Читать книгу Jessie Trim - B. L. Farjeon - Страница 12

The boy took no notice of the neighbours, but wheeled straight through them, regardless of their legs. Neither did he take any notice of us, except by whistling in our faces. But he trundled the wheelbarrow cheerfully, and with an airy independence most delightful to witness. It was a long journey to Paradise-row, and it occupied a long time; but the boy never flagged, never stopped to rest, although in the course of the journey he performed some eccentric antics. He was not as old as I, but he was much more strongly built. I envied him his strong limbs and broad shoulders. It was a cold day, and he was insufficiently clad; his toes peeped out of his boots, and his hair straggled through a hole in his cap, and a glimpse of his bare chest could now and then be seen through a rent in his waistcoat, which was made to serve the purpose of a jacket by being pinned at the throat; but the boy was not in the slightest degree affected by these disadvantages. The wind, which made me shiver, seemed to warm him, and he took it to his bosom literally with great contentment. His eyes were dark and bright, his nose was a most ostensible pug, and the curves of his large well-shaped mouth and lips spoke of saucy enjoyment. Indeed, he was full of life, noting with eager curiosity everything about him, and his dirty face sparkled with intelligence. As he drove the barrow before him, he whistled and sang without the slightest regard to nerves, and if any street lad accosted him jocosely or derisively, he returned the salutation with spirited interest. He appeared to be disposed to pause near the first organ-grinder we approached; but he resisted the inclination, and after a short but severe mental struggle, he compromised matters by trundling the barrow three times round the unfortunate Italian, making a wider sweep each time. My mother remonstrated with him; but the boy, with the reins of command in his hand, paid no other attention to her remonstrance than was expressed in a knowing cock of his eye, implying that it was all right, and that he knew what he was about. For the safety of our trunk we were compelled to accompany him in his circular wanderings, and I felt particularly foolish as we swept round and round. But the third circle completed, the boy drove straight along again contentedly, whistling the last air the organ-grinder had played with such force and expression as to cause some of the passers-by to put their fingers to their ears. This man[oe]uvre the boy conscientiously repeated with every organ-grinder we met on the road; repeated it also, very slowly and lingeringly, at a Punch-and-Judy show, afterwards conveying to the British public discordant reminiscences through his nose of the interview between Punch and the Devil; and with supreme audacity repeated it when we came to a band of negro minstrels, proving himself quite a match for them when they threatened him with dreadful consequences if he did not immediately put a stop to his circular performance. Indeed, when one of the band advanced towards him with menacing gestures, he ran the wheelbarrow against the opposing force with such an unmistakable intention, that to save his legs the nigger had to fly. In this manner we came at length to the end of our journey.

I found Windmill-street to be a mere slit in a busy and bustling neighbourhood, and Paradise-row, where uncle Bryan lived, a distinct libel upon heaven, being, I fervently hope, as little like a thoroughfare in Paradise as can well be imagined. Uncle Bryan's shop was at the corner of Windmill-street and Paradise-row, and uncle Bryan himself stood at his street-door, seemingly awaiting our arrival.

'Been loitering, eh?' was uncle Bryan's first salutation; sharply spoken, not to us, but to the boy.

'Never stopped wheelin', so 'elp me!' returned the boy, in a tone as sharp as my uncle's, yet with a doubtful look at my mother. 'Never stopped to take a breathful of air from the blessed minute we started. Arks 'er!'

My mother, being appealed to by uncle Bryan, confirmed the boy's statement, which was strictly correct, and, to his manifest astonishment, made no reproachful reference to his circular flights. His astonishment, however, almost immediately assumed the form of a satisfied leer.

'How much was it to be?' asked uncle Bryan, not at all satisfied with my mother's assurance.

'Thrums,' replied the boy, readily. By which he meant threepence.

Uncle Bryan regarded him sourly.

'Say that again, and I'll take off a penny.'

'Well, tuppence, then. I got to pay a ha'penny for the barrer. What's a brown, more or less?'

The question was not addressed to any of us in particular, so none of us answered it. Uncle Bryan paid him twopence; and the boy, with never a 'thank you,' spun the coins in the air, and caught them deftly; then, with a wink at my mother as a trustworthy conspirator, he walked away with his empty barrow, whistling with all his wind at mankind in general.

Now, when uncle Bryan first spoke, I started. I thought it was not the first time I had heard his voice. It sounded to me like the voice of the man with whom I had had the adventure on the previous Saturday night. The boy being out of sight, uncle Bryan turned to me.

'Why did you start just now?'

'I thought I knew your voice, sir,' I said.

'Call me uncle Bryan. Knew my voice! It isn't possible, as you've never set eyes on me, nor I on you, till this moment.'

This was intended to settle the doubt, and I never again referred to it, although it remained with me for a long while afterwards. The trunk had been left on the doorstep, and uncle Bryan assisted us to carry it upstairs to the bedroom allotted to us. A little bed for me--uncle Bryan made it over to me in three words--was placed behind a screen.

