The Island Pharisees Part 43

Shelton was not alone upon the seat, for at the far end was sitting a young girl with a red, round, sullen face; and beyond, and further still, were dim benches and dim figures sitting on them, as though life's inst.i.tutions had shot them out in an endless line of rubbish.

"Ah!" thought Shelton, in the dreamy way of tired people; "the inst.i.tutions are all right; it's the spirit that's all--"

"Wrong?" said a voice behind him; "why, of course! You've taken the wrong turn, old man."

He saw a policeman, with a red face s.h.i.+ning through the darkness, talking to a strange old figure like some aged and dishevelled bird.

"Thank you, constable," the old man said, "as I've come wrong I'll take a rest." Chewing his gums, he seemed to fear to take the liberty of sitting down.

Shelton made room, and the old fellow took the vacant place.

"You'll excuse me, sir, I'm sure," he said in shaky tones, and s.n.a.t.c.hing at his battered hat; "I see you was a gentleman"--and lovingly he dwelt upon the word--"would n't disturb you for the world. I'm not used to being out at night, and the seats do get so full. Old age must lean on something; you'll excuse me, sir, I 'm sure."

"Of course," said Shelton gently.

"I'm a respectable old man, really," said his neighbour; "I never took a liberty in my life. But at my age, sir, you get nervous; standin'

about the streets as I been this last week, an' sleepin' in them doss-houses--Oh, they're dreadful rough places--a dreadful rough lot there! Yes," the old man said again, as Shelton turned to look at him, struck by the real self-pity in his voice, "dreadful rough places!"

A movement of his head, which grew on a lean, plucked neck like that of an old fowl, had brought his face into the light. It was long, and run to seed, and had a large, red nose; its thin, colourless lips were twisted sideways and apart, showing his semi-toothless mouth; and his eyes had that aged look of eyes in which all colour runs into a thin rim round the iris; and over them kept coming films like the films over parrots' eyes. He was, or should have been, clean-shaven. His hair--for he had taken off his hat was thick and lank, of dusty colour, as far as could be seen, without a speck of grey, and parted very beautifully just about the middle.

"I can put up with that," he said again. "I never interferes with n.o.body, and n.o.body don't interfere with me; but what frightens me"--his voice grew steady, as if too terrified to shake, "is never knowin' day to day what 's to become of yer. Oh, that 'a dreadful, that is!"

"It must be," answered Shelton.

"Ah! it is," the old man said; "and the winter c.u.min' on. I never was much used to open air, bein' in domestic service all my life; but I don't mind that so long as I can see my way to earn a livin'. Well, thank G.o.d! I've got a job at last"; and his voice grew cheerful suddenly. "Sellin' papers is not what I been accustomed to; but the Westminister, they tell me that's one of the most respectable of the evenin' papers--in fact, I know it is. So now I'm sure to get on; I try hard."

"How did you get the job?" asked Shelton.

"I 've got my character," the old fellow said, making a gesture with a skinny hand towards his chest, as if it were there he kept his character.

"Thank G.o.d, n.o.body can't take that away! I never parts from that"; and fumbling, he produced a packet, holding first one paper to the light, and then another, and he looked anxiously at Shelton. "In that house where I been sleepin' they're not honest; they 've stolen a parcel of my things--a lovely s.h.i.+rt an' a pair of beautiful gloves a gentleman gave me for holdin' of his horse. Now, would n't you prosecute 'em, sir?"

"It depends on what you can prove."

"I know they had 'em. A man must stand up for his rights; that's only proper. I can't afford to lose beautiful things like them. I think I ought to prosecute, now, don't you, sir?"

Shelton restrained a smile.

"There!" said the old man, smoothing out a piece of paper shakily, "that's Sir George!" and his withered finger-tips trembled on the middle of the page: 'Joshua Creed, in my service five years as butler, during which time I have found him all that a servant should be.' And this 'ere'--he fumbled with another--"this 'ere 's Lady Glengow: 'Joshua Creed--' I thought I'd like you to read 'em since you've been so kind."

"Will you have a pipe?"

"Thank ye, sir," replied the aged butler, filling his clay from Shelton's pouch; then, taking a front tooth between his finger and his thumb, he began to feel it tenderly, working it to and fro with a sort of melancholy pride.

"My teeth's a-comin' out," he said; "but I enjoys pretty good health for a man of my age."

"How old is that?"

"Seventy-two! Barrin' my cough, and my rupture, and this 'ere affliction"--he pa.s.sed his hand over his face--"I 've nothing to complain of; everybody has somethink, it seems. I'm a wonder for my age, I think."

Shelton, for all his pity, would have given much to laugh.

"Seventy-two!" he said; "yes, a great age. You remember the country when it was very different to what it is now?"

"Ah!" said the old butler, "there was gentry then; I remember them drivin' down to Newmarket (my native place, sir) with their own horses.

There was n't so much o' these here middle cla.s.ses then. There was more, too, what you might call the milk o' human kindness in people then--none o' them amalgamated stores, every man keepin' his own little shop; not so eager to cut his neighbour's throat, as you might say. And then look at the price of bread! O dear! why, it is n't a quarter what it was!"

"And are people happier now than they were then?" asked Shelton.

The old butler sucked his pipe.

"No," he answered, shaking his old head; "they've lost the contented spirit. I see people runnin' here and runnin' there, readin' books, findin' things out; they ain't not so self-contented as they were."

"Is that possible?" thought Shelton.

"No," repeated the old man, again sucking at his pipe, and this time blowing out a lot of smoke; "I don't see as much happiness about, not the same look on the faces. 'T isn't likely. See these 'ere motorcars, too; they say 'orses is goin' out"; and, as if dumbfounded at his own conclusion, he sat silent for some time, engaged in the lighting and relighting of his pipe.

The girl at the far end stirred, cleared her throat, and settled down again; her movement disengaged a scent of frowsy clothes. The policeman had approached and scrutinised these ill-a.s.sorted faces; his glance was jovially contemptuous till he noticed Shelton, and then was modified by curiosity.

"There's good men in the police," the aged butler said, when the policeman had pa.s.sed on--"there's good men in the police, as good men as you can see, and there 's them that treats you like the dirt--a dreadful low cla.s.s of man. Oh dear, yes! when they see you down in the world, they think they can speak to you as they like; I don't give them no chance to worry me; I keeps myself to myself, and speak civil to all the world. You have to hold the candle to them; for, oh dear! if they 're crossed--some of them--they 're a dreadful unscrup'lous lot of men!"

"Are you going to spend the night here?"

"It's nice and warm to-night," replied the aged butler. "I said to the man at that low place I said: 'Don't you ever speak to me again,' I said, 'don't you come near me!' Straightforward and honest 's been my motto all my life; I don't want to have nothing to say to them low fellows"--he made an annihilating gesture--"after the way they treated me, takin' my things like that. Tomorrow I shall get a room for three s.h.i.+llin's a week, don't you think so, sir? Well, then I shall be all right. I 'm not afraid now; the mind at rest. So long as I ran keep myself, that's all I want. I shall do first-rate, I think"; and he stared at Shelton, but the look in his eyes and the half-scared optimism of his voice convinced the latter that he lived in dread. "So long as I can keep myself," he said again, "I sha'n't need no workhouse nor lose respectability."

"No," thought Shelton; and for some time sat without a word. "When you can;" he said at last, "come and see me; here's my card."

The aged butler became conscious with a jerk, for he was nodding.

"Thank ye, sir; I will," he said, with pitiful alacrity. "Down by Belgravia? Oh, I know it well; I lived down in them parts with a gentleman of the name of Bateson--perhaps you knew him; he 's dead now--the Honourable Bateson. Thank ye, sir; I'll be sure to come"; and, s.n.a.t.c.hing at his battered hat, he toilsomely secreted Shelton's card amongst his character. A minute later he began again to nod.

The policeman pa.s.sed a second time; his gaze seemed to say, "Now, what's a toff doing on that seat with those two rotters?" And Shelton caught his eye.

"Ah!" he thought; "exactly! You don't know what to make of me--a man of my position sitting here! Poor devil! to spend your days in spying on your fellow-creatures! Poor devil! But you don't know that you 're a poor devil, and so you 're not one."

The man on the next bench sneezed--a shrill and disapproving sneeze.

The policeman pa.s.sed again, and, seeing that the lower creatures were both dozing, he spoke to Shelton:

"Not very safe on these 'ere benches, sir," he said; "you never know who you may be sittin' next to. If I were you, sir, I should be gettin'

on--if you 're not goin' to spend the night here, that is"; and he laughed, as at an admirable joke.

Shelton looked at him, and itched to say, "Why shouldn't I?" but it struck him that it would sound very odd. "Besides," he thought, "I shall only catch a cold"; and, without speaking, he left the seat, and went along towards his rooms.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII