Fraternity [21]
away.
"Westminister, sir? Oh dear!"
A skinny trembling hand was offering him a greenish newspaper.
"Terrible cold wind for the time o' year!"
A very aged man in black-rimmed spectacles, with a distended nose and long upper lip and chin, was tentatively fumbling out change for sixpence.
"I seem to know your face," said Hilary.
"Oh dear, yes. You deals with this 'ere shop--the tobacco department. I've often seen you when you've a-been agoin' in. Sometimes you has the Pell Mell off o' this man here." He jerked his head a trifle to the left, where a younger man was standing armed with a sheaf of whiter papers. In that gesture were years of envy, heart-burning, and sense of wrong. 'That's my paper,' it seemed to say, 'by all the rights of man; and that low-class fellow sellin' it, takin' away my profits!'
"I sells this 'ere Westminister. I reads it on Sundays--it's a gentleman's paper, 'igh-class paper--notwithstandin' of its politics. But, Lor', sir, with this 'ere man a-sellin' the Pell Mell"--lowering his voice, he invited Hilary to confidence--"so many o' the gentry takes that; an' there ain't too many o' the gentry about 'ere--I mean, not o' the real gentry--that I can afford to 'ave 'em took away from me."
Hilary, who had stopped to listen out of delicacy, had a flash of recollection. "You live in Hound Street?"
The old man answered eagerly: "Oh dear! Yes, sir--No. 1, name of Creed. You're the gentleman where the young person goes for to copy of a book!"
"It's not my book she copies."
"Oh no; it's an old gentleman; I know 'im. He come an' see me once. He come in one Sunday morning. 'Here's a pound o' tobacca for you!' 'e says. 'You was a butler,' 'e says. 'Butlers!' 'e says, 'there'll be no butlers in fifty years.' An' out 'e goes. Not quite"--he put a shaky hand up to his head--"not quite--oh dear!"
"Some people called Hughs live in your house, I think?"
"I rents my room off o' them. A lady was a-speakin' to me yesterday about 'em; that's not your lady, I suppose, sir?"
His eyes seemed to apostrophise Hilary's hat, which was of soft felt: 'Yes, yes--I've seen your sort a-stayin' about in the best houses. They has you down because of your learnin'; and quite the manners of a gentleman you've got.'
"My wife's sister, I expect."
"Oh dear! She often has a paper off o' me. A real lady--not one o' these"--again he invited Hilary to confidence--"you know what I mean, sir--that buys their things a' ready-made at these 'ere large establishments. Oh, I know her well."
"The old gentleman who visited you is her father."
"Is he? Oh dear!" The old butler was silent, evidently puzzled.
Hilary's eyebrows began to execute those intricate manoeuvres which always indicated that he was about to tax his delicacy.
"How-how does Hughs treat the little girl who lives in the next room to you?"
The old butler replied in a rather gloomy tone:
"She takes my advice, and don't 'ave nothin' to say to 'im. Dreadful foreign-lookin' man 'e is. Wherever 'e was brought up I can't think!"
"A soldier, wasn't he?"
"So he says. He's one o' these that works for the Vestry; an' then 'e'll go an' get upon the drink, an' when that sets 'im off, it seems as if there wasn't no respect for nothing in 'im; he goes on against the gentry, and the Church, and every sort of institution. I never met no soldiers like him. Dreadful foreign--Welsh, they tell me."
"What do you think of the street you're living in?"
"I keeps myself to myself; low class o' street it is; dreadful low class o' person there--no self-respect about 'em."
"Ah!" said Hilary.
"These little 'ouses, they get into the hands o' little men, and they don't care so long as they makes their rent out o' them. They can't help themselves--low class o' man like that; 'e's got to do the best 'e can for 'imself. They say there's thousands o' these 'ouses all over London. There's some that's for pullin' of 'em down, but that's talkin' rubbish; where are you goin' to get the money for to do it? These 'ere
"Westminister, sir? Oh dear!"
A skinny trembling hand was offering him a greenish newspaper.
"Terrible cold wind for the time o' year!"
A very aged man in black-rimmed spectacles, with a distended nose and long upper lip and chin, was tentatively fumbling out change for sixpence.
"I seem to know your face," said Hilary.
"Oh dear, yes. You deals with this 'ere shop--the tobacco department. I've often seen you when you've a-been agoin' in. Sometimes you has the Pell Mell off o' this man here." He jerked his head a trifle to the left, where a younger man was standing armed with a sheaf of whiter papers. In that gesture were years of envy, heart-burning, and sense of wrong. 'That's my paper,' it seemed to say, 'by all the rights of man; and that low-class fellow sellin' it, takin' away my profits!'
"I sells this 'ere Westminister. I reads it on Sundays--it's a gentleman's paper, 'igh-class paper--notwithstandin' of its politics. But, Lor', sir, with this 'ere man a-sellin' the Pell Mell"--lowering his voice, he invited Hilary to confidence--"so many o' the gentry takes that; an' there ain't too many o' the gentry about 'ere--I mean, not o' the real gentry--that I can afford to 'ave 'em took away from me."
Hilary, who had stopped to listen out of delicacy, had a flash of recollection. "You live in Hound Street?"
The old man answered eagerly: "Oh dear! Yes, sir--No. 1, name of Creed. You're the gentleman where the young person goes for to copy of a book!"
"It's not my book she copies."
"Oh no; it's an old gentleman; I know 'im. He come an' see me once. He come in one Sunday morning. 'Here's a pound o' tobacca for you!' 'e says. 'You was a butler,' 'e says. 'Butlers!' 'e says, 'there'll be no butlers in fifty years.' An' out 'e goes. Not quite"--he put a shaky hand up to his head--"not quite--oh dear!"
"Some people called Hughs live in your house, I think?"
"I rents my room off o' them. A lady was a-speakin' to me yesterday about 'em; that's not your lady, I suppose, sir?"
His eyes seemed to apostrophise Hilary's hat, which was of soft felt: 'Yes, yes--I've seen your sort a-stayin' about in the best houses. They has you down because of your learnin'; and quite the manners of a gentleman you've got.'
"My wife's sister, I expect."
"Oh dear! She often has a paper off o' me. A real lady--not one o' these"--again he invited Hilary to confidence--"you know what I mean, sir--that buys their things a' ready-made at these 'ere large establishments. Oh, I know her well."
"The old gentleman who visited you is her father."
"Is he? Oh dear!" The old butler was silent, evidently puzzled.
Hilary's eyebrows began to execute those intricate manoeuvres which always indicated that he was about to tax his delicacy.
"How-how does Hughs treat the little girl who lives in the next room to you?"
The old butler replied in a rather gloomy tone:
"She takes my advice, and don't 'ave nothin' to say to 'im. Dreadful foreign-lookin' man 'e is. Wherever 'e was brought up I can't think!"
"A soldier, wasn't he?"
"So he says. He's one o' these that works for the Vestry; an' then 'e'll go an' get upon the drink, an' when that sets 'im off, it seems as if there wasn't no respect for nothing in 'im; he goes on against the gentry, and the Church, and every sort of institution. I never met no soldiers like him. Dreadful foreign--Welsh, they tell me."
"What do you think of the street you're living in?"
"I keeps myself to myself; low class o' street it is; dreadful low class o' person there--no self-respect about 'em."
"Ah!" said Hilary.
"These little 'ouses, they get into the hands o' little men, and they don't care so long as they makes their rent out o' them. They can't help themselves--low class o' man like that; 'e's got to do the best 'e can for 'imself. They say there's thousands o' these 'ouses all over London. There's some that's for pullin' of 'em down, but that's talkin' rubbish; where are you goin' to get the money for to do it? These 'ere