 Chapter 9 of Tales of Mean Streets by Arthur Morrison This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Stephen Fellows. Tales of Mean Streets by Arthur Morrison Chapter 9 Behind the Shade The street was the common East End street. Two parallels of brick, pierced with windows and doors. But at the end of one, where the builder had found a remnant of land too small for another six rumour, there stood an odd box of a cottage, with three rooms and a wash house. It had a green door with a well-black knock around the corner, and in the lower window in front stood a shade of fruit, a cone of wax and grapes and apples under a glass cover. Although the house was smaller than the others, and was built upon a remnant, it was always a house of some consideration. In a street like this, mere independence of pattern gives distinction, and a house inhabited by one soul family makes a figure among houses inhabited by two or more, even though it be the smallest of all. And here the seal of respectability was set by the shade of fruit, a sign accepted in those parts. Now when people keep a house to themselves and keep it clean, when they neither stand at the doors nor gossip across back fences, when moreover they have a well-dusted shade of fruit in the front window, and especially when they are two women who tell nobody their business, they are known at once for well-to-do, and are regarded with the admixture of spite and respect that is proper to the circumstances. They are also watched. Still, the neighbours knew the history of the Perkins' mother and daughter in its main features with little disagreement, having told it to each other, filling in the details when occasion seemed to serve. Perkins' heir he died had been a shipwright, and this was when the shipwrights were the aristocracy of the workshops, and he that worked more than three or four days a week was counted a mean slave. It was long in fact before depression, strikes, iron plates and collective blindness had driven shipbuilding to the Clyde. Perkins had laboured no harder than his fellows, had married a tradesman's daughter, and had spent his money with freedom, and some while after his death his widow and daughter came to live in the small house, and kept to school for tradesman's little girls in a back room over the wash house. But as the school board waxed in power, and the tradesman's pride in regard thereunto waned, the attendance, level large, came down to twos and threes. Then Mrs. Perkins met with her accident. A dweller instilled his rents, overtook her one night, and having vigorously punched her in the face and breast, kicked her, and jumped on her for five minutes as she lay on the pavement. In the dark it afterwards appeared he had mistaken her for his mother. The one distinct opinion the adventure bred in the street was Mrs. Webster's, the little bethalite, who considered it a judgement for sinful pride, for Mrs. Perkins had been a churchgoer, but the neighbours never saw Mrs. Perkins again. The doctor left his patient as well as she ever would be, but bedridden and helpless. Her daughter was a scraggie, sharp-faced woman of thirty or so, whose black dress hung from her hips as from a wooden frame, and some people got into the way of calling her Mrs. Perkins, seeing no other thus to honor. In meantime the school had ceased, although Miss Perkins assayed a revival and joined a dissenting chapel to that end. Then one day a card appeared in the window, over the shade of fruit, with the legend, Piano Fortalescence. It was not approved by the street. It was a standing advertisement of the fact that the Perkins' had a piano, which others had not. It also revealed a grasping spirit on the part of people able to keep a house to themselves, with red curtains and a shade of fruit in the parlor window, who, moreover, had been able to give up keeping a school because of ill health. The Piano Fortalescence were eight and six months a quarter, until a week nobody was ever known to take them but the relieving officer's daughter, and she paid six pence a lesson to see how she got on and left off in three weeks. The card stayed in the window a fortnight longer and none of the neighbors saw the card that came in the night and took away the old cabinet piano with the channeled keys that had been fourth-hand when Perkins bought it twenty years ago. Mrs. Clark, the widow who sewed far into the night, may possibly have heard a noise and looked, but she said nothing if she did. There was no card in the window next morning, but the shade of fruit stood primely respectable as ever. The curtains were drawn a little closer across. For some of the children playing in the street were used to flatten their faces against the lower panes and to discuss the piano, the stuffed bottom chairs, the anti-McCassers, the mantelpiece ornaments, and the loo table with the family Bible and album on it. It was soon after this that the Perkins' altogether ceased from shopping, ceased at any rate in that neighborhood. Trade with them had already been dwindling, and it was said that Mrs. Perkins was getting stingier than her mother, who had been stingy enough herself. Indeed, the Perkins' demeanour began to change for the worse, to be significant of a miserly retirement and an offensive alienation from the rest of the street. One day the deacon called, as was his practice now and then, but being invited no further than the doorstep, he went away in dudgeon and did not return. Nor, indeed, was Mrs. Perkins seen again at chapel. Then there was a discovery. The spare figure of Mrs. Perkins was seldom seen in the streets, and then almost always at night, but on these occasions she was observed to carry parcels of varying wrappings and shapes. Once in broad daylight, with a package in newspaper, she made such haste past a shop window where stood Mrs. Webster and Mrs. Jones that she tripped on the broken sole of one shoe and fell headlong. The newspaper broke away from its pins, and although the woman reached and recovered her parcel before she rose, it was plain to see that it was made up of cheap shirts, cut out ready for the stitching. The street had the news the same hour, and it was generally held that such a taking of the bread out of the mouths of them that wanted it, by them that had plenty, was a scandal and a shame and ought to be put a stop to. And Mrs. Webster, foremost in the setting right of things, undertook to find out whence the work came and to say a few plain words in the right quarter, all this while nobody watched closely enough to note that the parcels brought in were fewer than the parcels taken out. Even a hand-truck late one evening went unremarked, the door being round the corner and most people within. One morning, though, Miss Perkins, her best foot foremost, was venturing along in the street with an outgoing parcel, large and triangular and wrapped in white drug it, when the relieving officer turned the corner across the way. The relieving officer was a man in whose system of etiquette the Perkinses had caused some little disturbance. His ordinary female acquaintances, not of course professional, he was in the habit of recognising by a gracious nod. When he met the minister's wife, he lifted his hat, instantly assuming an intense frown in the event of a reverent observation. Now, he quite felt that the Perkinses were entitled to some advance upon the nod, although it would be absurd to raise them to a level with the minister's wife, so he had long since established a compromise. He closed his finger and thumb upon the brim of his hat and let his hand fall forthwith. Preparing now to accomplish this salute, he was astounded to see that Miss Perkins, as soon as she was aware of his approach, turned her face, which was rather flushed, away from him, and went hurrying onward, looking at the wall on her side of the street. The relieving officer, checking his hand on the way to his hat, stopped and looked after her as she turned the corner, hugging her parcel on the side next to the wall. Then he shouldered his umbrella and pursued his way, holding his head high and staring fiercely straight before him, for a relieving officer is not used to being cut. It was little after this that Mr. Crouch, the landlord, called. He had not been calling regularly, because of late, Miss Perkins had left her five shillings of rent with Mrs. Crouch every Saturday evening. He noted with satisfaction the widened sills and the shade of fruit, behind which the curtains were now drawn close and pinned together. He turned the corner and lifted the bright knocker. Miss Perkins half opened the door, stood in the opening, and began to speak. His jaw dropped. Beg pardon? Forgot something? Won't wait? Call next week? Do just as well." And he hurried round the corner and down the street, puffing and blowing and staring. While the woman frightened me, he afterward explained to Mrs. Crouch. There's something wrong with her eyes, and she looked like a corpse. The rent wasn't ready. I could see that before she spoke, so I cleared out. Perhaps something's happened to the old lady, suggested Mrs. Crouch. Anyhow, I think the rent'd be all right. And he thought it would. Nobody saw the Perkinses that week. The shade of fruit stood in its old place, but was thought not to have been dusted after Tuesday. Certainly the sills and the doorstep were neglected. