Neither the place nor the company would have been attractive to a decent working man. There was a foulness in the air and talk of the place which would have revolted him, yet in that crowd of needy and disreputable creatures were men who had been to college and had had the benefit of a University education, and women who had known something of the sunshine of life; alas! all – all were given over to evil, utterly lost and reprobate. It was not ignorance, not misfortune, not a wicked world, that had made them what they were. They had been the architects of their own lives. They had to lie on the beds they had made. Society is much troubled about them. What if society were to leave them alone, and to look better after the really deserving poor, who are always present with us – who are so low down in the world as to be compelled to take wages on which they cannot possibly live – who require and deserve the utmost sympathy from all classes of the community in their sorrow and distress and struggles? These are the weak, whose burdens the strong are bidden, in the Book to which most of us appeal for instruction and guidance, to bear.
‘Why, ye’re soon back again,’ said one of the inmates, engaged in the interesting operation of frying a Yarmouth bloater – ‘you’re soon back again; I thought you was down at Sloville.’
‘Lor’ bless you! we han’t been near Sloville for years.’
‘Ah, I remember, I heard you were in the Black Country.’
‘Yes, we was there, but the fact was we had to hook it!’
‘Oh, I see, up to the old trick!’ said he with a smile.
‘Perhaps,’ was the reply.
The fact was that one afternoon the tramp and the woman met with an old farmer coming home from market a little the worse for liquor, and him they had kindly relieved of his watch, as he was far too gone to be able to take proper care of it himself. The old farmer, naturally, was aggrieved, and tried to defend himself. This led to a little compulsory action on the part of his friends, and he was left senseless by the roadside, while they made the best of their way out of the neighbourhood.
Fortune always favours the brave, and our friends were in this respect no exception to the general rule. They had had rather a successful campaign – visiting lonely lanes untrodden by the police, and robbing romantic young ladies fond of the country of what jewellery they might happen to wear. People are always asking us to pity the poor worn-out tramp. I am rather inclined to pity his victim.
‘But where’s the kid?’
‘Oh, we left him behind. But, lor’ bless you, we know where to find him again. He’s safe to be in Parker’s Buildings, or somewhere thereabout.’
‘Got any money about you?’
‘Not much worth speaking of – not quite done for, either,’ continued the tramp. ‘Look here,’ said he, peering cautiously about, and drawing out of his coat-pocket a very dirty and ragged handkerchief, in which was wrapped up a watch – an old-fashioned one, but real silver, nevertheless. Seeing no one was looking on, he proudly exclaimed: ‘What do you say to that?’
‘A beauty, but why didn’t yer spout it at once? Suppose the peeler had collared yer – what a mess ye would have been in.’
‘Lor’ bless ye, I wa’nt such a flat as that. What could I ’ave got for it on the tramp? Now, it is good for a round sum.’
‘Shall I go and spout it?’ said the old acquaintance.
‘Yes, me and missus have walked enough to-day; but ain’t it rather late?’
‘Yes, but there is the shop at the corner. You know they are not particular.’
And that was quite true. The head of that respectable establishment generally contrived to do a good deal of business, in spite of the law and the police, and, if the receiver is as bad as the thief, was a very bad man indeed. In a little while the messenger returned, bearing with him a bottle of gin, a couple of pounds of rump steak, and the other materials for a good supper, and a certain amount of cash, which he handed over to the new-comer, and which seemed perfectly satisfactory. As eagles round the carcase gathered the few casuals that happened to be present. Most of them were old gaol-birds, all of them were the slaves of drink – quarrelsome or good-tempered according to their respective temperaments. They were ready for any feat, or not averse to any crime, if it could be done in a sneaking, underhand manner. Literally their hands were against everyone, and everyone’s hands against them. But now they were all on the best of terms. There was a little drink going on; who knew but what a drop might fall to their share. At any rate they were all glad to see Carroty Bill as they called him once more in their midst; in the line of life they affected his ruffianism made him a hero.
That night was an extra scene of festivity at the lodging house; one of the inmates had been bagged, and had served his time, and had come back resolved to qualify himself as soon as possible for another term of imprisonment, at the expense of the unfortunate taxpayer. And there was a good deal of sociable enjoyment in accordance with the old saying, that when the wine is in the wit is out.
‘Anybody been in trouble, since I was here?’ asked our friend the tramp.
‘No, nothing particular – drunk and disorderly, that’s all. But we’ve had some narrow shaves, and the sergeant told the guvnor last night that ’e’s got his heye on hus.’
‘His eye be blowed! But who is yon cove?’
‘Oh, a poor banker’s clerk.’
‘And the fellow he’s talking to?’
‘Him with the red nose? Oh, we call him the Professor. He’s from Oxford University he says, and gives himself very high and mighty airs when he’s in his cups. But they’re all right.’
‘I’ll soon let you know who I am,’ said a lad who was listening to the talk.
‘Well, who are you?’
‘I am a thief, and not ashamed to own it.’
Here there was a general cry of ‘Bravo!’
‘I ain’t done a day’s work in my life, and don’t mean to. Wot’s the good on it? A fellow ain’t a bit the better for it at the year’s end. He’s a deal to bear. He’s got to put up with his master’s whims; to put up with his foreman and his mates; to toil from morning to night, never to have a day’s pleasure; to be a poor slave. No, I know a trick worth two of that.’
Again there were cries of ‘Bravo!’
‘Why should I work hard for a master to make money by me! Here I can lead a free life. If I am hill, can’t I go to the ’ospital? If I ain’t got a shot in the locker, can’t I nurse up at a soup-kitchen? At the worst I can go into the work’ouse, and get my keep out of the parish. And then when I’m in luck, what a life I can have at the music-halls and with the gals! I heard the chaplain of the gaol preach a sermon about honesty being the best policy. That’s all very fine, but somehow or other I did not seem to see it.’
Here there was more applause.
The speaker continued:
‘I’ve done nothing wot’s good. I know I’m a bad un.’
‘Yes, we all know that.’
‘And why?’
‘Ah, that’s the question!’ said the interested group of listeners.
‘I’ll tell you for why. I han’t no father – at any rate, I never knowed one. My mother turned me out o’ doors at the age of thirteen. I then stole a pair o’ boots, and was sent to prison for one month for it. What could I do when I came out but go back to thievin’? In a little while I was convicted for stealing out of a till, and sent to prison for three months. Arter a little spreein’ about, and a few ups and downs, I came to grief again in an attempt to steal a