Personal Reminiscences In Book Making, And Some Short Stories Part 15

Then turning abruptly to the flower-bed in the orchestra, he signalled with his finger. A flower that might well have been styled a rosebud--a neat little girl in pink with a natty straw hat--tripped lightly down and stood on the platform beside the poor waifs. Looking up once more to the entranced audience and pointing to the children, the Doctor said--

"Such as these are, she was but a few months ago, and such as she is now they will soon become, with G.o.d's blessing."

I may not quote the words correctly, but that is my recollection of the substance.

The Doctor was not content, however, to show us the foundation and progress of his work. He showed us the work, as it were, completed, in the form of a band of st.u.r.dy young men in their working costume, ready to start as rescued, trained, useful, earnest labourers for the fields of Manitoba--young men who all had once been lost waifs and strays.

Still further, he, as it were, put the copestone on his glorious work by presenting a band of men and women--"old boys and girls"--who had been tested by rough contact with the world and its temptations, and had come off victorious "by keeping their situations with credit" for periods varying from one to nine years--kept by the power of Christ!

When I saw the little waifs and looked up at the bands of happy children before me, and thought of the thousands more in the "Homes," and of the mult.i.tudes which have pa.s.sed through these Homes in years gone by; the gladness and the great boon to humanity which must have resulted, and of the terrible crime and degradation that might have been--my heart offered the prayer, which at that moment my voice could not have uttered--"G.o.d bless and prosper Dr Barnardo and his work!"

I hear a voice from the "Back of Beyont," or some such far off locality--a timid voice, perhaps that of a juvenile who knows little, and can scarce be expected to care much, about London--asking "Who is Dr Barnardo?"

For the sake of that innocent one I reply that he is a Scavenger--the chief of London Scavengers! He and his subordinates sweep up the human rubbish of the slums and shoot it into a receptacle at 18 Stepney Causeway, where they manipulate and wash it, and subject it to a variety of processes which result, with G.o.d's blessing, in the recovery of innumerable jewels of inestimable value. I say inestimable, because men have not yet found a method of fixing the exact value of human souls and rescued lives. The "rubbish" which is gathered consists of dest.i.tute children. The a.s.sistant Scavengers are men and women who love and serve the Lord Jesus Christ.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A KNOTTY QUESTION.

"Tom Blunt," said Richard Sharp, "I deny your premises, condemn your reasoning as illogical, and reject your conclusions with scorn!"

The youth who made this remark with very considerable a.s.surance and emphasis was a student. His fellow-student received it with an air of bland good-nature.

"d.i.c.k," said he, "your oratory is rotund, and if it were convincing might be impressive; but it fails to some extent in consequence of a certain smack of self-a.s.sertion which is unphilosophical. Suppose, now, that we have this matter out in a calm, dispa.s.sionate manner, without 'tooth,' or egotism, or prejudice, which tend so powerfully to mar human disputation and render it abortive."

"With all my heart, Tom," said the other, drawing close to the fire, placing one foot against the mantelpiece, as being a comfortable, though not elegant posture, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, and placing his hands in that position--with all the finger tips touching each other--which seems, from the universal practice of civilised society, to a.s.sist mental elucidation. "I am quite prepared. Come on!"

"Stay; while my mind is working I like to have my hands employed. I will proceed with my monkey while we talk," said Blunt, taking up a walking-stick, the head of which he had carved into the semblance of a monkey. "Sweet creature!" he added, kissing the object of his affection, and holding it out at arm's-length. "Silent companion of my solitary rambles, and patient auditor of my most secret aspirations, you are becoming quite a work of art. A few more touches of the knife, and something like perfection shall have been attained! Look here, d.i.c.k, when I turn it towards the light--so--isn't there a beauty about the contour of that upper lip and nose which--"

"Don't be a fool, Tom," interrupted his friend, somewhat impatiently; "you seem to me to be growing more and more imbecile every day. We did not sit down to discuss fine art--"

"True, Richard, true; but there is a power in the consideration of fine art, which, when judiciously interpolated in the affairs of life, tends to soften the asperities, to round away, as it were, the ruggedness of human intercourse, and produce a tranquillity of mind which is eminently conducive to--to--don't you see?"

