Читать книгу A London Baby: The Story of King Roy - Meade L. T. - Страница 5

Before Faith had been gone quite half an hour her father returned. This was an unusual proceeding, for generally he spent his Sunday afternoons in a working men’s club round the corner. He was one of the most influential members of this club – its most active and stirring representative. He organised meetings, got up debates, and did, in short, those thousand and one things which an energetic, clever man can do to put fire and life into such proceedings. He had come home now to draw up the minutes of a new organisation which he and a few other kindred spirits were about to form.

It was to be a society in every way based on the laws of justice and reason. Religious, and yet allowing all harmless and innocent amusements both for Sundays and weekdays; temperate, but permitting the use of beer and wine in moderation.

Warden felt very virtuous and very useful as he sat down with pen and paper before him. No one could say of him that he spent his time for nought. How blameless and good and excellent was his life! Never, never would it be necessary for those lips to cry to his Maker, “God be merciful to me a sinner!”

A little restless movement, and faint, satisfied baby sigh from the sofa, interrupted these self-satisfied meditations. He looked round and saw little Roy. “Bless us! is the child there? and wherever is Faith?” he said to himself.

He got up and approached his little boy. The child was looking as beautiful as such a lovely creature would look in his sleep. Warden went on his knees to watch him more earnestly. Yes; the golden-brown eyelashes, the tangled mass of bright hair, the full pouting lips, the rounded limbs, made up a picture which might well cause any father’s heart to beat with love and pride; and doubtless there was much of both in Warden’s soul just then. He gazed long and earnestly. Before he rose to his feet he even bent and kissed the little flushed cheek.

“Yes,” he said to himself; “he’s a very, very lovely boy. If ever a man had cause for ambition I have. With God’s help, that boy shall take his place with any gentleman in the land before I die.”

He sat down again by his table, but instead of continuing his work he remained for a time, one hand partly shading his eyes, while he indulged in a meditation. Yes; he must save as much money as possible; for Roy’s education must begin early. Roy must have this, Roy must have that. He did not think of Faith at all. Faith was but a girl. He began to consider by what means he could add to his earnings, by what means he could retrench his present expenses. The rooms they now lived in were comfortable, but far from cheap. Ought they not to go into poorer lodgings? for now they spent all he earned, and where, if that was so, would be the money to put little Roy to school by-and-by?

In the midst of these thoughts, the door was pushed softly open, and a man’s face appeared. It just appeared above the frame of the door, and looked in with timid, bloodshot eyes.

“I cannot assist you, Peter Davis,” called out Warden in his full, loud tones. “There’s no manner of use in your waiting here. You know my opinion of such conduct as yours.”

“Yes; but I means to reform – I do indeed,” replied Davis. He had so far gathered courage now as to advance a step or two into the room. “’Tis h’all so ’ard on a feller. When he’s down h’every one throws a stone at him. I’m h’ever so sorry fur givin’ way to the drink, and I’m goin’ to take the pledge – I am indeed.”

“It is disgusting, any man drinking himself into the condition of a beast – lower, far lower than a beast,” answered Warden, in his most bitter tones. “There now, Davis, you know my opinion. I am pleased, however, to hear you mean to change your ways.”

“Yes, indeed, indeed I do – Mr – Mr Warden; and wot I made bold to come yere fur were to axe ef you’d may be help me. I don’t mean fur myself, but fur the poor wife. The wife, her ’ad a little ’un last night, and we h’an’t never a sup nor a bite in the house. I thought, may be, Mr – Mr Warden, as seeing we belonged to the werry same club, as you’d may be let me have the loan of five shillings, or even harf-a-crown, jest one harf-crown, and returned most faithful, Mr Warden.”

Warden laughed loudly.

“No; not a shilling, nor a sixpence,” he said. “I never encourage drunkards; and as to your belonging to our club, you won’t have that to say long unless you mend yer ways.”

“But ’tis fur the wife,” continued Davis. “The wife, as honest a body as h’ever breathed, and she’s starving. No, no, it h’aint, h’indeed it ain’t, to spend on drink. I’m none so low as that comes to. I won’t spend a penny of it on drink. Oh! Mr Warden, the wife and the new-born babe is a dying of hunger. Lend us jest one shilling, h’even one shilling, for the love of h’Almighty God! How ’ud you like ef yer h’own little lad there were starving?”

“Look here,” said Warden, rising to his feet. “I’m busy, and I can’t be interrupted. If you don’t leave the room at once I must just put you out I may as well tell you plainly that I don’t believe a word you say, and not one farthing will you ever get from me.”

“Then God furgive yer fur the werry ’ardest man I h’ever met,” said poor Davis. “I think,” he added, “as I’d as lief ’ave my chance wid the h’Almighty as yourn, when h’all is reckoned up. I never, never heerd as you did a real kind thing in yer life, and I pity them children as h’is to be brought h’up by you.”

Warden laughed again disagreeably, and, shutting the door on Davis, returned to his work; but the little incident and the burning, angry words of the despairing man shook him unpleasantly, and his temper, never one of the best, was in such a ruffled condition, that it only wanted the faintest provocation to kindle it into a blaze. This provocation (not a very slight one) came in the shape of his little son. Roy had awakened, and after looking round in vain for Faith, had slid down off the horse-hair sofa. He was thoroughly refreshed by his sleep, and was just in the mood when a very little child, in its eager desire for occupation, may do incalculable mischief.

Warden did not know that the little fellow had awakened. He sat with his back to the sofa, and was now thoroughly absorbed in his work. He was drawing up a prospectus for the new society, and his head was bent low over the paper. By his side lay, in a neat and complete form, a prize essay, which he had taken some three months of hard work and hard thought to put together. The subject was one of the popular subjects of the day. The prize was only open to working men. Warden had every hope of gaining the prize. If so, he would win 50 pounds. His essay was complete. He had sat up late the night before, finishing it, and it was to be posted to its destination that very evening. Now, with an unconscious jerk of his elbow, he tossed the neatly pinned together pages on to the floor. He knew nothing of this fact; but as they lay wide open from their fall on the floor, they presented a very tempting spectacle to the eager eyes of little Roy. He approached the precious manuscript softly, sat down on the carpet, and began the delicious work of tearing it into pieces. For a quarter of an hour there was perfect stillness, at the end of which time nothing whatever remained of Warden’s prize essay but a pile of scattered fragments which surrounded little Roy. When the deed of mischief was fully done, and not before, the little fellow gave utterance to a deep sigh of satisfaction, and, raising his clear, baby voice, exclaimed, in a tone of triumph: