A WEAK WOMAN BY THE SAME AUTHOR THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SUPER-TRAMP With Preface by G. BERNARD SHAW Cloth, 6s. A. C. FIFIELD, 13 Clifford's Inn, E.G. BEGGARS 6s. DUCKWORTH AND Co., 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W.C. THE SOUL'S DESTROYER AND OTHER POEMS Wrappers, is. nett; postage, id. ALSTON RIVERS, Brooke Street, E.G. NEW POEMS Cloth, is. 6d. nett; postage, i^.d. ELKIN MATHEWS, Vigo Street, W. NATURE POEMS, AND OTHERS Grey Boards, is. netl; postage, i£d. FAREWELL TO POESY Grey Boards, is. nett; postage, l^d. 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 \Y« "HtSl~ "• C.. amr . I , ii»~ tn ti n iiii Tinr : 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 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. PLYMOUTH BEGGARS By W. H. DAVIES Crown %vo, 6s. With Portrait. "Plain realism. Actual and definite. Masterly, with a bareness more vital than any adornment could be. The author's curious humour flashes queer lights upon amazing personalities. Explodes a good many fallacies. " — T.P.'s Weekly. "Mr. Davies has been a tramp and professional beggar. There is nothing quite like this book." — Birmingham Post. "Mr. Davies's standpoint is so individual and so natural. Vivid, whimsical, and, sociologically, of great value. Quick, incisive, kindly characterisation. " — Liverpool Courier. " First-hand information on the art and craft of begging. His well- written book will become a classic on the subject." — Irish Times. "There is a great deal of the human and dignified side of these strange folk ; their kindness and good fellowship, the occasional touch of real romantic vagrancy, the Wanderlust that takes a man to the open road — all are shown and cannot fail to interest." — Observer. " His prose is simple and innocent. On the ways of beggars he is invariably entertaining. Engaging because unconscious candour." Country Life. "Every subject he touches becomes alive and interesting. Every now and then the irresponsible poetry of the life breaks through the records of grim things." " This most engrossing record." — Westminster Gazette. DUCKWORTH & CO., 3 HENRIETTA ST., CO VENT GARDEN BEGGARS. By W. H. Davies— continued. 1 ' Remarkable in many ways. The life of the road is pictured in bright and cheerful colours. Mr. Davies is a professional beggar of long standing. This author-beggar is possessed of a refreshing candour. He tells many stories of his wayside friends. Strange but entertaining company." — Evening News. "An amazingly frank and quietly realistic record. The simplicity, naturalness, and easy forcefulness of his prose are qualities in which no stylist could hope to outrival him. He has a shrewd sense of humour, and a subtle feeling for the meaning of words, and has produced in Beggars a frank and fascinating chronicle that will rank with the best picaresque literature in the language." — Bookman. " The book is a thoroughly entertaining one, full of the shifts and adventures of beggary. Humour, human sympathy, and a perfectly individual outlook make a book which is in some sort a human document. " — World. '* Mr. Davies won his knowledge at first hand, and his book is a valuable study." — Observer. "An enlightening human document. This astonishing book tells a thousand curious facts. It deserves wide reading among thoughtful people ; it is one of the most remarkable books ever written. " Morning Leader. " It records extraordinary experiences in an inimitable style, a style which cannot be excelled for purity and simplicity. Mr. Davies's powers are doubled in effectiveness because he is unaware of them, and consequently never puts a strain on them. Subtle and various. He discriminates in an acute and humorous way." — Morning Post. DUCKWORTH & CO., 3 HENRIETTA ST., CO VENT GARDEN HOPE By R. B. CUNNINGHAME-GRAHAM Crown 8w, 6s. " You are made to feel the romance of life, yet never for a moment is reality sacrificed to the romantic view. Always entertaining. This book is a far-visioned criticism of life and manners. Contains some of Cunninghame-Graham's best work." — Black and White. " Fine character sketches. His touch is as light and sure as ever." British Weekly. "No reader with the least literary taste will miss the charm of the workmanship. The individuality is compelling ; the charm untram- melled ; and the irony never so cynical as to be lacking in human nature and in that true humour which is all the more humorous in that it is more than half pathetic." — Daily Telegraph. ' ' A great prose writer. One of the foremost of writers. Finished pieces of art. There is no word wrong, no word that is pretentious, or detail that does not bite in. To write with so much security, balance, and exactitude of art is a rare thing. Hope takes its place among the rare books." — Otttlook. 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He has the power of imparting atmosphere, and his supreme moments of events have the same astonishment that they have in life. Perfect workmanship. One can have nothing but pleasure in the distinctive charm of the book." Manchester Courier. " We have here fine and brilliant writing, literature which distils for us the romance of experience." — Daily News. " Scarcely any English contemporary excels him in vision, in vivid- ness of presentation, and in fidelity of transcription. His work has a constant note of distinction." — Manchester Guardian. " His bright imagination is awake and alert, controlled by a memory vivid as a painter's,