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were swallowed up in a choking brown fog, wherein men lost their bearings and fell into docks and stepped over embankment edges. It was as though a great blot had fallen and had obliterated three days from the calendar. It cleared on Monday morning, and just as the women in the street were sweeping their steps, Mr. Crouch was seen at the green door. He lifted the knocker, dull and sticky now with the foul vapour, and knocked a gentle rat tat. There was no answer. He knocked again, a little louder, and waited, listening, that there was neither voice nor movement within. He gave three heavy knocks and then came round to the front window. There was the shade of fruit, the glass a little duller on the top, the curtains pinned close about it, and nothing to see beyond them. He tapped at the window with his knuckles and backed into the roadway to look at the one above. This was a window with a striped holland lined and a short-knit curtain, but never a face was there. The sweepers stopped to look, and one from opposite came and reported that she'd seen nothing of Miss Perkins for a week and that certainly nobody had left the house that morning, and Mr. Crouch grew excited and bellowed through the keyhole. In the end they opened the sarge fastening with a knife, moved the shade of fruit, and got in. The room was bare and empty, and their steps and voices resounded as those of people in an unfurnished house. The wash house was vacant, but it was clean, and there was a little net curtain in the window. The short passage and the stairs were bareboards. In the back room, by the stairhead, was a drawn window blind, and that was all. In the front room, with the striped blind and the short curtain, there was a bed of rags and old newspapers, also a wooden box, and on each of these was a dead woman. Both deaths the doctor found were from syncope, the result of inination, and the better-nourished woman, she on the bed, had died the sooner, perhaps by a day or two. The other case was rather curious. It exhibited a degree of shrinkage in the digestive organs, unprecedented in his experience. After the inquest, the street had an evening's fame, for the papers printed coarse drawings of the house, and in later ets demanded the abolition of something. Then it became its wanted self, and it was doubted if the waxen apples and the curtains fetched enough to pay Mr. Crouch's fortnight's rent. End of Chapter 9. Behind the Shade. Recording by Stephen Fellows Chapter 10. Of Tales of Mean Streets. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Tales of Mean Streets. By Arthur Morrison. Three Rounds. At six o'clock, the back streets were dank and black. But once in the Bethnal Green Road blots and flares of gas and naphtha shook and flickered till every slimy cobble in the cartway was silver-tipped. Neddie Milton was not quite fighting fit. A day's questing for a nod job had left him weary in the feet, and a lad of eighteen cannot comfortably go unfed from breakfast to nightfall. But box he must, for the shelling was irrecoverable, and so costly a chance must not be thrown away. It was by a belt with the gloves that he looked to mend his fortunes. That was his only avenue of advancement. He could read and write quite decently, and in the beginning might even have been an office boy, if only the widow, his mother, had been able to give him a good send-off in the matter of clothes. Also, he had had one chance of picking up a trade, but the firm already employed as many boys as the union was disposed to allow, so Neddie had to go and pick up such stray jobs as he might. It had been a bad day without a doubt. Things were bad generally. It was nearly a fortnight since Ned had lost his last job, and there seemed to be no other in the world. His mother had had no slot-whesquert finishing to do for three or four days, and he distinctly remembered that rather less than half a loaf was left for the breakfast, so that it would never do to go home, for at such a time the old woman had a trick of pretending not to be hungry and of starving herself. He almost wished that shilling of entrance money back in his pocket. There is a deal of stuff to be bought for a shilling, fried fish, for instance, whereof the aromas, like met him thrice in a hundred yards, and the frizzle, loud or faint, sang in his ears all along the Bethnal Green Road. His shilling had been paid over, but two days before the last job gave out, and it would be useful now. Still, the investment might turn out a goldmine. Luck must change. Meanwhile, as to being hungry, well, there was always another hole in the belt. The landlord of the Prince-Regent public house had a large room behind his premises, which, being moved by considerations of sport and profit in doubtful proportions, he devoted two nights a week to the uses of the Regent Boxing Club. Here, Neddie Milton, through a long baptism of pummelings, had learned the trick of a straight lead, a quick counter, and a timely duck. And here, in the nine-stone competition to open this very night, he might perchance punch-wide the gates of fortune. For some sporting publican, or discriminating bookmaker from Beau, might see and approve his sparring and start him fairly with money behind him, a professional. That would mean a match in six or eight weeks time, with good living in the meanwhile, a match that would have to be won, of course, and after that. Twice before, he had boxed in a competition. Once, he won his belt in the first round, and was beaten in the second. And once, he was beaten in the first. But that was by the final winner, Tab Rossa, who was now matched for a hundred aside. Sparred exhibition belts up west wore a light new market coat and could stand whiskey and soda with any body. To be taken up on the strength of these early performances was more than he could reasonably expect. There might be luck in the third trial, but he would like to feel a little fitter. Breakfast, what there was of it, had been ten hours ago, and since there had been but half a pint of four ale. It was the treat of a well-meaning friend, but it lay cold on the stomach of a want of solid company. Turning into Cambridge Road, he crossed and went on among the by-street, leading toward Globe Road. Now and again, a slight aspersion of fine rain came down the gusts and further damped his cap and shoulders and the ragged hair that hung over his collar. Also, a cold spot gave him fears of a hole in his boot sole as he tramped in the chilly mud. In the Prince Regent there were many at the bar and the most of them knew Neddy. Why, O Ned, said one lad with a pitted face, you don't look much of a bleeding champion, ever drop a beer. Ned took a sparing pull at the pot and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. A large man behind him gaffored and Neddy reddened high. He had heard the joke. The man himself was one of the very backers that might make one's fortune and the man's companion thought it would be unsafe to back Neddy to fight anything but a beef steak. He had drawed with patsy beard. One of Ned's friends informed him, you left the buck up. This was bad. Patsy beard, on known form, stood best chance of winning the competition and to have met him at first set off was ill luck and no mistake. He was a thick set little butcher and there was just the ghost of a hope that he might be found to be a bit over the wait. A lad by the bar looked inquiringly in Ned's face and then came toward him, shouldering him quietly out of the group. It was Sam Young whom Neddy had beaten in an earlier competition. Hungry, Neddy? He asked in a corner. It was with a shamed face that Neddy confessed. For among those in peril of hunger it is disgraceful to be hungry. Sam un-pocketed a greasy paper enveloping a pallid sausage roll. Ever for this he said. It was a heavy and clammy thing but Ned took it vertically swallowed a large piece and returned the rest with sheepish thanks. He did not turn again toward the others but went through to the room where the ring was pitched. The proceedings began. First there were exhibition belts to play in the company. Neddy fidgeted. Why couldn't they begin the competition at once? When they did his belt would be number five. That would mean at least an hour of waiting the longer he waited the less fit he would feel. In time the exhibition sparring was ended and the real business began. He watched the early belts feverishly feeling unaccountably anxious. The lads looked strong and healthy. Patsy Beard was as strong as any of them and heavy. Could he stand it? This excited nervousness was new and difficult to understand. He had never felt like it before. He was almost trembling and that lump of sausage roll had stuck half way and made breathing painful work. Patsy Beard was at the opposite corner surrounded by admirers. He was red faced well fed fleshy and confident. His short hair clung shinily about his bullet head. Neddy noted a small piece of court plaster at the side of his nose. Plainly there was a tender spot and it must be gone for be it cut or scratch or only pimple. On the left side too quite handy. Come, there was some comfort in that. He fell to watching the bout. It was a hard fight and both the lads were swinging the right again and again for a knockout. But the pace was too hot and they were soon breathing like men about to sneeze wearily pouring at each other while their heads hung forward. Somebody jogged him in the back and he found he must get ready. His dressing was simple. An ill conditioned old pair of rubber gymnasium shoes replaced his equally ill conditioned bulchers and a cotton singlet his shirt. But his baggy caudaroys ragged at the ankles and doubtful at the seat remained. Presently the last pair went into the dressing room and one of the seconds a battered old pug with one eye at once seized Neddie. Come along, youngen, he said. I'm your bloke. Got no flannels. All right. Jump on the scales. There was no doubt as to the weight. He had scaled at his own bare. Patsy beard, on the other hand, weighed the full nine without an ounce to spare. You're giving him a stone, said the old pug. All the more credit Iden of him. Here, let's shove him on. Feel him. He grinned and blinked his solitary eye as he pulled on Neddie's hand one of a very black worn pair of boxing gloves. They were soft and flaccid. Neddie's heart warmed toward the one-eyed man for while he knew from many knocks that the softer the glove the harder the fist feels through it. Softest pair in the place, so help me! Grunted the second with one glove hanging from his teeth. My lad Adam, last time. He snatched a towel and a bottle of water and hurried Neddie from the dressing-room to the ring. Neddie sat in his chair in the ring-corner and spread his arms on the ropes. While his second, arms uplifted, stood before him and duck solemnly forward and back with the towel flicking overhead. While he was fanning Neddie was still conscious of the lump of sausage-roll in his chest. Also he felt a wondering idly why they called Beard Patsy when his first name was Joe. The same reflection applied to Tab Rosser and Hocko Jones and Tiggie Maxson. But certainly he felt hollow and sick in the belly. Could he stand punching? It would never do to chuck it half through. Still Ready sang the time-keeper. The old pug threw the towel over his arm. Ever-moisture he said presenting the water-bottle to Neddie's mouth. Don't swallow any he added as his principal took a large gulp. Spit it out. Seconds out of the ring. The old price-fighter took his bottle and climbed through the robes. Don't go in fighting. He whispered from behind. Mark him on the stick-and-plaster. And if you don't give him a iodine blimey I'll give you one. Time. The seconds seized the chairs and dragged them out of the ring as the lads advanced and shook hands. Patsy Beard flung back his right foot and made a flashy prance with his left knee as they began to spar for an opening. It was Patsy's way. All Neddie's anxiety was gone. The moment his right foot dropped behind his left and his left hand rocked knuckles up before him he was a competent workman with all his tools in order. Even the lump of dough on his chest he felt no more. Bye! Bye! Bald a wagon the crowd as a delicate illusion to Beard's more ordinary occupation. Patsy grinned at the compliment but Neddie confined his attention to business. He fainted with his left and got back but Patsy was not to be drawn. Then Neddie stepped in and led quickly ducking the counter and repeating before getting away. Patsy came with a rush and fought for the body but Neddie slipped him and got in one for nothing on the ear. The company howled. They sparred in the middle. Patsy led perfunctorily with the left now and again while his right elbow undulated nervously. That foretold an attempt to knock out with the right. Precautions a straight and persistent left and a wary eye. So Neddie kept poking out his left and never lost sight of the court plaster never of the shifty right. Give and take was the order of the round and they fought all over the ring. Patsy bared making for close quarters and Neddie keeping off and stopping him with the left. Neddie met a straight punch on the nose that made his eyes water but through the tears he saw the plaster displaced and a tiny stream of blood trickling toward the corner of Patsy's mouth. Plainly it was a cut. He broke ground, stopped halfway and banged in left and right. He got a sharp bribe on the neck for his pains and took the right on his elbow but he had landed on the spot and the tiny streak of blood was smeared out wide across Patsy's face. The company roared and whistled with enthusiasm. It was a capital rally. But now Neddie's left grew slower and was heavy to lift. From time to time Patsy got in one for nothing and soon began to drive him about the ring. Neddie fought on, weak and gasping and longed for the call of time. His arms felt as if they were hung with lead and he could do little more than push feebly. He heard the yell of many voices. Now then Patsy, help him. Have him out. That's it, Patsy. Another like that. Keep on, Patsy. Patsy kept on right and left above and below. Neddie could see the blows coming but he was powerless to guard or to return. He could but stagger about and now and again swing an ineffectual arm as it hung from the shoulder. Presently a flush hit on the nose drove him against the ropes. Another in the ribs almost through them but a desperate wild whirl of his right brought it heavily on Patsy's tender spot and tore open the cut. Patsy winced and time. Neddie was grabbed at the waist and put in his chair. Good lad! said the one-eyed pug in his ear as he sponged his face. Nothing like pluck but you mustn't go to pieces half through the rand. Was it an awkward poke-up setcher? Neddie lying back and panting wildly shook his head as he gazed at the ceiling. All right! Try and save yourself a bit. Keep your left going. You're roasted in good with that. He'll want a yard of plaster tonight. And when he gets lead and loose take it off and give in the right straight from the guard if you know the trick. Point of the jaw, that's for mind. Ever cooler. He took a mouthful of water and blew it in a fine spray in Neddie's face. Wiped it down and began another overhead fanning. Seconds out of the ring called the timekeeper. Go it, my lad! Thus a whisper from behind. You can walk over him. And Neddie felt the wet sponge squeezed against the back of his neck with a little water trickling down his spine. Time! Neddie was better though there was a worn feeling in his arm muscles. Patsy's cut had been well sponged but it's still bled and Patsy meant giving Neddie no rest. He rushed at once but was met by a clean right-hander slap on the sore spot. Bravo, Neddie! Came a voice and the company held as before. Patsy was steadied. He sparred with some caution twitching the cheek next the cut. Neddie would not lead for he must save himself and so the two sparred for a few seconds. Then Patsy rushed again and Neddie got busy with both hands. Once he managed to get the right in from the guard as his second had advised but not heavily. He could feel his strength going earlier than in the last round and Patsy was as strong and determined as ever. Another rush carried Neddie against the ropes where he got two heavy body blows and a bad jaw rattler. He floundered to the right in an attempt to slip and fell on his face. He rolled on his side, however, and was up again breathless and unsteady. There was a sickening throbbing in the crown of his head and he could scarce lift his arms but there was no respite. The other lad was at him again and he was driven across the ring and back blindly pushing his aching arms before him which followed punch on nose, ears, jaws and body till something began to beat inside his head louder and harder than all beside stunning and sickening him. He could hear the crowd roaring still but it seemed further off and the yells of that's it Patsy now you've got him keep at him, help him this time from some other building close by where somebody was getting a bad licking somebody with no control of his legs and no breath to spit away the blood from his nose as it ran and stuck over his lips somebody praying for the end of the three minutes that seemed three hours and groaning inwardly because of a lump of cold lead in his belly that had once been sausage roll somebody to whom a few called still in the other building chuck it Neddy it's no good why don't you chuck it while others said take him away take him away then something hit him between the eyes and some other thing behind the head that was one of the posts he swung an arm but it met nothing then the other and it struck somewhere and then there was a bang that twisted his head and hard boards were against his face oh it was bad but it was a rest cold water was on his face and somebody spoke he was in his chair again and the one-eyed man was sponging him it was a call of time a savior then he said you'd never have got up in the ten seconds you ain't up to another round are you better chuck it there's no disgrace after the way you've stood up but Neddy shook his head he had got through two of the three rounds and he didn't mean throwing away a chance of saving the belt all right if you won't his mentor said nothing like pluck but you're no good on points a knockout's the only chance nurse your right and give it him good on the point he's none so fresh himself he's blowed with the work and you pasted him fine when you did it last thing just before he sent you down he got out and on his beak didn't see it did ya the old bruiser rubbed vigorously at his arms and gave him a small but welcome drink of water seconds out of the ring the one-eyed man was gone once more but again his voice came from behind mind give it him odd and give it him soon oh groggy chuck it directly if you don't I'll drag you out by the slackier trousers and disgrace ya time Neddy knew there was little more than half a minutes boxing left in him perhaps not so much he must do his best at once Patsy was showing signs of hard wear and still blew a little Patsy was encouragingly crimson at the nostrils and the cut was open and raw he rushed in with a lead which Neddy ducked and cross-counted though ineffectually there were a few vigorous exchanges and then Neddy staggered back from a straight drive on the mouth there was a shout of Patsy and Patsy sprang in right elbow all a jerk and flung in the left Neddy guarded wildly and banged in the right from the guard had he hit he had felt no shock but there was Patsy lying on his face the crowd roared and roared again the old pugs stuffed his chair hastily through the ropes and Neddy sank into it panting with bloodshot eyes Patsy lay still the timekeeper watched the seconds hand pass its ten points and gave the word but Patsy only moved a leg Neddy Milton had won bravo, young'un said the old fighter as he threw his arm about Neddy's waist and helped him to the dressing room cleanest knocker I ever see smack on the point of the jaw never thought you'd have done it I said there was nothing like pluck didn't I ever wash now and you'll be all the better for the exercise give us them gloves I'm off for the next bath and he seized another lad and marched him out ever drop a bear said one of Neddy's new one friends extending a tankard he took it though he scarcely fell to wake he was listless and weak and would not have moved for an hour had he been left alone but Patsy was brought too and sneezed loudly and Neddy was hauled over to shake hands with him you gave me a elever doing said Neddy I never thought I'd beat ya beat me well you ain't have you? hell knock at answered several at once well I'm damned said Patsy Baird in the bar after the evening's business Neddy sat and looked wistfully at the stout red-faced men who smoked four-penny cigars and drank special scotch but not one noticed him his luck had not come after all but there was the second round of bouts and the final in a week's time perhaps it would come then if he could only win the final then it must come meanwhile he was sick and faint and felt doubtful about getting home outside it was raining hard he laid his head on the bar-table at which he was sitting and at closing time they found him asleep end of three rounds please visit LibriVox.org recording by Richard Autie Tales of Mean Streets by Arthur Morrison Chapter 11 in Business there was a great effervescence of rumour in Cupid Town when Ted Munsey came into money Ted Munsey commonly alluded to as Mrs. Munsey's husband was a molder with a regular job at Moffitt's a large quiet man of forty-five the uncomplaining appurtenance of his wife this was fitting for she had married beneath her her father having been a doc-timekeeper to come into money is an unusual feat in Cupid Town a feat nevertheless continually contemplated among possibilities by all Cupid Towners who find nothing else in the Sunday paper so refreshing as the paragraphs headed windfall for a cabman and a fortune for a pauper and who cut them out to pin over the mantelpiece the handsome colouring of such paragraphs was responsible for many bold flights of fancy in regard to Ted Munsey's fortune Cupid Town left to itself being sterile soil for the imagination some said that the Munsey's had come in for chests packed with banknotes on the decease of one of Mrs. Munsey's relations of whom she was want to hint others put it at a street full of houses as being the higher ideal of wealth a few more romantically given imagined vaguely of ancestral lands at halls which Mrs. Munsey and her forebears had been done out of for many years by the lawyers all of which Mrs. Munsey in her hour of triumph was at little pains to discount although in simple fact the fortune was no more than a legacy of a hundred pounds from Ted's uncle who had kept a public house in Deadfoot of the hundred pounds Mrs. Munsey took immediate custody there was no guessing what would have become of it in Ted's hands probably it would have been in chief part irrevocably lent certainly it would have gone and left Ted a moulder at Moffitz as before with Mrs. Munsey there was neither hesitation nor difficulty the obvious use of a hundred pounds was to put its possessors into business which meant a shop to elevate them socially at a single bound beyond the many grades lying between the moulder and the small tradesmen wherefore the Munsey's straight way went into business being equally ignorant of every sort of shop keeping they were free to choose the sort they pleased and thus it was that Mrs. Munsey decided upon drapery and haberdashery Ted's contribution to the discussion being limited to a mild hint of green grocery and coals instantly suppressed as low nothing could be more genteel than drapery and it would suit the girls general chandelery, sweet stuff oil and firewood all these were low comparatively drapery it was and quickly for Mrs. Munsey was not wont to shilly shally an empty shop was found in Bromley was rented and was stocked as far as possible tickets were hung upon everything bearing a very large main figure with a very small three farthings beside it and the thing was done the stain of moulding was washed from the scutcheon the descent thereunto from dock timekeeping was redeemed fivefold dock timekeeping itself was left far below with carpentering ship writing and engine fitting the Munsey's were in business and Mrs. Munsey stood about helplessly and stared irksomely striving not to put his hands in his pockets which was low any lapse being instantly detected by Mrs. Munsey who rushed from all sorts of unexpected places and corrected the fault vigorously I didn't go for to do it Maroya he explained penitently it's a habit I'll get out of it soon I don't look well I know but it do seem a comfort somehow ah you and your comfort a lot you study my comfort Edward for he was teared no more a toiling and a moiling with everything to think of myself while you look on with your hands in your pockets do try and not look like a stuck niny do and Edward whose every attempt at help or suggestion had been severely repulsed slouched uneasily to the door and strove to look as business like as possible there you go again sticking in the doorway and staring up and down the street as though there was no business doing there was none but that might not be confessed do you expect people to come in with you a filling up the door do come in do you'd be better out of the shop altogether Edward thought so too but said nothing he had been invested with his Sunday clothes of lustrous black and brought into the shop to give such impression of a shop walker as he might he stood uneasily on alternate feet and stared at the ceiling the floor or the space before him with an unhappy sense of being on show and not knowing what was expected of him he moved his hands purposelessly and knocked things down with his elbows he rubbed his hair all up behind and furtively wiped the resulting oil from his hand on his trousers never looking in the least degree like a shop walker the first customer was a very small child who came for a heap of pins and on whom Edward gazed with much interest and respect while Mrs Munsey handed over the purchase abating not a jot of his appreciation when the child returned later to explain that what she really wanted was sewing cotton other customers were disappointingly few several old neighbours came in from curiosity to talk and buy nothing one woman who looked at many things without buying was discovered after her departure to have stolen a pair of stockings and Edward was duly abused for not keeping a sharp lookout while his wife's back was turned finally the shutters went up on a day's takings of three and sevenpence farthing including a most dubious thruppany bit but then as Mrs Munsey said when you are in business you must expect trade to vary and of course there would be more customers when the shop got known although Edward certainly might have taken the trouble to find one in a busier thoroughfare Edward whose opinion in that matter as in others had never been asked retired to the backyard to smoke a pipe a thing he had been pining for all day but was quickly recalled the pipe being a clay upon Mrs Munsey's discovery that the act could be observed from a neighbor's window he was continually bringing the family into disgrace and Mrs Munsey dispaired a loud over him far into the night the days came and went and trade varied as a fact very little indeed between three and sevenpence farthing and nothing the scope for fluctuation is small and for some time Mrs Munsey's record was never exceeded but on the fifth day a customer bought nearly seven shillings worth all at once her husband had that day returned from sea with money and she after months of stint indulged in an orgy of haberdashery at the nearest shop Mrs Munsey was reassured trade was increasing perhaps an assistant would be needed soon in addition to the two girls only the younger of the girls by the by had as yet taken any active interest in the business Emma the elder spending much of her time in a bedroom making herself unpresentable by inordinate blubbering this was because of Mrs Munsey's prohibition of more company keeping with Jack Page Jack was a plumber just out of his time rather a catch for a moulder's daughter but impossible of course for the daughter of people in business as Emma should have had the proper feeling to see for herself this Emma had not she wallowed in a luxury of woe exacerbated on occasions to poignancy by the scoldings and sometimes by the thumpings of her mar and neglected even the select weekly quadril class membership whereof was part of the novel splendour but there was never again a seven shilling customer the state of trade flexed Mrs Munsey beyond telling being in business one must by the circumstance have a gentile competence this was an elementary axiom in Hubert town but where was the money what was the difference between this and other shops was a screw loose anywhere in that case it certainly could not be her fault wherefore she nagged headward one day a polite young man called in a large pony trap and explained the whole mystery nobody could reasonably expect to succeed in the business of this sort who did not keep a good stock of the fancy aprons and lace bows made by the firm he was charged to represent of course he knew what business was and that cash was not always free but that need never hinder transactions with him three months credit was the regular thing with any respectable well established business concern and in three months one would certainly sell all the fancy aprons and lace bows of this special kind and price that one had room for and he needs scarcely remind a lady of Mrs Munsey's business experience that fancy aprons and lace bows of the right sort were by far the most profitable goods known to the trade everybody knew that should they say a gross of each just to go on with no well then half a gross these prices were cut so near that it really did not pay to split the gross but this time to secure a good customer he would stretch a point Mrs Munsey was enlightened plainly the secret of success in business was to buy advantageously in the way the polite young man suggested sell at a good price and live on the profits and over the remainder at the end of three months nothing could be simpler so she began the system forthwith other polite young men called and further certain profits were arranged for on similar terms the weak spot in the plan was the absence of any binding arrangement with the general public and this was not long in discovering itself nobody came to buy the fancy aprons and the lace bows tempting as they might seem moreover after they had hung a week or more Alice reported that a large shop in the commercial road was offering by retail aprons and bows of precisely the same sort at a less price than the polite young man had charged for a wholesale purchase Mrs Munsey grew desperate and headwood's life became a horror unto him he was set to stand at the door with a fancy apron in one hand and a lace bow in the other and capture customers as they passed a function wherein he achieved detestable failure alarming passing women who considered him dangerously drunk as greatly as his situation distressed himself Mrs Munsey grew more desperate and drove headwood to the rear of the house with bitter revilings money must be got out of the stock somehow that a shop could in any circumstances be unremunerative puzzled as much as it dismayed her the goods were marked down to low prices often lower than cost still Mrs Munsey had the abiding conviction that the affair must pay as others did if only she might hold out long enough headwood's suggestion that he should return to the moulding coming and going as little insight as possible she repelled savagely a nice notion you've got to keep an upper proper position you ain't content with disgracing me and yourself too playing the fool in the shop till trades ruined and nobody won't come near the place and I don't wonder at it you're a nice sort of husband I must say what are you going to do now with the business in this pretty mess and your wife and children ready to starve what are you going to do where are you going to turn that's what I want to know in a legal point perhaps you know my dear oh dear me I ate a fool marked as low as they might be none of the aprons nor the bows nor the towels nor the stockings nor any other of the goods were bought never a thing beyond a heap of thread or a farthing bodkin rent had to be paid and even food cost money there was a flavour of blank disappointment Saturday the payday of less anxious times and quarter day when all these polite young men would demand the money that was not that day was coming black and soon Mrs. Munze grew more desperate than ever sharper feature and aged alone she would probably have wept having Edward at hand she poured forth her bitterness of spirit upon him till at last he was nagged out of his normal hostility and there came upon his face the look of a bullock that is harried on all hands through unfamiliar streets on a night when from sheer weirdness of soul she fell from clatter towards sleep of a sudden Edward spoke Mariah he said well you won't give me a kiss lately kiss me now don't be a fool I'm sick and tired go to sleep if you can sleep with everything kiss me I'll show you he had never commanded like that before she marvelled feared a little and obeyed in the morning when she awoke he had already gone downstairs this was as usual when she followed however he was not to be found in the house the shop shutters had been taken down and the windows carefully cleaned although it was not the regular window cleaning day but the door was shut on the sitting room table were two papers one within the other the first was written with many faults and smudges and this was how it ran the deed and testament of Ed Munsey this is to certify that I make over all my property to my beloved wife stock, business and furniture to help me God all debts I keep to pay myself and my wife is not answerable for them and certify that I, O, U, Minsheen and Co nine pound four and seven points apny Jones and son six pound, thirteen and tuppence and settle all other debts me and not my wife I, O, U, Ed Munsey the other was a letter my dear wife I have done this legal document after thinking it out it will make you alright having all made over and me still owe the debts not you as you can pull round the business as you said with time and if you do not see me again will you pay the debts when it is pulled round as we have been always honest and straight I should wish for Emma to keep company with John Page if can be managed he might be shot Walker and you will soon all be rich swells I know so no more from your affectionate husband Ed Munsey love to Emma and Alice this one must be burnt keep the other near the papers laid Ted Munsey's large silver watch and chain the silver ring that he used to fasten his best tie three keys and a few coppers upstairs the girls began to move about Mrs Munsey sat with her frightened face on the table End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of Tales of Mean Streets This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Richard Orte Tales of Mean Streets by Arthur Morrison Chapter 12 The Red Cow Group The Red Cow Anarchist Group no longer exists its leading spirit appears no more among his devoted comrades without him they are ineffectual he was but a young man this leading spirit his name by the by was Socher but of his commanding influence among the older but unlettered men about him read and judge for themselves they had long been plunged in a beery apathy neither regarding nor caring for the fearful iniquities of the social system that oppressed them a Red Cow Group before the coming of Socher to make anarchists of them for gathering in a remote compartment of the Red Cow Bar reached by a side door in an alley a compartment uninvaded and almost undiscovered by any but themselves where night after night they drank their beer and smoked their pipes sunk in a stagnant ignorance of their manifold wrongs during the day old Baker remained to garrison stronghold he was a long bankrupt tradesman with invisible resources and no occupation but this and no known lodging but the Red Cow Snuggery there he remained all day and every day out in the fort as he put it with his nose a fiery signal of possession never two feet from the rim of his pot while Jerry Shand was carrying heavy loads in Columbia market while Gunno Paulson was running for a bookmaker in Fleet Street while Snorky was wherever his instinct took him doing whatever paid best and keeping out of trouble as long as he could and while the rest of the group two or three picked a living out of the London heap in ways and places unspecified but at evening they joined old Baker and they filled their Snuggery their talk was really of politics and never of social problems present and immediate facts filled their whole field of contemplation their accounts were kept and their references to pecuniary matters were always stated in terms of liquid measure thus forpence was never spoken of in the common way it was a court and a court was the monetary standard of the community even as tuppence was a pint and eight pence was half a gallon it was Snorky who discovered such a and it was with Snorky that that revolutionary appeared before the Red Cow Group with his message of enlightenment Snorky who was christened something else that nobody knew or cared about had a trick of getting into extraordinary and unheard of places in his daily quest of courts and he had met such a in a loft at the top of a house in Burner Street Shadwell it was a loft where the elect congregated nightly and where everybody lectured all the others Sucher was a very young anarchist restless by a reason of not being sufficiently listened to and glad to find outsiders to instruct and to impress with a full sense of his somber mystic daredevilry therefore he came to the Red Cow with Snorky to spread as he said the light he was not received with enthusiasm perhaps because of a certain unlaundered aspect of person remarkable even to them of the Red Cow Group Grease was his chief exterior characteristic and his thick hair turning up over his collar seemed to have lain for long unharried of brush or comb his face was a sebaceous trickle of long features and on his hands there was a murky deposit that looked like scales he wore in all weathers a long black coat a rectangular rent in the skirt and his throat he clipped in a brown neckerchief that on a time had been of the right anarchist red but no one to welcome could abash him here indeed he had an audience an audience that did not lecture on its own account a crude audience that might take him at his own valuation so he gave it to that crude audience hot and strong they and he with a salt of the earth bullied, plundered and abused down with everything that wasn't down already and so forth and so on his lectures were continued every night it was the same as every other and each several chapter of his discourse was a repetition of the one before slowly the Red Cow Group came round plainly other people were better off than they and certainly each man found it hard to believe that anybody else was more deserving than himself why are we poor? ah, such a leaning forward and jerking his extended palm from one to another as though attempting a hasty collection I ask you straight why are we poor? why is it my friends? that often and often you will find you ain't got a penny in your pocket not for to get across the bread or half a pint of reasonable refreshment how is that happens? again I ask, how? snorky with the feeling that an answer was expected from somebody presently murmured no mugs, which encouraged Gunno Paulson to suggest back as all stony broke Jerry Schoen said nothing but reflected on the occasional result of a day on the loose Old Baker neither spoke nor thought I'll tell you me friends it's because of the rotten state of society why do you allow the lazy idle dirty do nothing upper classes as they call themselves to rebuild the benefits of your toil while you slave and slave to keep him in luxury and starve yourselves why don't you go and take your shares at a wealth lying around you? there was another pause Gunno Paulson looked at his friends one after another spat emphatically and said because of the brute force that the privileged classes edged themselves in with that's all because of the paid murmidance armed and kept to make slaves to the people because of the magistrates and police then why not get rid of the magistrates and police they're no good are they? who wants them? I ask who they are a nuisance admitted snorky who had done a little time himself he was a mere groundling who persisted in regarding the proceedings a simple conversation instead of a narration with pauses at the proper blesses nobody wants them nobody has any good they don't have them my friends don't have them it all rests with you don't have no magistrates no police, no government no parliament, no monarchy no county council, no nothing make a clean sweep of them throw them up then you'll have your rights the time's coming I'll tell ya it's coming take my word for it now you toil and slave then everybody will have to work whether he likes it or not and two hours of work a day will be all you'll have to do old baker looked a little alarmed and for a moment paused in his smoking two hours a day at most and all you're once provided for free and liberal some of the group gave a liquorish look across the bar no authority, no government no privilege and nothing to interfere free contract between man and man subject to free revision and change what's that? demanded Jerry Shand who was the slowest convert why that? such it explained means that everybody can make what arrangements with his fellow man he likes for to carry on the business of life but nothing can't bind ya you chuck over the arrangement if it suits best ah said Gunno Poulsen musically rotating his pot horizontally before him to stir the beer that'd be handy sometimes I call it wellshin now the light spread fast and free and in a few nights the red car group was a very promising little bed of anarchy Sucher was at pains to have it reported at two places west of Tottenham Court Road and at another in Dean Street, Soho that at last a comrade had secured an excellent footing with the party of the proletariat of East London here the two looked on as hopeless material more that an early manifestation of activity might be expected in that quarter such activity had been held advisable of late in view of certain extraditions and such his discourse at the red cow turned lightly and easily toward the question of explosives anybody could make them he explained nothing simpler with care and here he posed at large in the character of Mysterious Desperado the wonder and admiration of all the red cow group they should buy nitric acid he said of the strongest sort and twice as much sulfuric acid the shops where they sold photographic materials were best and cheapest for these things and no questions were asked they should mix the acids and then add gently drop by drop the best glycerin taking care to keep everything cool after which the whole lot must be poured into water to stand for an hour then a thick yellowish oily stuff would be found to have sunk to the bottom which must be passed through several pales of water to be cleansed and there it was a terrible explosive you handled it with care and poured it on brick dust or dry sand or anything of that sort that would soak it up and then it could be used with safety to the operator the group listened with rapt attention more than one pot stopping on its passage mouthwards then gerry shann wanted to know if such a had ever blown up anything or anybody himself the missionary admitted that that glory had not been his I'm one of the teachers my friends one of the pioneers that goes to show the way for the active workers like you I only come to explain the principles and set you in the right road to the social revolution so as you may get your rights at last it's for you to act then he explained that action might be taken in two ways either individually or by mutual aid in the group individual work was much to be preferred being safer but a particular undertaking often necessitated cooperation but that was for the workers to settle as the occasion arose however one thing must be remembered if the group operated each man must be watchful of the rest there must be no half measures no timorousness any comrade wavering temporizing or behaving in any way suspiciously must be straight way suppressed there must be no mistake about that it was desperate and glorious work and there must be desperate and rapid methods both of striking and guarding these things he made clear in his best conspirators manner with nods and scowls and a shaken forefinger as of one accustomed to oversetting empires the men of the red cow group looked at each other and spat thoughtfully then a comrade asked what had better be blown up first such as opinion was that there was most glory in blowing up people in a crowd or at a theater but a building was safer as there was more chance of getting away of buildings the public office was probably to be preferred something in Whitehall say or a bank nobody seemed to have tried a bank he offered the suggestion now of course there were not many public buildings in the East End but possibly the group would like to act in their own neighbourhood it would be a novelty and would attract notice the question was one for their own decision independent freedom of judgment being the right thing in these matters there were churches of course and the factories of the bloated capitalist particularly he might suggest the gasworks close by there was a large gasometer abutting on the street and probably an explosion there would prove tremendously effective putting the lights out everywhere and attracting great attention in the papers that was glory Jerry Shan hazarded a remark about the lives of the men in the gasworks but Sucher explained that that was a trivial matter revolutions were never accomplished without bloodshed and a few casual lives were not to be weighed in the balance against the glorious consummation of the social upheaval he repeated his contention when some weaker comrade spoke of the chance of danger to the operator and repeated it with the proper scorn of the soft handed pusillanimity that shrank from danger to life and limb in the cause look at the glory and consider the hundredfold vengeance on the enemy in the day to come the martyr's crown was his who should die at the post of duty his eloquence prevailed there were murmurs no more here tell us the name of the stuff again broke out Gunnar Poulsen resolutely feeling for a pencil and paper blimey or make some Timorra he wrote down the name of the ingredients thick yellow oily stuff what you make he asked yes and keep it cool the group broke up stern and resolute and Socher strode to his home exultant a man of power for the next night or two the enthusiasm at the red car was unbounded there was no longer any questioning of principles or action every man was an eager anarchist strong and devoted in the cause the little chemical experiment was going on well Gunnar Poulsen reported with confident nods and winks Socher repeated his discourse as a matter of routine to maintain the general ardour which had however to endure a temporary check as a result of a delicate inquiry of snorkies as to what funds might be expected from headquarters for there were no funds said Socher somewhat surprised at the question Demanded Jerry Shand opening his mouth and putting down his pipe ain't we going to get nothing for all this they would get the glory Socher assured him and the consciousness of striking a mighty blow at this and that and the other but that was all and instantly the faces of the group grew long but said Old Baker I thought all you blokes always got something from the committee there was no committee and no funds there was nothing but glory and victory and triumph and the social revolution and things of that kind for a little the congrades looked at each other awkwardly but they soon regained their cheerfulness with zeal no wit abated the city enclosed with promises of an early gathering for the next night but when the next night came Socher was later than usual hello shouted Gunner Poulsen as he entered here you are at last we've had to do him poor business without you see he added in a lower tone he is the stuff and he produced an old physical bottle nearly full of thick yellowish fluid Socher started back half a pace and slightly pale don't shake it he whispered hoarsely don't shake it for God's sake what did you bring it here for like that? it's awful stuff to blimey he looked uneasily about the group and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand I thought you'd get the job over as soon as the stuff was ready yeah my god he squeaked under his breath don't put it down hard on the table like that it's such awful stuff he wiped his forehead again and still standing glanced once more apprehensively around the circle of impassive faces then after a pause he asked with an effort what are you going to do now? blow up the bleeding gas works of course answered Gunner Poulsen complacently here's a penitha silver sand and a back of canister and some wire and a big cracker with a long touch paper so as to stick out the canister lid that ought to set it off, won't it? here you pour the stuff over the sand don't you? and he pulled out the cork and made ready to mix hold on, hold on, don't wait a bit for God's sake cried Socher in a sweat of terror you don't know what awful stuff it is so help me you don't you blow us all up if you don't keep it still you want some other things are going but gerry shan stood grimly against the door this year conspiracy you'll have to be gone through proper he said we can't have no waverers nor blokes won't want to clear out in the moodle of it and perhaps go and tell the police them sort we have to suppress see there's all the stuff there me lad and you know it what's more is you as he's got to put it up again the gas works and set it off the hapless Socher turned a pallower pallor and asked finkly me why me all down regular and proper gerry replied before you come we vote with it by ballot all square you'd have come earlier you'd have heard about yourself Socher pushed at gerry's shoulder despairingly I won't I won't he gasped let me go he don't fear I wasn't here let me go none of your shoving young man said gerry severely none of your shoving else I'll have to punch you on the jaw you're a bleeding nice conspirator you are it's pretty plain we can't depend on you and you know what that means hey don't you you're one of the sort as asked to be suppressed that's what it means here have a drink of this beer and see if that can't put a little star in ya you gotta do it so you might as well do it cheerful snorky give him a drink but the wretched revolutionary would not drink he sank in a corner the furthest from the table where go no pulse was packing his dreadful canister a picture of stupefied a fright presently he thought of the bar a mere yard of counter in an angle of the room with a screen standing above it a wild notion of escape by scrambling over but scarce had he risen the watchful gerry devined his purpose hold him snorky he said keep him in the corner and if he won't drink that beer pour it over his head snorky obeyed gravely and conscientiously and the bedraggled sotcher cowered from protest whined and sobbed desolately when all was ready gerry shun said I suppose it's no good asking you to do it willing like a man let me go I ain't well swear at me I ain't I'm up to it wrong I'm a teacher a speaker not the active bro swear at me put it off for tonight wait till tomorrow I ain't well and you're very hard on me desperate work desperate ways gerry replied leconically you're behaving very suspicious and you're rebelling again the orders of the group there's only one physic for that ain't there in the rules you've got to be suppressed question is how we'll have to kill him quiet somehow he proceeded turning to the group quiet and quick it's my belief he's spying for the police and wants to get out to split on us question is how to do for him sotcher rolls a staring spectre he opened his mouth to call but there came forth from it only a dry murmur hands were across his mouth at once and he was forced back into the corner one suggested a clasp knife at the throat another a stick in his neckerchief twisted to throttling point but in the end it was settled that it would be simpler and would better destroy all traces to dispatch him in the explosion to tie him to the canister in fact a convulsive movement under the men's hands decided them to throw more beer on sotcher's face for he seemed to be fainting then his pockets were invaded by gonopoulsen who turned out each you won't have no use for money where you all going you observe callously besides it'll be bloated bits and no use to nobody look at the bloat cut greenage now his things was blowed away a lo is two half crowns of some tanners seven and three and sort together with the brands this is a bloat what ain't got no funds this will be divided on three and equal principles to help pay for that beer you've wasted hold up old man think of the glory perhaps you're alright but it's best to be on the safe side and dead blokes can't split to the coppers and you mustn't forget the glory you have to shed blood in a revolution and a few odd lives more or less don't matter not a single damn keep your eye on the bleedin' glory they'll have photos of you in the papers or the broken bits in a heap fact similar as found on the spot what a comfort that'll be but the doomed creature was oblivious prostrate a swooning heap they ran a piece of clothesline under his elbows and pulled them together tight then they hobbled his ankles and flung them through the alley and down the quiet street singing and shouting their loudest as they went in case he might sufficiently recover his powers to call for help but he did not and there in the shadow at the foot of the great gasometer they flung him down with a parting kick and a barbarous knock on the head to keep him quiet for those few necessary moments then the murderer's canister bound with wire was put in place the touch paper was set going with a match and the red cow anarchist disappeared at a run leaving their victim to his fate presently the policeman on that beat heard a sudden report from the neighbourhood of the gasworks and ran to see what it might mean the next morning Alfred Socher was charged at the Thames Police Court as a drunk and incapable he had been found in a helpless state near the gasworks and appeared to have been tied to the elbows and ankles by mischievous boys who had also it seemed ignited a cracker nearby where he lay the divisional surgeon stated that he was called to the prisoner and found him tearful and incoherent and smelling strongly of drink he complained of having been assaulted in a public house but could give no intelligible account of himself a canister found by his side he contained a mixture of sand and castor oil but prisoner could not explain how it came there the magistrate find him five shillings with the alternative of seven days and as he had no money he was removed to the cells End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of Tales of Amine Streets This is a Librebox recording All Librebox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit Librebox.org Recording by Tommy Hersant Carlsbad, California Tales of Amine Streets by Arthur Morrison Chapter 13 The house had been genteel when trade was prospering in the east end and the ship-fitter or block-maker thought it no shame to live in the parish where his workshop lay such a master had lived here Now there was a tall, solid, well-bricked ugly house grimy and pateless in the joinery cracked and patched in the windows where the front door stood open all day long and the woman kind sat on the steps talking of sickness and deaths and the cost of things and treacherous holes lurked in the carpet of road soil on the stairs and in the passage for when eight families live in a house nobody buys a doormat and the street was one of those streets that are always muddy it smelt too of many things none of them pleasant one was fried fish but for all that it was not a slum three flights up a gaunt woman with bare forearms stayed on her way to listen at a door which, opening, let out a warm, thetted waft from a close sick room a bent and tottering old woman stood on the threshold holding the door behind her and if he knew better now Mrs. Curtis the gaunt woman asked with a nod at the opening the old woman shook her head and pulled the door closer her jaw waggled loosely in her withered chaps nor won't he be till he's gone then after a certain pause he's gone she said don't a doctor give no oop nor bless me I don't want to ask no doctors Mrs. Curtis replied with something not unlike a chuckle I've seen too many of them the boys are going fast I can see that and then she gave them handle another tug and whispered he's been called she nodded a mane three sprit knocks on the bedhead last night and I know what that means the gaunt woman raised her brows and nodded well, she said we all on us come to it someday sooner or later and it's often an happy release the two looked into space beyond each other the elder with a nod and a croak presently the other pursued he's been a very good son, ain't he? I, I, well enough son to me responded the old woman a little peevishly and all of them put away decent though there's only the union for me after I can do that thank God she added meditatively as chin on fist she stared into the thickening dark over the stairs when I lost my poor husband said the gaunt woman with a certain brightening I gave him an ensign funeral it was an oddfeller and I got twelve pound I had an oak coffin and an open earth there was a carriage for the family and one for his mates two horses each and feathers and mutes and it went the furthest way round to the cemetery whatever happens Miss Manners says the undertaker you'll feel as you've treated him proper nobody can't reproach you over that and I couldn't he was a good husband to me and I buried him respectable the gaunt woman exalted the old old story of Manners funeral fell upon the other ones ears with a freshened interest and she mumbled her gums ruminantly I'll have an ensign funeral too she said I can make it up with the insurance money and this and that only I don't know about mutes it's an expense in the east end when a woman has not had enough money to buy a thing much desired she does not say so in plain words she says the thing is an expense or a great expense it means the same thing but it sounds better Mrs. Curtis had reckoned her resources and found that mutes would be an expense at a cheap funeral mutes cost half a sovereign and their liquor Mrs. Manners said as much yes yes a sovereign the old woman unscented within the sick man feebly beat the floor with a stick I'm coming she cried shrilly yes a sovereign but it's a lot I don't see how to do it not at present she reached for the door handle again but stopped and added by afterthought unless I don't have no plumes it'd be a pity not to have plumes I had there were footsteps outside on the stairs then a stumble and a testy word Mrs. Curtis peered over into the gathering dark is it the doctor sir she asked it was the doctor's assistant Mrs. Manners tramped up to the next landing as the door of the sick room took him in for five minutes the stairs were darker than ever then the assistant a very young man came out again followed by the old woman with a candle Mrs. Manners listened in the upper dark he's a sinkin' fast said the assistant he must have a stimulant doctor Mansell ordered port wine where is it Mrs. Curtis mumbled deloriously I can tell you he must have it he averted with unprofessional emphasis his qualification was only a month old the man can't take solid food and his strength must be kept up somehow another day may make hold the difference because you can't afford it it's expanse such a expanse doctor the old woman pleaded and what with our points of milk she grew inarticulate and mumbled a dismal he must have it Mrs. Curtis if it's your last shilling it's the only way if you mean you absolutely haven't the money and he paused a little awkwardly he was not a wealthy young man wealthy young men do not devil for east end doctors but he was conscious of a certain hall of six pence's at a nap the night before and being inexperienced he did not foresee the career of persecution whereon he was entering at his own expense and of his own motion he produced five shillings if you absolutely haven't the money why take this and get a bottle good not at a public house but mind at once he should have had it before it would have interested him as a matter of coincidence to know that his principal had been guilty of the self-same in discretion even the amount was identical on that landing before but as mrs. Curtis said nothing of this he floundered down the stair and out into the wetter mud pondering whether or not the beloved son of a congregational minister might take full credit for a deed of charity on the proceeds of six penny nap but mrs. Curtis puffed her wrinkles and shook her head sagaciously as she carried in her candle she became a clink as of money falling into a teapot and mrs. Manders went about her business the door was shut and the stair a pit of blackness twice a lodger passed down and up and down and still it did not open men and women walked on the lower flights and out at the door and in again from the street a shout floated up the pit on the pavement footsteps rang crisper and fewer and from the bottom passage there were sounds of stagger and sprawl a demented old clock buzzed divers hours at random and was rebuked every twenty minutes by the regular tread of a policeman on his feet finally somebody shut the street door with a great bang and the street was muffled a key turned inside the door on the landing but that was all a feeble light shone for some hours along the crack below and then went out the crazy old clock went buzzing on but nothing left that room all night nothing that opened the door when next the key turned it was to mrs. Manders knock all morning and soon the two women came out on the landing together mrs. Curtis with a shapeless clump of bonnet I ease a lovely corpse said mrs. Manders like wax so was my husband I must be staring croaked the old woman and go about the insurance and the measuring and that there's lots to do and there is oh are you going to have Wilkins I had Wilkins better than Kedge I think Kedge's mutes dresses rusty and their trousers is frayed if you was thinking of having mutes yes, yes with a palsy denoting I'm a-going to have mutes but respectable thank God and the plumes oh yes and the plumes too they ain't such a great expense after all End of Chapter 13