Constable, said he, cocking his hat to one side the better to scratch his bald head, there are strange people in this region.
Indeed there are, sir.
Yes, but I mean very strange people.
Well, sir, if you insist on it, I wont deny that some of them are very strange.
Yes, wellgood-night, constable, said Mr Twitter, moving slowly forward in a mystified state of mind, while the guardian of the night continued his rounds, thinking to himself that he had just parted from one of the very strangest of the people.
Suddenly Samuel Twitter came to a full stop, for there lay the small baby gazing at him with its solemn eyes, apparently quite indifferent to the hardness and coldness of its bed of stone.
Abandoned! gasped the burly little man.
Whether Mr Twitter referred to the infants moral character, or to its being shamefully forsaken, we cannot now prove, but he instantly caught the bundle in his arms and gazed at it. Possibly his gaze may have been too intense, for the mild little creature opened a small mouth that bore no proportion whatever to the eyes, and attempted to cry, but the attempt was a failure. It had not strength to cry.
The burly little mans soul was touched to the centre by the sight. He kissed the babys forehead, pressed it to his ample breast, and hurried away. If he had taken time to think he might have gone to a police-office, or a night refuge, or some such haven of rest for the weary, but when Twitters feelings were touched he became a man of impulse. He did not take time to thinkexcept to the extent that, on reaching the main thoroughfare, he hailed a cab and was driven home.
The poor mother had followed him with the intention of seeing him home. Of course the cab put an end to that. She felt comparatively easy, however, knowing, as she did, that her child was in the keeping of Twitter, Slime and . That was quite enough to enable her to trace Mr Twitter out. Comforting herself as well as she could with this reflection, she sat down in a dark corner on a cold door-step, and, covering her face with both hands, wept as though her heart would break.
Gradually her sobs subsided, and, rising, she hurried away, shivering with cold, for her thin cotton dress was a poor protection against the night chills, and her ragged shawl wasgone with the baby.
In a few minutes she reached a part of the Whitechapel district where some of the deepest poverty and wretchedness in London is to be found. Turning into a labyrinth of small streets and alleys, she paused in the neighbourhood of the court in which was her homeif such it could be called.
Is it worth while going back to him? she muttered. He nearly killed baby, and it wouldnt take much to make him kill me. And oh! he was so differentonce!
While she stood irresolute, the man of whom she spoke chanced to turn the corner, and ran against her, somewhat roughly.
Hallo! is that you? he demanded, in tones that told too clearly where he had been spending the night.
Yes, Ned, its me. I was just thinking about going home.
Home, indeedstime to bgoin home. Wherev you bin? The babby ll v bin squallin pretty stiff by this time.
No fear of baby now, returned the wife almost defiantly; its gone.
Gone! almost shouted the husband. You havent murdered it, have you?
No, but Ive put it in safe keeping, where you cant get at it, and, now I know that, I dont care what you do to me.
Ha! well see about that. Come along.
He seized the woman by the arm and hurried her towards their dwelling.
It was little better than a cellar, the door being reached by a descent of five or six much-worn steps. To the surprise of the couple the door, which was usually shut at that hour, stood partly open, and a bright light shone within.
Wastin coal and candle, growled the man with an angry oath, as he approached.
Hetty didnt use to be so extravagant, remarked the woman, in some surprise.
As she spoke the door was flung wide open, and an overgrown but very handsome girl peered out.
Oh! father, I thought it was your voice, she said. Mother, is that you? Come in, quick. Heres Bobby brought home in a cab with a broken leg.
On hearing this the mans voice softened, and, entering the room, he went up to a heap of straw in one corner whereon our little friend Bobby Frogthe street-Arablay.
Hallo! Bobby, wots wrong with ee? You aint used to come to grief, said the father, laying his hand on the boys shoulder, and giving him a rough shake.
Things oftentimes are not what they seem. The shake was the mans mode of expressing sympathy, for he was fond of his son, regarding him, with some reason, as a most hopeful pupil in the ways of wickedness.
Its o no use, father, said the boy, drawing his breath quickly and knitting his brows, you cant stir me up with a long pole now. Im past that.
What! have ee bin runned over?
Noony run down, or knocked down.
Who did it? Ony give me his name an address, an as sure as my names Ned Ill
He finished the sentence with a sufficiently expressive scowl and clenching of a huge fist, which had many a time done great execution in the prize ring.
It wasnt a he, father, it was a she.