"No, I don't see!"

"Then," continued Blunt, applying his knife to one of the monkey's eyes, "there arises the question--how far is this intellectual blindness the result of incapacity of intellectual vision, or of averted gaze, or of the wilful shutting of the intellectual eyelids?"

"Well, well, Tom, let that question alone for the present. Let us come to the point, for I wish to have my mind cleared up on the subject. You hold that gambling is wrong--essentially wrong."

"I do; but let us not have a misunderstanding at the very beginning,"

said Blunt. "By gambling I do not mean the playing of games. That is not gambling. What I understand by gambling is betting on games--or on anything--and the playing of games for the purpose of winning money, or anything that possesses value, great or small. Such gambling I hold to be wrong--essentially, morally, absolutely wrong, without one particle of right or good in it whatever."

As he spoke Blunt became slightly more earnest in tone, and less devoted to the monkey.

"Well, now, Tom, do you know I don't see that."

"If you did see it, my dear fellow," returned Blunt, resuming his airy tone, "our discussion of the subject would be useless."

"Well, then, I _can't_ see it to be wrong. Here are you and I. We want to have a game of billiards. It is uninteresting to play even billiards for nothing; but we each have a little money, and choose to risk a small sum. Our object is not gain, therefore we play for merely sixpenny points. We both agree to risk that sum. If I lose, all right. If you lose, all right. That's fair, isn't it?"

"No; it is undoubtedly equal, but not necessarily fair. Fair means 'free from blemish,' 'pure,' in other words, right. Two thieves may make a perfectly fair division of spoil; but the fairness of the division does not make their conduct fair or right. Neither of them is ent.i.tled to divide their gains at all. Their agreeing to do so does not make it fair."

"Agreed, Tom, as regards thieves; but you and I are not thieves. We propose to act with that which is our own. We mutually agree to run the risk of loss, and to take our chance of gain. We have a right to do as we choose with our own. Is not that fair?"

"You pour out so many fallacies and half truths, d.i.c.k, that it is not easy to answer you right off."

"Morally and politically you are wrong. Politically a man is not ent.i.tled to do what he chooses with his own. There are limitations.

For instance, a man owns a house. Abstractly, he is ent.i.tled to burn it down if he chooses. But if his house abuts upon mine, he may not set it on fire if he chooses, because in so doing he would set fire to my house also, which is very much beyond his right. Then--"

"Oh, man, I understand all that," said Sharp quickly. "Of course a man may put what he likes in his garden, but with such-like limitations as that he shall not set up a limekiln to choke his neighbours, or a piggery to breed disease; but gambling does nothing like that."

"Does it not?" exclaimed Blunt. "Does it not ruin hundreds of men, turning them into sots and paupers, whereby the ruined gamblers become unable to pay their fair share of taxation; and, in addition, lay on the shoulders of respectable people the unfair burden of supporting them, and perhaps their families?"

"But what if the gambler has no family?"

"There still remains his ruined self to be maintained."

"But suppose he is not ruined--that he manages, by gambling, to support himself?"

"In that case he still remains guilty of two mean and contemptible acts.

On the one hand he produces nothing whatever to increase the wealth or happiness of the world, and, on the other hand, whatever he gains is a matter of direct loss and sorrow to others without any tangible equivalent. It is not so with the orator or the musician. Though their products are not indeed tangible they are distinctly real and valuable.

During the hour of action the orator charms the ear, eye, and intellect.

