had the letters " Private Bar " on it. I

A Painful Experience 273

waited on the other side of the street, but she
reappeared in a very short time and continued on
her way, while I followed her. In less than a
quarter of an hour she entered another place of
the same kind, and it was a little longer before
I saw her again. I followed her for more than
an hour, and in that time she had been in two
houses to buy drink, but I could not see any
difference in her walk. No doubt she was well
used to drink, and it would be a hard matter for
others to see anything strange in either her move-
ments or looks.

It was getting late now, and she was a long way
from "home, so I thought she intended to ride
back. ' However, she went into another public-
house, while I stood watching and waiting for her
reappearance. But this time she was gone so long
that I became vexed, thinking that she had come
out and I had missed her. I became so impressed
with this idea that, without knowing what I was
doing, I walked across the road and stood outside
the very door of that house. After standing there
for a minute or two I made up my mind to
peep inside, to make sure whether she was there
or hot. But I felt very much ashamed of the
part I was taking, and stood on the pavement,
T

274 A Weak Woman

with my back to the house, undecided what to do.
It did not occur to me that she was likely to
come out at any minute, and, seeing me standing
there, would know that I was following her as a
spy on her movements.

(Now while I was standing there, wondering
what I would do next, a woman touched me on
the back, laughed and said, " Hallo ! " and passed
on. This, of course, would be no unusual ex-
perience in London, for any man who stood aim-
lessly on the pavement would be likely to have
a fast woman address him. But when this hap-
pened 'to me my blood went cold, for I recog-
nized 'the voice; and when this woman turned
her head I saw it was my sister Maud. I ad-
vanced towards her, and stood before her face.
" Harry! " she cried in a sharp voice, and shrink-
ing back. "Yes," I answered coldly; "didn't
you touch my back and speak to me?." But she
had now recovered her presence of mind, for she
said, laughing, " Didn't you know who I was ?
I felt faint a few minutes ago, and had to get
a small drop of spirits. So when I came out
of this house and saw you standing there I thought
to give you a surprise. But you would not have
known who I was if I had passed on and had

A Painful Experience 275

not turned round, would you?- Are you going
home now?. How Helen and Lucy will laugh
when I tell them this!" " Yes," I answered,
" we will go home, and, seeing that it is getting
late, we had better ride." " I have been farther
than I intended to go," she said; " and if I
had not met you, no doubt I would have gone
still farther on. But tell me, Harry, didn't you
know me?"

When we were on our way home I could not
possibly shake off my painful thoughts, although
I did my best to pretend that I believed her.
The very fact that she would not let the subject
drop was sufficient proof that she had been guilty
of something wrong. But she was my own sister,
and I could not for shame mention my suspicions
which, knowing her past life, made me sure were
unfortunately too true. But what puzzled me was
to find a motive why she should address a strange
man, which she understood me to be. She was
not in need of anything now, and was a rich
woman, considering that she had not the least tie
on her possessions — not even a little child to be
fed and clothed. The only way I could account
for it was that she had been drinking, and, having
been used to the society of strange men, had

276 A Weak Woman

addressed me — thinking I was a stranger — from
her old habit. Perhaps she would have taken no
more notice of me had I not stepped forward and
confronted her. Whether that was so or not
does not matter in the least; what did matter was
this, that I knew now that Maud was a weak
woman and dangerous, and that she would surely
bring- disgrace on her family before Jong. This
was a very painful thought, but I could think
of nothing to do, except to advise her not to
drink so much. But of course I was not sup-
posed to know that she did drink much, for I
felt ashamed to let her know how I came by
that knowledge. However, I was determined to
watch her closely in the future.

When we got home she began at once to relate
to my wife and Lucy her version of what had
happened, to their innocent amusement, for they
had not the least suspicion of the truth. My
wife mentioned how strange it was that we not
only should have both been truants from home,
but that we should meet, in so large a city as
London, and return together. Maud was very
particular in describing her feelings of faintness,
that made her enter a common public-house, which
she did not care to do. But she had such a

A Painful Experience 277

charming manner, and looked so little the worse
for drink, that my wife and Lucy thought none
the less of her on that account. And when I
looked at her and heard the lies coming out of
her mouth I sat dumb in amazement. No doubt
the shock of meeting me under such conditions
had completely sobered her.

On this particular night I went to bed early,
saying that I did not feel well. The truth of
the matter was that I had had enough of Maud's
presence for one day, and wanted to think matters
over quietly. But up to the present I had no
notion of doing anything in particular, only to
wait and act according to her future conduct.
I had to keep her secret, as well as to keep the
rest of the family from being disgraced. Per-
haps she would soon take a notion to go abroad
again, to escape all restriction, and I knew that
that would be the best for all of us. Her secret
would then die with her, for it would be safe
with me for all time. She would soon drink
herself to death, and even if she did not the
life she had led would shorten her days, for that
class of women never live long. With this thought
I consoled myself— that she would soon go abroad
again.

278 A Weak Woman

When I was leaving the room she was once
more telling my wife and Lucy of the practical
joke she had played on me, and they were all
three laughing over it heartily. But although I
did my utmost to be false, I could not even
smile, much less laugh. However, I had told
them that I was not well, so that they did not
expect me to join in their ruerriment.

CHAPTER XXXII
MURDER

r I ^HREE mornings after what I have related in
-*• the last chapter Maud went to her room
immediately after breakfast, and returned in a
few moments dressed ready to go out. " I didn't
know you were going out so soon," said Lucy in
a voice of surprise. " Wait until I am ready,
which will not be long, and we will take a walk
on the Heath." "But I must go to a shop
first," answered Maud, " and will be back by
the time you, are ready." Saying this she left
in a hurry for fear Lucy would propose something
else.

As soon as she was gone Lucy began to dress,
and was ready in about ten minutes; but Maud
had not returned, and the time soon went on to
half an hour. " What has become of her?/' asked
Lucy, when an hour had nearly gone. At last
it was clear that Maud had gone off on her own
account, but whether she had intended to do so

279

280 A Weak Woman

from the first, or had made fresh plans after
she had left us, we could not say. So my wife
Helen dressed, and they both went out, taking
the child with them. It was the month of May,
and whoever was compelled to stay indoors on
this pleasant morning was the victim of some
one's sin. On such a morning every creature
should be free to enjoy the open air and the
sun. However, in spite of this, I had no in-
clination to go out walking, but sat in my room,
full of worry and care. The last few days must
have made a difference in my looks, for my wife
was all the time advising me to see a physician,
and threatened to send for one without my con-
sent. I could not, of course, tell her that it was
all through worry, and then withhold the cause,
so I had to leave her under the impression that
something was wrong with my bodily health. At
last, to save her any more anxiety, J told her
that I had been to a physician, and was advised
to take plenty of fresh air, but that there was
nothing seriously wrong. With this she appeared
satisfied, and my sister Lucy also.

But on this particular morning I did not go out,
as Helen believed I would, but sat down, won-
dering where Maud had gone and sorry I had

Murder 281

not followed her. For I knew now for certain
that she could not be trusted alone, and our only
safety was to keep her under our eyes all the
time, and never lose sight of her for more than
an hour. I was very thankful that we had no
more visitors, for Henry Soaring was still sup-
posed to be too busy with his new book to spare
time with friends. No doubt these continual
references to a sister's character sound cruel and
unbrotherly, but few brothers, it must be remem-
bered, would have received her at all under the
same conditions. Again, she was always very
selfish, and had no real affection for any of us.
She never mentioned my father, as though he
had never lived, and she was likely to leave us
at any moment with the same indifference as be-
fore; in fact, I knew well that she did not re-
spect the house that was her home, and would
feel no shame for our sake if she brought dis-
grace on it. It is very strange how two sisters
so dissimilar as Maud and Lucy should have come
of the same father and mother. They were
nothing alike in looks, and they did not have
one trait in common. One was loud, greedy, and
selfish, and the other was quiet, temperate, and
self-sacrificing. If any sickness had come on my

282 A Weak Woman

wife Helen I know well which sister would have
sat at the bedside until sleep threw her down.
I know which sister would have been ill herself
after Helen recovered.

My wife and Lucy were not out long, and the
first thing they did on their return was to inquire
of Maud. When I said she had not come back
they were both surprised, and when dinner-time
came and still no sign of her, they became
anxious; but when tea-time came, and Maud had
not returned, they began to grow alarmed, saying
that something must have happened to her.
" Perhaps she has lost her way," Helen said.
" That would not matter," I answered, " for I
know she carries our address with her." "Per-
haps she has been knocked down and taken to
a hospital," exclaimed Lucy. " But she has our
address with her," I protested, " and the officials
would communicate with us immediately. No,
she is not injured, but is going her own way,
I am sure of that." "But surely she would
know that we would be anxious about her," my
wife said. "No; Maud is thoughtless," I an-
swered carelessly, " and would never dream of
our anxiety. She will be here before long." I
believed this, but I trembled to think of the con-

Murder 283

dition Maud would be in when she came. That
she would be half-drunk I was sure; but I was
very much afraid that she would be only just
sober enough to reach home, after undergoing
the stares and ridicules of every one she passed.
Perhaps she will have to be assisted home, I
thought, and trembled at the idea. That idea
was bad enough, but another came which was
much worse. Perhaps, thought I, she will not
be quite so drunk as that, but will bring a strange
man to the gate.

It was soon night, and the clock struck ten,
and Maud had not come. " Harry, had you not
better go to the police and report her as miss-
ing?" my wife asked. "I will go early in the
morning," I answered, " if she has not come by
then. But you and Lucy go to bed, for I will
spend the night here, ready to let her in should
she come." However, they would not go to bed
yet, but still sat up waiting; but when it had
passed eleven o'clock they went, knowing that
it was folly for more than one to lose rest. So
they went to bed, leaving me there pretending to
read a book.

As soon as they were gone I sprang to my feet,
threw the book down and began walking to and

284 A Weak Woman

fro. How will this end? thought I to myself.
Something dreadful will come of it, I am sure of
that.

Several times I went to the door and looked
out, but I saw no one coming. When I thought
of the happy home I had — a loving wife, a healthy
child, an affectionate sister, and such a fine friend
in Henry Soaring, not to mention my wife's father
and mother — when I thought of this I almost wept
that Maud should threaten it with harm. If she
had been wronged by others I could have for-
given her; but I knew that she had deliberately
made herself the creature she was, without having
any other to blame.

When I looked at the clock and saw that it was
a quarter to one I gave up all hopes of seeing her
until the next day. For all that, I was deter-
mined to give her every chance by waiting up
all night. So I picked up a book, in the vain
hope of becoming interested in spite of my un-
settled mind. I began to read this book, but
did not know what I was reading because of my
own thoughts. However, I still persisted in read-
ing, and must at last have become interested, for I
was suddenly brought to myself by hearing a
loud scream not far from the house. But I was

Murder 285

not quite sure whether it was the truth or fancy,
and sat listening for another sound. It then
occurred to me that I was sitting up waiting for
Maud, and I closed the book at once and went
to the door again. " I will go as far as the
gate," I said to myself, " for perhaps I did hear
a woman scream, in spite of how quiet it is
now."

Thinking of this, I made my way down the
path, but I had not gone many steps when I
saw something that made me leap forward. What
I saw was a dark body lying across the path, and
just inside the gate. In a second I was on the
spot; in another second I saw it was a woman ;
and in another second I saw that the woman was
Maud. Of course my first thoughts were that she
was helplessly drunk and had managed with great
difficulty to come so far, and then fell, over-
powered. So I tried to rouse her, but she seemed
to have no life at all in her limbs, and not a
sound came from her lips. I was standing there,
wondering how I could get her indoors without
waking others, when I suddenly heard the gate
click, and, looking up, saw a policeman about
to enter. "Who is this woman?" he asked
sharply. Of course it was quite clear that she

286 A Weak Woman

was helpless, so that I could not make any other
answer than by saying she was my sister and had
only just come home. " I am very much afraid
she has taken too much drink," I said, "and
am glad she is safely home." While I was saying
this the policeman had been using his lantern,
bending over her body and hiding her from my
eyes. At last he rose and said, to my horror,
" No, she is not drunk, but dead ! Look at the
blood, and here is the knife she was killed with.
But," he added hastily, " there is no suspicion on
you, for I saw the murderer running away and
gave chase, but he has escaped."

When I heard that my sister was murdered I
had no more thought of any harm in her, I fell
on my knees and kissed her poor face, holding
her two hands in mine. I cursed myself for ever
being bitter against her, and found a thousand
excuses for her folly.