Well, no matter, if I ony had my fingers on her windpipe Id squeeze it summat.
If you did Id bang your nose! She didnt go for to do it a-purpose, you old grampus, retorted Bobby, intending the remark to be taken as a gentle yet affectionate reproof. A doctors bin an set my leg, continued the boy, an made it as stiff as a poker wi what e calls splints. He says I wont be able to go about for ever so many weeks.
An whos to feed you, I wonder, doorin them weeks? An who sent for the doctor? Was it him as supplied the fire an candle to-night?
No, father, it was me, answered Hetty, who was engaged in stirring something in a small saucepan, the loose handle of which was attached to its battered body by only one rivet; the other rivet had given way on an occasion when Ned Frog sent it flying through the doorway after his retreating wife. You see I was paid my wages to-night, so I could afford it, as well as to buy some coal and a candle, for the doctor said Bobby must be kept warm.
Afford it! exclaimed Ned, in rising wrath, how can ee say you can afford it wen I avent had enough grog to half screw me, an not a brown left. Did the doctor ask a fee?
No, father, I offered him one, but he wouldnt take it.
Ahvery good on im! I wonder them fellows has the cheek to ask fees for ony givin advice. Wy, Id give advice myself all day long at a penny an hour, an think myself well off too if I got thatbetter off than them as got the advice anyhow. What are you sittin starin at an sulkin there for?
This last remark was addressed gruffly to Mrs Frog, who, during the previous conversation, had seated herself on a low three-legged stool, and, clasping her hands over her knees, gazed at the dirty blank walls in blanker despair.
The poor woman realised the situation better than her drunken husband did. As a bird-fancier he contributed little, almost nothing, to the general fund on which this family subsisted. He was a huge, powerful fellow, and had various methods of obtaining moneysome obvious and others mysteriousbut nearly all his earnings went to the gin-palace, for Ned was a man of might, and could stand an enormous quantity of drink. Hetty, who worked, perhaps we should say slaved, for a firm which paid her one shilling a week, could not manage to find food for them all. Mrs Frog herself with her infant to care for, had found it hard work at any time to earn a few pence, and now Bobbys active little limbs were reduced to inaction, converting him into a consumer instead of a producer. In short, the glaring fact that the family expenses would be increased while the family income was diminished, stared Mrs Frog as blankly in the face as she stared at the dirty blank wall.
And her case was worse, even, than people in better circumstances might imagine, for the family lived so literally from hand to mouth that there was no time even to think when a difficulty arose or disaster befell. They rented their room from a man who styled it a furnished apartment, in virtue of a rickety table, a broken chair, a worn-out sheet or two, a dilapidated counterpane, four ragged blankets, and the infirm saucepan before mentioned, besides a few articles of cracked or broken crockery. For this accommodation the landlord charged ninepence per day, which sum had to be paid every night before the family was allowed to retire to rest! In the event of failure to pay they would have been turned out into the street at once, and the door padlocked. Thus the necessity for a constant, though small, supply of cash became urgent, and the consequent instability of home very depressing.
To preserve his goods from the pawnbroker, and prevent a moonlight flitting, this landlord had printed on his sheets the words stolen from and on the blankets and counterpane were stamped the words stop thief!
Mrs Frog made no reply to her husbands gruff question, which induced the man to seize an empty bottle, as being the best way of rousing her attention.
Come, you let mother alone, dad, suggested Bobby, she aint a-aggrawatin of you just now.
Why, mother, exclaimed Hetty, who was so busy with Bobbys supper, and, withal, so accustomed to the womans looks of hopeless misery that she had failed to observe anything unusual until her attention was thus called to her, what ever have you done with the baby?
Ahyou may well ask that, growled Ned.
Even the boy seemed to forget his pain for a moment as he now observed, anxiously, that his mother had not the usual bundle on her breast.
The babys gone! she said, bitterly, still keeping her eyes on the blank wall.
Gone!how?lost? killed? speak, mother, burst from Hetty and the boy.
No, only gone to where it will be better cared for than here.
Come, explain, old woman, said Ned, again laying his hand on the bottle.
As Hetty went and took her hand gently, Mrs Frog condescended to explain, but absolutely refused to tell to whose care the baby had been consigned.
Wellit aint a bad riddance, after all, said the man, as he rose, and, staggering into a corner where another bundle of straw was spread on the floor, flung himself down. Appropriately drawing two of the stop thief blankets over him, he went to sleep.
