Читать книгу THE EAST END TRILOGY: Tales of Mean Streets, A Child of the Jago & To London Town - Morrison Arthur - Страница 20

Bill Napper went home in a hansom, ordering a barrel of beer on the way. One of the chief comforts of affluence is that you may have beer in by the barrel; for then Sundays and closing times vex not, and you have but to reach the length of your arm for another pot whenever moved thereunto. Nobody in Canning Town had beer by the barrel except the tradesmen, and for that Bill had long envied the man who kept shop. And now, at his first opportunity, he bought a barrel of thirty-six gallons.

Once home with the news, and Canning Town was ablaze. Bill Napper had came in for three thousand, thirty thousand, three hundred thousand — any number of thousands that were within the compass of the gossip’s command of enumeration. Bill Napper was called “W. Napper, Esq.”— he was to be knighted — he was a long-lost baronet — anything. Bill Napper came home in a hansom — a brougham-state coach.

Mrs. Napper went that very evening to the Grove at Stratford to buy silk and satin, green, red and yellow — cutting her neighbors dead, right and left. And by the next morning tradesmen had sent circulars and samples of goods. Mrs. Napper was for taking a proper position in society, and a house in a fashionable part — Barking Road, for instance, or even East India Road, Poplar; but Bill would have none of such foolishness. He wasn’t proud, and Canning Town was quite good enough for him. This much, though, he conceded: that the family should take a whole house of five rooms in the next street, instead of the two rooms and a cellule upstairs now rented.

That morning Bill lighted his pipe, stuck his hands in his pockets, and strolled as far as his job. “Wayo, squire,” shouted one of the men as he approached. “‘Ere comes the bleed’n’ toff,” remarked another.

“‘Tcheer, ‘tcheer, mates,” Bill responded, calmly complacent. “I’m a-goin to wet it.” And all the fourteen men left their paving for the beer-house close by. The foreman made some demur, but was helpless, and ended by coming himself. “Now then, gaffer,” said Bill, “none o’ your sulks. No one ain’t a-goin’ to stand out of a drink o’ mine — unless ‘e wants to fight. As for the job — damn the job! I’d buy up fifty jobs like that ’ere and not stop for the change. You send the guv’nor to me if ‘e says anythink; unnerstand? You send ’im to me.” And he laid hands on the foreman, who was not a big man, and hauled him after the others.

They wetted it for two or three hours, from many part pots. Then there appeared between the swing doors the wrathful face of the guv’nor.

The gov’nor’s position was difficult. He was only a small master, and but a few years back had been a working mason. This deserted job was his first for the parish, and by contract he was bound to end it quickly under penalty. Moreover, he much desired something on account that week, and must stand well with the vestry. On the other hand, this was a time of strikes, and the air was electrical. Several large and successful movements had quickened a spirit of restlessness in the neighborhood, and no master was sure of his men. Some slight was fancied, something was not done as it should have been done from the point of view of the workshop, and there was a strike, picketing, and bashing. Now, the worst thing that could have happened to the guv’nor at this moment was one of those tiny unrecorded strikes that were bursting out weekly and daily about him, with the picketing of his two or three jobs. Furious, therefore, as he was, he dared not discharge every man on the spot. So he stood in the door, and said: “Look here, I won’t stand this sort of thing — it’s a damn robbery. I’ll —”

“That’s all right, ol’ cock,” roared Bill Napper, reaching toward the guv’nor. “You come an’ ‘ave a tiddley. I’m a bleed’n’ millionaire meself now, but I ain’t proud. What, you won’t?”— for the guv’nor, unenthusiastic, remained at the door. “You’re a sulky old bleeder. These ’ere friends o’ mine are ‘avin’ ‘arf a day auf at my expense; unnerstand? My expense. I’m a-payin’ for their time, if you dock ’em; an’ I can give you a bob, me fine feller, if you’r ‘ard up. See?”

The guv’nor addressed himself to the foreman. “What’s the meaning o’ this, Walker?” he said. “What game d’ye call it?”

Bill Napper, whom a succession of pots had made uproarious, slapped the foreman violently on the shoulder. “This ’ere’s the gaffer,” he shouted. “‘E’s all right. ‘E come ’ere ‘cos ‘e couldn’t ‘elp isself. I made ’im come, forcible. Don’t you bear no spite agin the gaffer, d’y’ear? ‘E’s my mate, is the gaffer; an’ I could buy you up, forty times, s’elp me — but I ain’t proud. An’ you’re a bleed’n’ gaw-blimy slackbacked . . .!”

“Well,” said the guv’nor to the assembled company, but still ignoring Bill, “don’t you think there’s been about enough of this?”

A few of the men glanced at one another, and one or two rose. “Awright, guv’nor,” said one, “we’re auf,” and two more echoed, “Awright, guv’nor,” and began to move away.

“Ah!” said Bill Napper, with disgust, as he turned to finish his pot, “you’re a blasted nigger-driver, you are. An’ a sulky beast,” he added as he set the pot down. “Never mind,” he pursued, “I’m awright, an’ I ain’t a ‘arf-paid kerbwacker no more, under you!”

“You was a damn sight better kerbwhacker than you are a millionaire,” the guv’nor retorted, feeling safer now that his men were getting back to work.

“None o’ your lip,” replied Bill, rising and reaching for a pipe-spill; “none o’ your lip, you work’us stone-breaker.” Then, turning with a sudden access of fury, “I’ll knock yer face off, blimy!” he shouted, and raised his fist.

“Now, then, none o’ that here, please,” cried the landlord from behind the bar; unto whom Bill Napper, with all his wonted obedience in that quarter, answered only, “All right, guv’nor,” and subsided.

Left alone, he soon followed the master-paver and his men through the swing doors, and so went home. In his own street, observing two small boys in the prelusory stages of a fight, he put up sixpence by way of stakes, and supervised the battle from the seat afforded by a convenient window-sill. After that he bought a morning paper, and lay upon his bed to read it, with a pipe and a jug; for he was beginning a life of leisure and comfort, wherein every day should be a superior Sunday.