It is not worth while relating all the trouble
that followed my sister's death. I had to give
an account of her life to the police, but kept
secret what I knew of her life abroad. A full
account of the murder appeared in all the papers,
and thousands of people came to my gate to
stare, whisper, and point with their fingers. A

Murder 287

policeman on duty there kept them moving, but
he could not prevent them from satisfying a
certain amount of curiosity.

The police at once suspected Maud's husband
as the murderer, but could learn nothing about
him, for he had completely disappeared— as far
as his friends were concerned — since the day I
saw him near his home, when Maud was with me.
However, they had a photograph of him, and the
knife as a clue, and had great hopes of finding
him before long.

The very first thing I did, when I had the
chance, was to destroy the letter I had received
from abroad. After that was done I had no fear
that either my wife or Lucy would ever know
the real truth. They would only know Maud as
a weak creature, whose one sin was drink, and
never be ashamed to mention her name. After
all, we were without the influence of a mother,
and Maud was one of those wild spirits that,
having no mother to watch and guide, was bound
to go wrong.

CHAPTER XXXIII
THE MURDERER

r I SHE house became notorious now, and we
-•• could not come and go but what we saw
people staring and pointing our way. Although
this did not weigh much with me, it had a deeper
effect on my wife and Lucy. " It will wear off,"
I said, " and people will forget and pass in the
usual way." However, my wife and Lucy did
not feel at all comfortable, and talked about
another house. It was not only on account of so
much attraction, but they were nervous for the
safety of their own lives. " For," as my wife
Helen said, " the man who committed that deed
is probably against the whole family, and I am
not only afraid to go in and out after dark, but
to be here alone in the day. The house is shut
in and very secluded ; that was its charm once, but
it is its greatest fault now." I had not thought of
this, and became nervous after my wife had told

288

The Murderer 289

her fears; in fact, I became so struck with what
she said that I not only kept a loaded revolver
downstairs and easy to get at, but often went
armed into the garden at night, to see if any
suspicious person was loitering near. But when
my wife read one day of how a man kidnapped
a little child, to take revenge on its parents, her
fears knew no bounds. " This garden in front
of the house, with its thick shrubbery and ever-
green bushes, is the very place for such a man
to hide," she exclaimed, " and my child's not
safe. We must take a house that is not so
secluded before something dreadful happens." I
saw, of course, that my wife's nerves were now
thoroughly shaken, and Lucy was in much the
same State, so we began to look for another house
without loss of time.

We had no difficulty at all in finding a house
that stood in the open, without seclusion, for of
course it was the very kind of house that other
people did not like, and for that reason was hard
to let. A house like the one we had left would
have been the hardest kind to get, and perhaps
that is the reason why its rent was so high.
But the house we had now taken was not only
much larger, more convenient, and in better con-
u

290 A Weak Woman

dition, but was also much cheaper, owing to
having no fine grounds attached to it, either in
front or behind.

I had not seen much of Henry Soaring lately,
but now that things were more settled I began
to see more of him. He had told me many times
his method of work, so that I had little fear of
disturbing him. He did no task- work, since he
had made a small fortune out of his novel, but
devoted his life to the Muse. And this Muse
played him strange tricks, for sometimes he would
not write a line all day, and then, at the last
five minutes before he went to bed, he would
write a poem. At another time he would write
it in the morning, and do nothing for the rest of
the day. Again, he had said that if he once
started a poem, it mattered not about being dis-
turbed, as he could always finish it in the first
few minutes he had alone ; in fact, he claimed that
his work was all the better for being disturbed
and held in check for awhile. Knowing these
things I had no fear of interfering with his
work.

His poems were all short and, when the mood
was on him, none of them took more than twenty
minutes to write; so that he had nearly all his

The Murderer 291

time to read, walk, and converse with his friends.
He studied quality and not quantity. I have
often heard him say that out of every six poems
he wrote five went into the fire, and only one was
used for print. He was not conceited enough
to think that every line he wrote was of value, but
still felt like a timid beginner, in spite of having
written four books that had been well praised.
But although there was no doubt but what the
work he published was good, I was very much
afraid he destroyed a few things worth saving.
I had read so much about an author's false judg-
ment on his own work that I was almost annoyed
to think that my friend burned five poems and
saved only one in six.

One morning, about two weeks after Maud's
burial, I called at my friend's lodging, but was
told that he had gone out just before I came.
This had often happened, but he always left word
to say, if I called, where he had gone. How-
ever, on this occasion the landlady had been out,
and he had not seen her, so that she could give
me no information at all. I may as well say here
that my friend was now in superior lodgings,
and his landlady was a woman of some education,
and far different from Mrs. Figgs.

292 A Weak Woman

Hearing that he was out and she did not know
where he had gone, I left word for him to come,
if he had no other engagements, and have tea at
my house. After I had done this I went off at
a slow pace towards the City, but had no settled
intention of going anywhere in particular. How-
ever, when I saw a bus standing still, I at once
mounted its steps and took a seat on top. I
liked nothing better than doing this, and looking
at the people below me, and the various shop
windows.

It was too warm a day to be walking much,
and it was very pleasant to sit somewhere
and watch the busy life of other people. On
the top of this bus I could smoke my pipe
and enjoy a light breeze, and not be jostled by
the teeming life around me; in fact, I felt so
happy to be placed there that I kept my seat
and paid several fares, until I reached Charing
Cross, where I alighted and began to walk down
the Strand. I was in no hurry for, although I
was a long way from home, I knew that the
Underground Railway would take me back in a
few minutes, as soon as I felt ready to go.

Now as I was walking carelessly along I sud-
denly caught sight of the side of a man's face,

The Murderer 293

which brought me to a standstill at once. I
shrank back so that he could go on and make
more space between us, and yet I was deter-
mined not to lose sight of him; but I wanted
time to make my plans. This man was Ralph,
my brother-in-law— Maud's husband, and no doubt
her murderer. I knew him at once, although he
was much changed, looking now like a low ruffian,
instead of a gentleman, as he looked when I
first knew him. His clothes were old and shabby,
and he had a heavy red scarf around his neck — in
spite of the warm weather— and his cap was pulled
down over his eyes. I had to be very careful not
to overtake him, for he seemed to have no par-
ticular object in view, and the least thing drew
his attention.

Now why did I not go up to this man at once
and accuse him of murdering my sister, and have
him arrested on the spot?. No, I could not do it.
I thought of the terrible disgrace that must follow,
how the whole crime vwould come up again in
the papers, and for the sake of my wife and
Lucy I had no desire to do that. In spite of this
feeling I could not help following the man and
watching his every movement, even as a cat will
follow a rat she fears to touch and still hates it

294 A Weak Woman

to escape. If the truth must be told I did not
positively hate him, although I had always dis-
liked him. Moreover, I knew my sister's faults,
that she had not sympathized with him in any
way, and had made no attempt to make a good
home. Of course he had married her in expec-
tation of her money, and was upset because he
could not get a part of it before my father died ;
but, in spite of that, they could have endured
their marriage ties if she had only lived a quieter,
decent life. So when I began to consider this,
and also the disgrace to my family that must
follow his capture, I had a mind to let him go
his way, and leave him to his own conscience.
And yet, in spite of these thoughts, I could not
help but follow him.

" Good morning, sir," cried a cheerful voice at
my side. I turned sharply to see who it was, and
then saw little Punch standing in the gutter with
boards. But I only looked long enough to see
who it was, for my eyes could not leave the
man in front of me. However, I put my hand
in my pocket and gave Punch some money, and
then left him without saying a word. What the
little man thought of this strange conduct I cannot
say, for I not only did not open my lips and

The Murderer 295

speak, but did not give him a smile or a second
glance; in fact, Punch impressed me so slightly
that I was hardly conscious of giving him any
money at all, and he was forgotten almost im-
mediately. I have met him since then, and he
said my strange, vacant manner had so affected
him that he had had half a mind to throw his
boards down and follow me, for fear I had gone
mad and did not kno'w who I was nor where I
lived.

By this time we had reached the Law Courts,
my brother-in-law being some yards in advance,
and I following a safe distance behind. I had
not lost sight of him for an instant, except when
I gave Punch one quick glance to see who he
was.

But why I followed this man I cannot say,
for I had no intention of filling the papers with
his crime, and appearing in court against him,
and bringing my family under a second disgrace.
The thought of this was unbearable. , Again, I
knew that the police would have great difficulty
in proving the case against him, even if they
succeeded at all, and this thought also acted
in his favour. But still I followed him all the
way down the Strand, and even to the end

296 A Weak Woman

of Fleet Street, watching every movement hei
made.

When he reached the end of Fleet Street he
stood on a corner, undecided, it seemed to me,
which way he should go. Seeing this I also
stood, some distance away, but he seemed to be
in no hurry to make up his mind. " What is the
good of following him like this?" I thought to
myself. " I will walk past him towards the Bank
of England, and from there ride home." With
this intention I sprang forward, but when I
reached my brother-in-law and stood close behind
him, I seemed to lose all power to go farther.
And while I stood there my hand was on his
shoulder before I knew it, and my voice, also
beyond my control, said, " You are the murderer
of your wife!" When he heard what I said
and saw who I was he turned and ran into the
road. And there was a horse and cart passing,
which he almost escaped; but he caught his foot
in the horse's hoof and fell forward on his face,
with his arms outstretched. Very well, then.
There happened to be a heavy steam-roller on
the other side of this horse and cart, and before
the driver knew what the matter was the steam-
roller had crushed the man's head and hands into

The Murderer 297

the stones. When I went forward to look I saw
the body in convulsions, but there was no sign
of a round head, for where it should have been
there was nothing but stains on the road. That
was the end of my brother-in-law !

CHAPTER XXXIV
THE END

WHEN I got back home it was nearly dinner-
time, and when we were together I said
nothing to my wife and Lucy as to where I had
been or what had happened, except that I had
missed Henry Soaring and left word inviting him
to tea. However, as soon as dinner was over I
went out again, saying that I was going to meet
my friend, but that if I missed him it would not
matter, as I would be back before tea. My object
for going out again was to get an early paper,
in which I could read an account of the accident
and learn if there was anything on the body to
prove the man's identity. It was not long before
I had one of these newspapers in my hand, and
stood in the street reading the account of what I
had witnessed and knew more about than any one
else. There was not much to read, for a fuller
account would be in a later edition, but I was
quite satisfied with the little there was. It told

298

The End 299

of how a man, apparently belonging to the home-
less class, was crossing the road, and fell under
a steam-roller and was killed. His head had been
crushed, so that no description could be given of
his features, but, judging by his body, he was
of such an age and such a height, etc. It
ended by saying that he probably had no fixed
abode, as no money was found on him; and there
was no mark on him, either in cloth or paper,
to show who he was. " That is well," thought I.
" The police are looking for him, and it will be
as much disgrace to his family and mine if he is
captured dead as if he was taken alive, so Jet
him be buried unknown. He has escaped one
death and met another, and there is nothing now
to stir up the unpleasant past. All is for the
best, I feel sure of that." Saying this in my
own mind, I threw the paper from me and began
to walk back home, feeling more happy and com-
fortable than I had felt since Maud's letter had
come from abroad. I had no fear now of leaving
my family at home when I went out. However,
since we had moved into a different house, both
my wife and sister appeared less nervous, and
made no complaint of being left alone without
a man to protect them. And no doubt my own

300 A Weak Woman

manner would now reassure them more, for, know-
ing what I did, I -would have all confidence in the
future and recover my old cheerfulness. There
would be no more complaint of the mind, and if
my wife ever again advised a physician she would
have good cause, for it would surely be my body
then; in fact, I already felt a wonderful change
come over me, and began to step out with my
old air, holding my head up, and suspicious of no
man's looks. The past was in my own keep-
ing, and it was safe, for the sake of those who
were innocent and dearer to me than my life.
And I had done nothing to trouble my own con-
science: I felt very happy to think that.

Since Maud's death Henry Soaring had again
become a constant visitor, knowing that the cause
of all my fears was now removed. However, I
was surprised to see that, although my wife was
as free and affable with him as ever, Lucy had
become more reserved. She did not seem quite
so friendly with him since I had excused his
absence owing to his work. Of course she did
not say or do anything to give him the least cause
to complain or hurt his sensitive nature, but just
treated him in a kind but matter-of-fact way.
On this occasion, when we all sat together talk-

The End 301

ing after tea, I could not help noticing Lucy's
manner. For instance, any question he asked
her she tried to make it the subject of a general
conversation, so as to escape his particular atten-
tion. I began to wonder whether Lucy had taken
a dislike to him, and was only civil for our sakes,
and nothing else. This thought gave me great
pain, for I knew what a fine fellow he was—
simple, thoughtful, and kind. Thinking of this,
I determined to discover her thoughts, if I could,
at the very first opportunity.

The following day, when my wife had gone
out, Lucy and I were together, so I thought it
a good chance to question her opinion of Henry
Soaring. " Lucy," I said, beginning without any
study, for the sentence had been ready in my
mind since the night before, " Lucy," I said,
" you don't appear quite so friendly with Henry
Soaring lately, although I am sure you have not
done anything to offend him. Perhaps you have
got so used to him, and are so sure of his friend-
ship, that you are more indifferent in making
attempts to entertain him. Of course that is quite
natural with all of us, but I hope he will not
take it otherwise." "Nonsense," she answered,
laughing, " I have not changed towards him in

302 A Weak Woman

the least. What made you think so?. However,
even if we all changed towards him, which I
hope will never happen, he would soon find con-
solation in his work and forget us." I looked at
Lucy when I heard this, and she was blushing,
as though she had said something she had not
intended to say. When I heard these words, and
then saw my sister's red face, it suddenly occurred
to me that Lucy was jealous of my friend's love
for his work, that it made him indifferent to all
other things. It seemed to me that she had
flattered herself that he thought something of
her; and then, when I had said he would not
visit us again for some time, as he was busy with
a book, she had changed her mind. This was very
unfortunate for Henry Soaring, seeing that he did
not know the truth of the matter, and had been
kept away by my advice. So I decided to ex-
cuse him at once, by telling her the same as I
had told him. " The reason he kept away," I
said, " was not because of work, but owing to
Maud's habits. I told him that she was unfortu-
nately weak, and was likely at any time to be in
a condition we would not like strangers to see,
and for that reason asked him to come no more
to our house until we had confidence in her.

The End 303

But let us say no more on that subject, for our
sister is no longer with us. Now you know the
truth." When Lucy heard this her face brightened
at once, and I saw that she loved him.

What a good match they would make, Lucy
and my friend. She was such a kind, thought-
ful woman, and he was a fine, noble fellow.
Neither one of them would ever have cause to
regret their choice, I felt certain of that. They
were both of a very quiet, unambitious nature,
and lovers of home. I knew this so well of
Lucy, from her early girlhood to the present time.
I also knew, from my friend's confidence, that
he was often refusing invitations that intended
to honour him; and that he was often at our
house, quietly at home, at the very time these
great functions were held. I could well under-
stand his objection to accept any empty honours
of that kind. He knew very well that as a poet
he would have starved, although recognized in his
day, and that he had been forced to write an immoral
story so as to attain his present independent posi-
tion. He was a cheerful man, in whom bitterness
could not last, but I know he had moments when
he felt his subject deeply. What annoyed him
most was to think tfyat his critics had done their

304 A Weak Woman

very best for him, not only in praising his work,
but also drawing attention to his extreme poverty,
and yet no help came. However, there is a prac-
tical society founded at last, which in the future
will be of great service to men like Henry Soar-
ing. That society will write at once, without
the meeting of a dozen committees, and ask,
" What have you had for dinner to-day, or have
you had any dinner at all? Have you enough
bedclothes to keep you warm?' Is your rent in
hand? We enclose a stamped envelope for reply,
to save you expense." It seems strange that
such a society as this was not founded before
this, when we are into the twentieth century.

Lucy and my friend were soon acknowledged
lovers. With his means and hers they could live
very comfortable indeed, for they were richer than
we were. For, as I have said before, we had
always kept apart the share that should have been
my sister Maud's by inheritance, and never counted
it as ours; but now that she was dead, and had
left no one for our consideration, it became ours
by moral right as well as law. And the conse-
quence was that this money was like having
another small fortune left to be divided between
us. Not that I took any pleasure in thinking

The End 305

of this, for I wished with all my heart that my
sister Maud had lived to enjoy it through a long
and pleasant life, and near us all the time.

In a few months we had a wedding, and my
wife Helen and I were left alone, waiting the
return of the bride and bridegroom from their
honeymoon. We were furnishing a house near
us, to be ready for them, and this kept the both
of us pleasantly busy. I took a great pleasure in
running here and there, and giving orders to
house furnishers and others, listening to my wife's
suggestions, and offering others in return. I had
made no friends in the neighbourhood, with the
exception of my wife's parents and Mrs. Burdett,
an old friend of my father's, and who had first
introduced my wife to Lucy. Under these circum-
stances it will be understood that I looked for-
ward to their return, and that I missed them very
much.

THE END

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6007

Davies, William Henry
A weak weman