Then Mrs Frog, feeling comparatively sure of quiet for the remainder of the night, drew her stool close to the side of her son, and held such intercourse with him as she seldom had the chance of holding while Bobby was in a state of full health and bodily vigour. Hetty, meanwhile, ministered to them both, for she was one of those dusty diamonds of what may be styled the East-end diggings of Londonnot so rare, perhaps, as many people may supposewhose lustre is dimmed and intrinsic value somewhat concealed by the neglect and the moral as well as physical filth by which they are surrounded.
Of course youve paid the ninepence, Hetty?
Yes, mother.
You might ave guessed that, said Bobby, for, if she adnt we shouldnt ave bin here.
That and the firing and candle, with what the doctor ordered, has used up all I had earned, even though I did some extra work and was paid for it, said Hetty with a sigh. But I dont grudge it, BobbyIm only sorry because theres nothing more coming to me till next week.
Meanwhile there is nothing for this week, said Mrs Frog with a return of the despair, as she looked at her prostrate son, for all I can manage to earn will barely make up the rentif it does even thatand father, you know, drinks nearly all he makes. God help us!
God will help us, said Hetty, sitting down on the floor and gently stroking the back of her mothers hand, for He sent the trouble, and will hear us when we cry to Him.
Pray to Him, then, Hetty, for its no use askin me to join you. I cant pray. An dont let your father hear, else hell be wild.
The poor girl bent her head on her knees as she sat, and prayed silently. Her mother and brother, neither of whom had any faith in prayer, remained silent, while her father, breathing stertorously in the corner, slept the sleep of the drunkard.
Chapter Four.
Samuel Twitter astonishes Mrs Twitter and her Friends
In a former chapter we described, to some extent, the person and belongings of a very poor man with five thousand a year. Let us now make the acquaintance of a very rich one with an income of five hundred.
He has already introduced himself to the reader under the name of Samuel Twitter.
On the night of which we write Mrs Twitter happened to have a few friends to tea. And let no one suppose that Mrs Twitters few friends were to be put off with afternoon teathat miserable invention of modern timesnor with a sham meal of sweet warm water and thin bread and butter. By no means. We have said that Samuel Twitter was rich, and Mrs Twitter, conscious of her husbands riches, as well as grateful for them, went in for the substantial and luxurious to an amazing extent.
Unlimited pork sausages and inexhaustible buttered toast, balanced with muffins or crumpets, was her idea of tea. The liquid was a secondary pointin one sensebut it was always strong. It was the only strong liquid in fact allowed in the house, for Mr Twitter, Mrs Twitter, and all the little Twitters were members of the Blue Ribbon Army; more or less enthusiastic according to their light and capacity.
The young Twitters descended in a graduated scale from Sammy, the eldest, (about sixteen), down through Molly, and Willie, and Fred, and Lucy, to Alice the so-called babythough she was at that time a remarkably robust baby of four years.
Mrs Twitters few friends were aware of her tendencies, and appreciated her hospitality, insomuch that the few bade fair to develop by degrees into many.
Well, Mrs Twitter had her few friends to tea, and conviviality was at its height. The subject of conversation was poverty. Mrs Loper, a weak-minded but amiable lady, asserted that a large family with 500 pounds a year was a poor family. Mrs Loper did not know that Mrs Twitters income was five hundred, but she suspected it. Mrs Twitter herself carefully avoided giving the slightest hint on the subject.
Of course, continued Mrs Loper, I dont mean to say that people with five hundred are very poor, you know; indeed it all depends on the family. With six children like you, now, to feed and clothe and educate, and with everything so dear as it is now, I should say that five hundred was poverty.
Well, I dont quite agree with you, Mrs Loper, on that point. To my mind it does not so much depend on the family, as on the notions, and the capacity to manage, in the head of the family. I remember one family just now, whose head was cut off suddenly, I may say in the prime of life. A hundred and fifty a year or thereabouts was the income the widow had to count on, and she was left with five little ones to rear. She trained them well, gave them good educations, made most of their garments with her own hands when they were little, and sent one of her boys to college, yet was noted for the amount of time she spent in visiting the poor, the sick, and the afflicted, for whom she had always a little to spare out of her limited income. Now, if wealth is to be measured by results, I think we may say that that poor lady was rich. She was deeply mourned by a large circle of poor people when she was taken home to the better land. Her small means, having been judiciously invested by a brother, increased a little towards the close of life, but she never was what the world esteems rich.