Chapter 75
"Charlotte, I fear it is rarely done, instead of not always. It lies pretty dormant, to judge by appearances, in Honey Fair."
William was right. It is an epoch in a man's life, that finding what he had not inaptly called the day-spring. Self-esteem, self-reliance, the courage of long-continued patience, the striving to make the best of the mind's good gifts--all are born of it. He who possesses it may soar to a bright and, happy lot, bearing in mind--may he always bear it!--the rest and reward promised hereafter.
"At any rate, it would be giving them a chance, as it seems to me,"
observed William. "I think I know one who would come. Andrew Brumm."
"Ah, _he_ would, and be glad to come," replied Robert East. "He is different from many of them. I know another who would, sir; and that's Adam Th.o.r.n.ycroft."
Charlotte bent her head over her work.
"Since that cousin of his died of _delirium tremens_, Th.o.r.n.ycroft has said good-bye to the public-houses. He spends his evenings at home with his mother: but I know he would like to spend them here. Tim Carter would come, sir."
"If Mrs. Tim will let him," put in Tom East saucily. And a laugh went round.
"Ever so few to begin with, will set the example to others," remarked William. "There's no knowing what it may grow to. Small beginnings make great endings. I have talked with my mother about Honey Fair. She has always said: 'Before Honey Fair's conduct can be improved, its minds must be improved.'"
"There will be the women yet, sir," spoke Charlotte. "If they are to remain as they are, it will be of little use the men doing anything for themselves."
"Charlotte, once begun, I say there's no knowing where the work may end," he gravely answered.
The rain, which had been threatening all the evening, was coming down pretty smartly as William walked through Honey Fair on his return.
Standing against a shutter near his own door was Jacob Cross. "Good night, Jacob," said William.
"Goodnight, sir," answered Jacob sullenly.
"Are you standing in the rain that it may make you grow, as the children say?" asked William in his ever-pleasant tone.
"I'm standing here 'cause I've nowhere else to stand," said the man, his voice full of resentment. "I'm turned out of our room, and I have no money for the Horned Ram."
"A good thing you have not," thought William. "What has turned you out of your room?" he asked.
"I'm turned out, sir, by the row there is in it. Our Mary Ann's come home."
"Mary Ann?" repeated William, not quite understanding.
"Our Mary Ann, what took and married Ben Tyrrett. A fine market she have brought her pigs to!"
"What has she done?" questioned William.
"She's done enough," wrathfully answered Cross. "We told her when she married Tyrrett that he was nothing but a jobber at fifteen s.h.i.+llings a-week--and it's all he was, sir, as you know. 'Wait,' I says to her; 'somebody better than him'll turn up.' Her mother
William remembered the little interlude of that evening in which Miss Patty had played her part. Jacob continued.
"It was all fine and suns.h.i.+ny with 'em for a few days or a few weeks, till the novelty wears off, and then they finds things going cranky. The money, _that_ begins to run short; and Mary Ann, she finds that Ben likes his gla.s.s; and Ben, he finds that she's just a doll, with no gumption or management inside her. They quarrels--naterally, and they comes to us to settle it. 'You was both red-hot for the bargain,' says I, 'and you must just make the best of it and of one another.' And so they went back: and it has gone on till this, quarrelling continual. And now he's took to beat her, and home she came to-night, not half an hour ago, with her three children and a black eye, vowing she'll stop at home and won't go back to him again. And she and her mother's having words over it, and the babies a-squalling--enough noise to raise the ceiling off, and I come out of it. I wish I was dead, I do!"
Jacob's account of the noise was scarcely exaggerated. It penetrated to where they stood, two or three houses off. William had moved closer, that the umbrella might give Cross part of its shelter. "Not a very sensible wish, that of yours, is it, Cross?" remarked he.
"I have wished it long, sir, sensible or not sensible. I slaves away my days and have nothing but a pigsty to step into at home, and angry words in it. A nice place for a tired man! I can't afford the public more than three or four nights a-week; not that, always. They're getting corky at the beer-shops, nowadays, and won't give trust. Wednesday this is; Thursday, to-morrow; Friday, next night: three nights, and me without a shelter to put my head in!"
"I should like to take you to one to-morrow night," said William. "Will you go with me?"
"Where to?" ungraciously asked Cross.
"To Robert East's. You know how he and Crouch spend their evenings.
There's always something going on there interesting and pleasant."
"Crouch and East don't want me."
"Yes, they do. They will be only too glad if you, and a few more intelligent men, will join them. Try it, Cross. There's a warm room to sit in, at all events, and nothing to pay."
"Ah, it's all very fine for them Easts! We haven't their luck. Look at me! Down in the world."
William put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Why should you be down in the world?"
"Why should I?" repeated Cross, in surprise. "Because I am," he logically answered.
"That is not the reason. The reason is because you do not try to rise in the world."
"It's no use trying."
"Have you ever tried?"
"Why, no! How can I try?"
"You wished just now that you were dead. Would it not be better to wish to live?"
"Not such a life as mine."
"But to wish to live would seem to imply that it must be a better life.
And why need your life be so miserable? You gain fair wages; your wife earns money. Altogether I suppose you must have twenty-six or twenty-eight s.h.i.+llings a week----"
"But there's no thrift with it," exclaimed Cross. "It melts away somehow. Before the middle of the week comes, it's all gone."
"You spend some at the Horned Ram, you know," said William, not in a reproving tone.
"She squanders away in rubbish more than that," was Jacob's answer, pointing towards his house, and not giving at all a complimentary stress upon the "she."
"And with nothing to show for it in return, either of you. Try another plan, Jacob."
"I'd not be backward--if I could see one to try," said he, after a pause.
"Be here at half-past eight to-morrow evening, and I will go in with you to East's. If you cannot see any better way, you can spend a pleasant evening. But now, Jacob, let me say a word to you, and do you note it.
If you find the evening pa.s.s agreeably, go the next evening, and the next; go always. You can't tell all that may arise from it in time. I know of one thing that will."
"What's that, sir?"
"Why, that instead of wis.h.i.+ng yourself dead, you will grow to think life too short, for the good you find in it."