So does the musician. When the hour is past the heart is gladdened by the memory of what has been, and the hopes are aroused in antic.i.p.ation of what may yet be in the future. As regards the orator, the lessons inculcated may be a lasting gain and pleasure, and source of widespread benefit through life. To a great extent this may also be said of the musician when words are wedded to music. Who has not heard of souls being delivered from spiritual darkness and brought into spiritual light by means of song?--a benefit which will last through eternity as well as time. Even the man of wealth who lives on the interest of his possessions is not necessarily a drone in the human hive. He may, by wise and careful use of his wealth, greatly increase the world's riches.

By the mere management of it he may fill up his days with useful and happy employment, and by devoting it and himself to G.o.d he may so influence the world for good that men shall bless him while he lives and mourn him profoundly when he dies. But what fraction of good is done by the gambler in all the wide world?"

"Much the same that is accomplished by the others," put in Sharp at this point. "The orator gives pleasure to those who are fond of recitation or declamation; the musician pleases those who are fond of sweet sounds, and the gambler gives pleasure to men who are fond of the excitement of play. Besides, by paying his way he gives benefit to all whom he employs. He rents a house, he buys furniture, he eats food, all of which brings profit to house-owners, cabinet-makers, butchers, bakers, etcetera, and is good done to the world by the gambler."

"Nay, friend Richard, not by the gambler, but by the money which the gambler spends."

"Isn't that much the same thing?"

"By no means. The money--or its equivalent--is created by some one else. The gambler merely pa.s.ses it on. If he had never been born the same money would have been there for some one else to spend. The labour of the gambler has not added one penny to it. He brought nothing into the world, and has added nothing to the world's pile, though he has managed to consume a good deal of its produce. Is there not something very mean and contemptible in this state of being? On the other hand the orator has spent laborious days and exerted much brain-power before he made himself capable of pleasing and benefiting his fellows. The musician has gone through exhausting drudgery and practice before being fit to thrill or instruct by means of his sweet sounds, and the man of wealth has had to be educated up to the point of using his possessions to profitable account--so that his fields shall grow heavier crops than they did when he began his work; his tenants shall be better housed than they were at first, and shall lead healthier and happier lives to the great moral and material advantage of the community. Nearly all the other members of the hive produce, or help to produce, some sort of equivalent for the money they obtain. Even those who produce what is bad have still _something_ to show for their money, and that something, bad though it be in one form, may be decidedly good in another form, or if put to another use. The gambler alone--except, perhaps, the absolute idler--enjoys the unenviable position of a thorough, out-and-out, unmitigated drone. He does absolutely _nothing_, except produce unhealthy excitement in himself and his fellows! He has nothing whatever to show for the money he has obtained except 'risk,' and that can hardly be styled a commodity."

"I beg pardon," interrupted Sharp, "the gambler produces skill; and there can be no doubt that hundreds of men derive as much pleasure from an exhibition of skill with the billiard-cue as others derive from an exhibition of skill with the flute or violin."

"You forget, d.i.c.k, my boy, that skill with the billiard-cue is not gambling. What I condemn as being morally and politically wrong is betting on games and staking anything upon the issue of them. Gamblers are, if I may say so, a set of living pockets which circulate money about amongst themselves, one pocket gaining neither more nor less than what another pocket loses."

"But you are now talking of professional gamblers, Tom. Of course I don't defend these. What I do defend is my right to play, now and then, for sixpenny, or say s.h.i.+lling, or even half-crown points, without laying myself open to the charge of having been guilty of what you term a mean, dishonourable, unjust, contemptible act."

"In other words, you wish to steal now and then without being called a thief! But come, old man, I won't call you bad names. I know you don't look at this matter as I do, and therefore I don't think that you are either mean or contemptible. Nevertheless, we must bear in mind that honourable, upright men may sometimes be reasoned into false beliefs, so that for a time they may fail to see the evil of that which they uphold.

I am not infallible. If my reasoning is false, I stand open to correction."

Laying the monkey down on the table at this point and looking earnestly at his friend, Tom Blunt continued--

"Let me ask a question, d.i.c.k. Is it for the sake of getting money that you gamble?"