'I thought,' he said to my mother, 'you would like your boy to sleep in the same room as yourself. The house is a small one, but we can find another place for him if you wish.'

'Thank you, Bryan,' replied my mother simply, 'I would like to have him with me.'

Uncle Bryan was evidently no waster of words, and my mother entered readily into his humour.

'You must be tired,' he said, as he was about to leave the room; 'rest yourself a bit. But the sooner you come downstairs, the better I shall be pleased.'

My mother laid her hand on his arm, and detained him.

'Let me say a word to you, Bryan.'

'You will never repeat it!' he exclaimed, with a quick apprehension of what she wished to say.

'Never, without a strong necessity, Bryan.'

He laughed; but it was more like a dry husky cough than a laugh.

'When a man locks the street-door,' he said, 'trust a woman to see that the yard-door's on the latch.'

'I want to thank you, Bryan, for the home you have offered me and my boy.'

'Perhaps it won't suit you.'

'It will suit us, Bryan, if it will suit you to allow us to remain.'

He seemed to chew the words, 'allow us to remain,' silently, as if their flavour were unpleasant to him; but he said aloud:

'Wait and see, then.' And although my mother wished to continue the conversation, he turned his back to us, and abruptly left the room.

My mother sank into a chair; she must have been very tired, for she had walked not less than twelve miles that day.

'You must be tired too, my dear,' she said, drawing me to her side.

'Not so tired as you, mother.'

'I don't feel very, very tired, my dear!'

I knew why she said so; hope dwelt in her heart.

'I think your uncle Bryan is a good man,' she said.

I did not express dissent; but I must have looked it.

'My dear,' she said, answering my look, 'you will find in your course through life that many sweet things have their home in the roughest shells. Uncle Bryan has a strange rough manner, but I think--nay, I am sure--he is a good man. Do you know, Chris, I believe those things that came home for us last Saturday night were sent by him. No, my dear, we will not ask him, or even speak of it. He will be better pleased if it is not referred to. And yet I wonder how he found us out!'

The room which was assigned to us was a back-room, small, and commonly but cleanly furnished. Immediately beneath the window was the water-butt, and beyond it were numbers of small back-yards--so many, indeed, that I wondered where the houses could be that belonged to them. The general prospect from this window, as I very soon learned, was composed of sheets, shirts, stockings, and the usual articles of male and female attire in the process of drying: of some other things also--of washing-tubs, and women and little girls wringing and washing and up to their arm-pits in soap-suds. Occasionally I saw men also thus engaged. A variation in the prospect was sometimes afforded by small children being brought into the yards to be slapped and then set upon the stones to cool, and by other small children blowing soap-bubbles out of father's pipes. The peculiarity of the scene was that the clothes never appeared to be dried. They were eternally hanging on the lines, which intersected each other like a Chinese puzzle, or were being skewered to them in a damp condition. I can safely assert that existence, as seen from our bedroom window, was one interminable washing-day.

When we went downstairs uncle Bryan was in the shop, weighing up his wares and attending to occasional customers. Attached to the shop were a parlour, in which the meals were taken and which served as a general sitting-room, and a smaller apartment in the rear. My mother called me into the smaller room. Do you see, Chris?' she said, pointing to some flowers on the window-sill. There were two or three pots also, in which seeds had evidently been newly planted. In my mother's eyes, these were a strong proof of my uncle's goodness. A rickety flight of steps led to the basement of the house, in which there was a gloomy kitchen (very blackbeetle-y), which could not have been used for a considerable time. The cobwebs were thick in the corners, and a prosperous spider, a very alderman in its proportions, peeped out of its stronghold, with an air of 'What is all this about?' The appearance of a woman in that deserted retreat did not please my gentleman; it was a sign of progress. In the basement were also two or three other gloomy recesses.

Our brief inspection ended, we ascended to the parlour. The fire was burning brightly, and the kettle was on the hob. My mother went to the door which led to the shop.

'At what time do you generally have tea, Bryan?' she inquired.

'At half-past five,' he replied.

It was a quarter-past five by an American clock which stood in the centre of the mantelshelf. The clock was a common wooden one, with a glass door in front, on which was engraved a figure of Father Time with a crack down his back. One of his eyes was damaged, and his scythe also was mutilated; taking him altogether, as he was there represented, damaged and with cracks in him, old Father Time seemed by his disconsolate appearance to be of the opinion that it was high time an end was made of him. Without more ado, my mother opened the cupboard, and finding everything there she wanted, laid the table, and prepared the meal. Exactly at half-past five uncle Bryan came in, and we had tea. He did not express the slightest approval of my mother's quickness, nor did she ask for it; and when tea was over, he went into the shop again, and my mother cleared up the things. She asked him about to-morrow's dinner, and took me with her to market with the money he gave her. While we were looking about us we came across the boy who had fetched our trunk in the wheelbarrow. He was standing with others listening to a hymn which was being sung by two men and a woman. One of the men was blind, and he played on a harmonium, while his companions sang. He joined in also, having a powerful voice, and I thought the performance a very fine one.

The boy saw us; approached my mother, and said in a tone of strong approval:

'You're a brick. I say, we sold old Bryan, didn't us?'

My mother could not help smiling, which heightened the favourable opinion he had of her.

'What are you going to do?' he asked.

My mother explained that she was going to market.

'I'll show you the shops,' he said; and his offer was accepted.

He proved useful, and took us to the best and cheapest shops, and gave his candid opinion (generally unfavourable) of the articles my mother purchased. When the marketing was finished, he volunteered to carry the basket, and did not leave us until we were within a yard or two of uncle Bryan's shop. He enlivened the walk with many quaint and original observations, and when he had nothing to say he whistled. He took his departure with good-humoured winks and nods. Upon my mother counting out her purchases to uncle Bryan, and returning him the few coppers that were left, he said,

'We'll settle things on Monday, Emma. You'll have to take the entire charge of the house, and to keep the expenses down, and we'll arrange a certain sum, which must not be exceeded. If anything is saved out of it, you can put it by in this box,' pointing to a stone money-box shaped like an urn, which was on a shelf. You can do anything you like to the place, but don't disturb my flower-pots.'

'What have you planted in the new pots, Bryan?'

'Some of the new Japan lilies; they'll not flower till summer. Don't touch them; you don't understand them.'

My mother was very busy that night, dusting and cleaning, and I think I never saw her in a happier mood. Now and then she went into the shop, and stood quietly behind the counter, noting how uncle Bryan attended to his business. He took not the slightest notice of her; did not address a single word to her. Once she came bustling back, with an air of importance. 'I've served a customer, Chris,' she said gleefully.

Uncle Bryan's shop was stocked with small supplies of everything in the grocery line, and in addition to these, he sold a few simple medicines for clearing the blood--some of them, I afterwards learned, of his own concoction and mixing. Friday was the day fixed for the preparation and making-up of these medicines, for Saturday was the great night for the sale of the mixtures to working people, who purchased them in halfpenny and penny doses. I discovered that uncle Bryan's pills were famous in the neighbourhood. I calculated that on this Saturday night he must have served at least fifty customers with his medicines. The little parlour presented quite a different appearance when my mother had finished cleaning and dusting. I looked for some expression of approval in uncle Bryan's face when he came in to partake of a bread-and-cheese supper; but I saw none. During the night my thoughts wandered to the little girl who had given the first halfpenny to my mother. I spoke about her.

'Do you think she will be sorry or glad, mother, because she will not see you to-night?'

'Sorry, I think, Chris; she will fancy I am ill.'

'But this is a great deal better, mother.'

'Infinitely better, dear child: and remember, we owe it all to uncle Bryan.'

Neither my mother nor I felt at all strange in our new home, and I slept as soundly as if I had lived in the house for years. Before we went to bed, my mother and I had a delicious ten minutes' chat; the storm in our lives which had lasted so long, and which had threatened to wreck us, had cleared away, and a delightful sense of rest stole into our hearts.

On the Sunday no business was done. After breakfast, uncle Bryan brought his account-book into the parlour, and busied himself with his accounts, adding up the week's takings, and calculating what profit was made. My mother asked him if he was going to church.

'I never go to church,' was his reply.

My mother looked grieved, but she entered into no argument with him.

'You have no objection to our going?' she said timidly.

'What have I to do with it? I dictate to no one. If you think it right to go to church, go.'

'Is there one near, Bryan?'

'Zion Chapel isn't two minutes' walk.'

Uncle Bryan asked no questions when we returned, and the day passed quietly. He devoted the evening to smoking and reading. My mother did not like the smoke at first, but it was not long before she schooled herself to fill uncle Bryan's pipe for him. So, with a pair of horn spectacles on his nose, and his pipe in his mouth, uncle Bryan read and enjoyed his leisure. Occasionally he took his pipe from his mouth, and read a few words aloud. At one time he became deeply engrossed in a book which he took from a shelf in the shop, and he read the following passage aloud:

'That the consciousness of existence is not dependent on the same form or the same matter is demonstrated to our senses in the works of the Creator, as far as our senses are capable of receiving that demonstration. A very numerous part of the animal creation preaches to us, far better than Paul, the belief in a life hereafter. Their little life resembles an earth and a heaven, a present and a future state; and comprises, if it may be so expressed, immortality in miniature.'

'Immortality in miniature!' repeated my mother, in a puzzled tone. 'What is that from, Bryan?'

'The Age of Reason,' he answered.

There was a long pause, broken again by uncle Bryan's voice: