CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
HOPES REVIVE.
Mr Thomas Balls, butler to Sir Richard Brandon, standing with his legswide apart and his hands under his coat tails in the servants' hall,delivered himself of the opinion that "things was comin' to a wonderfulpass when Sir Richard Brandon would condescend to go visitin' of a lowfamily in Whitechapel."
"But the family is no more low than you are, Mr Balls," objected JessieSummers, who, being not very high herself, felt that the remark wasslightly personal.
"Of course not, my dear," replied Balls, with a paternal smile. "I didnot for a moment mean that Mr Samuel Twitter was low in an offensivesense, but in a social sense. Sir Richard, you know, belongs to thehupper ten, an' he 'as not been used to associate with people so muchfurther down in the scale. Whether he's right or whether he's wrongain't for me to say. I merely remark that, things being as they are,the master 'as come to a wonderful pass."
"It's all along of Miss Diana," said Mrs Screwbury. "That dear child'as taken the firm belief into her pretty 'ead that all people are equalin the sight of their Maker, and that we should look on each other asbrothers and sisters, and you know she can twist Sir Richard round herlittle finger, and she's taken a great fancy to that Twitter family eversince she's been introduced to them at that 'Ome of Industry by MrWelland, who used to be a great friend of their poor boy that ran away.And Mrs Twitter goes about the 'Ome, and among the poor so much, andcan tell her so many stories about poor people, that she's grown quitefond of her."
"But we _ain't_ all equal, Mrs Screwbury," said the cook, recurring,with some asperity, to a former remark, "an' nothink you or anybody elsecan ever say will bring me to believe it."
"Quite right, cook," said Balls. "For instance, no one would ever admitthat I was as good a cook as you are, or that you was equal to MrsScrewbury as a nurse, or that any of us could compare with JessieSummers as a 'ouse-maid, or that I was equal to Sir Richard in thematters of edication, or station, or wealth. No, it is in the moreserious matters that concern our souls that we are equal, and I fearthat when Death comes, he's not very particular as to who it is he'scuttin' down when he's got the order."
A ring at the bell cut short this learned discourse. "That's for thecab," remarked Mr Balls as he went out.
Now, while these things were taking place at the "West-End," in the"East-End" the Twitters were assembled round the social board enjoyingthemselves--that is to say, enjoying themselves as much as in thecircumstances was possible. For the cloud that Sammy's disappearancehad thrown over them was not to be easily or soon removed.
Since the terrible day on which he was lost, a settled expression ofmelancholy had descended on the once cheery couple, which extended invarying degree down to their youngest. Allusion was never made to theerring one; yet it must not be supposed he was forgotten. On thecontrary, Sammy was never out of his parents' thoughts. They prayed forhim night and morning aloud, and at all times silently. They also tookevery possible step to discover their boy's retreat, by means of theordinary police, as well as detectives whom they employed for thepurpose of hunting Sammy up: but all in vain.
It must not be supposed, however, that this private sorrow induced MrsTwitter selfishly to forget the poor, or intermit her labours amongthem. She did not for an hour relax her efforts in their behalf atGeorge Yard and at Commercial Street.
At the Twitter social board--which, by the way, was spread in anotherhouse not far from that which had been burned--sat not only Mr and MrsTwitter and all the little Twitters, but also Mrs Loper, who haddropped in just to make inquiries, and Mrs Larrabel, who was anxious tohear what news they had to tell, and Mr Crackaby, who was verysympathetic, and Mr Stickler, who was oracular. Thus the small tablewas full.
"Mariar, my dear," said Mr Twitter, referring to some remarkable truismwhich his wife had just uttered, "we must just take things as we find'em. The world is not goin' to change its course on purpose to please_us_. Things might be worse, you know, and when the spoke in your wheelis at its lowest there must of necessity be a rise unless it standsstill altogether."
"You're right, Mr Twitter. I always said so," remarked Mrs Loper,adopting all these sentiments with a sigh of resignation. "If we didnot submit to fortune when it is adverse, why then we'd have to--haveto--"
"Succumb to it," suggested Mrs Larrabel, with one of her sweetestsmiles.
"No, Mrs Larrabel, I never succumb--from principle I never do so. Thelast thing that any woman of good feeling ought to do is to succumb. Iwould bow to it."
"Quite right, ma'am, quite right," said Stickler, who now found time tospeak, having finished his first cup of tea and second muffin; "to bowis, to say the least of it, polite and simple, and is always safe, forit commits one to nothing; but then, suppose that Fortune is impoliteand refuses to return the bow, what, I ask you, would be the result?"
As Mrs Loper could not form the slightest conception what the resultwould be, she replied with a weak smile and a request for more sausage.
These remarks, although calculated to enlist the sympathies of Crackabyand excite the mental energies of Twitter, had no effect whatever onthose gentlemen, for the latter was deeply depressed, and his friendCrackaby felt for him sincerely. Thus the black sheep remainedvictorious in argument--which was not always the case.
Poor Twitter! He was indeed at that time utterly crestfallen, for notonly had he lost considerably by the fire--his house having beenuninsured--but business in the city had gone wrong somehow. A few heavyfailures had occurred among speculators, and as these had always a rowof minor speculators at their backs, like a row of child's bricks, whichonly needs the fall of one to insure the downcome of all behind it,there had been a general tumble of speculative bricks, tailing off witha number of unspeculative ones, such as tailors, grocers, butchers, andshopkeepers generally. Mr Twitter was one of the unspeculativeunfortunates, but he had not come quite down. He had only been twisteduncomfortably to one side, just as a toy brick is sometimes seenstanding up here and there in the midst of surrounding wreck. MrTwitter was not absolutely ruined. He had only "got into difficulties."
But this was a small matter in his and his good wife's eyes comparedwith the terrible fall and disappearance of their beloved Sammy. He hadalways been such a good, obedient boy; and, as his mother said, "_so_sensitive." It never occurred to Mrs Twitter that this sensitivenesswas very much the cause of his fall and disappearance, for the sameweakness, or cowardice, that rendered him unable to resist the playfulbanter of his drinking comrades, prevented him from returning to hisfamily in disgrace.
"You have not yet advertised, I think?" said Crackaby.
"No, not yet," answered Twitter; "we cannot bear to publish it. But wehave set several detectives on his track. In fact we expect one of themthis very evening; and I shouldn't wonder if that was him," he added, asa loud knock was heard at the door.
"Please, ma'am," said the domestic, "Mr Welland's at the door withanother gentleman. 'E says 'e won't come in--'e merely wishes to speakto you for a moment."
"Oh! bid 'em come in, bid 'em come in," said Mrs Twitter in theexuberance of a hospitality which never turned any one away, and utterlyregardless of the fact that her parlour was extremely small.
Another moment, and Stephen Welland entered, apologising for theintrusion, and saying that he merely called with Sir Richard Brandon, ontheir way to the Beehive meeting, to ask if anything had been heard ofSam.
"Come in, and welcome, _do_," said Mrs Twitter to Sir Richard, whoseface had become a not unfamiliar one at the Beehive meetings by thattime. "And Miss Diana, too! I'm _so_ glad you've brought her. Sitdown, dear. Not so near the door. To be sure there ain't much roomanywhere else, but--get out of the way, Stickler."
The black sheep hopped to one side instantly, and Di was accommodatedwith his chair. Stickler was one of those toadies who worship rank forits own sake. If a lamp-post had been knighted Stickler would havebowed down to it. If an ass had been what he sty
led "barrow-knighted,"he would have lain down and let it walk over him--perhaps would evenhave solicited a passing kick--certainly would not have resented one.
"Allow me, Sir Richard," he said, with some reference to the knight'shat.
"Hush, Stickler!" said Mrs Twitter.
The black sheep hushed, while the bustling lady took the hat and placedit on the sideboard.
"Your stick, Sir Richard," said Stickler, "permit--"
"Hold your tongue, Stickler," said Mrs Twitter.
The black sheep held his tongue--between his teeth,--and wished thatsome day he might have the opportunity of punching Mrs Twitter's head,without, if possible, her knowing who did it. Though thus reduced tosilence, he cleared his throat in a demonstratively subservient mannerand awaited his opportunity.
Sir Richard was about to apologise for the intrusion when another knockwas heard at the outer door, and immediately after, the City Missionary,John Seaward, came in. He evidently did not expect to see company, but,after a cordial salutation to every one, said that he had called on hisway to the meeting.
"You are heartily welcome. Come in," said Mrs Twitter, looking aboutfor a chair, "come, sit beside me, Mr Seaward, on the stool. You'llnot object to a humble seat, I know."
"I am afraid," said Sir Richard, "that the meeting has much to answerfor in the way of flooding you with unexpected guests."
"Oh! dear, no, sir, I love unexpected guests--the more unexpected themore I--Molly, dear," (to her eldest girl), "take all the childrenup-stairs."
Mrs Twitter was beginning to get confused in her excitement, but thelast stroke of generalship relieved the threatened block and heranxieties at the same time.
"But what of Sam?" asked young Welland in a low tone; "any news yet?"
"None," said the poor mother, suddenly losing all her vivacity, andlooking so pitifully miserable that the sympathetic Di incontinentlyjumped off her chair, ran up to her, and threw her arms round her neck.
"Dear, darling child," said Mrs Twitter, returning the embrace withinterest.
"But I have brought you news," said the missionary, in a quiet voicewhich produced a general hush.
"News!" echoed Twitter with sudden vehemence. "Oh! Mr Seaward,"exclaimed the poor mother, clasping her hands and turning pale.
"Yes," continued Seaward; "as all here seem to be friends, I may tellyou that Sam has been heard of at last. He has not, indeed, yet beenfound, but he has been seen in the company of a man well-known as arough disorderly character, but who it seems has lately put on the blueribbon, so we may hope that his influence over Sam will be for goodinstead of evil."
An expression of intense thankfulness escaped from the poor mother onhearing this, but the father became suddenly much excited, and plied themissionary with innumerable questions, which, however, resulted innothing, for the good reason that nothing more was known.
At this point the company were startled by another knock, and sopersuaded was Mrs Twitter that it must be Sammy himself, that sherushed out of the room, opened the door, and almost flung herself intothe arms of Number 666.
"I--I--beg your pardon, Mr Scott, I thought that--"
"No harm done, ma'am," said Giles. "May I come in?"
"Certainly, and most welcome."
When the tall constable bowed his head to pass under the ridiculouslysmall doorway, and stood erect in the still more ridiculously smallparlour, it seemed as though the last point of capacity had beentouched, and the walls of the room must infallibly burst out. But theydid not! Probably the house had been built before domiciles warrantedto last twenty years had come into fashion.
"You have found him!" exclaimed Mrs Twitter, clasping her hands andlooking up in Giles's calm countenance with tearful eyes.
"Yes, ma'am, I am happy to tell you that we have at last traced him. Ihave just left him."
"And does he know you have come here? Is he expecting us?" asked thepoor woman breathlessly.
"Oh! dear, no, ma'am, I rather think that if he knew I had come here, hewould not await my return, for the young gentleman does not seem quitewilling to come home. Indeed he is not quite fit; excuse me."
"How d'you know he's not willing?" demanded Mr Twitter, who felt arising disposition to stand up for Sammy.
"Because I heard him say so, sir. I went into the place where he was,to look for some people who are wanted, and saw your son sitting with awell-known rough of the name of North, who has become a changed man,however, and has put on the blue ribbon. I knew North well, andrecognised your son at once. North seemed to have been trying topersuade your boy to return," ("bless him! bless him!" from MrsTwitter), "for I heard him say as I passed--`Oh! no, no, no, I can_never_ return home!'"
"Where is he? Take me to him at once. My bonnet and shawl, Molly!"
"Pardon me, ma'am," said Giles. "It is not a very fit place for alady--though there are _some_ ladies who go to low lodging-housesregularly to preach; but unless you go for that purpose it--"
"Yes, my dear, it would be quite out of place," interposed Twitter."Come, it is _my_ duty to go to this place. Can you lead me to it, MrScott?"
"Oh! and I should like to go too--so much, so _very_ much!"
It was little Di who spoke, but her father said that the idea waspreposterous.
"Pardon me, Sir Richard," said Mr Seaward, "this happens to be my nightfor preaching in the common lodging-house where Mr Scott says poor Samis staying. If you choose to accompany me, there is nothing to preventyour little daughter going. Of course it would be as well that no onewhom the boy might recognise should accompany us, but his father mightgo and stand at the door outside, while the owner of the lodging mightbe directed to tell Sam that some one wishes to see him."
"Your plan is pretty good, but I will arrange my plans myself," said MrTwitter, who suddenly roused himself to action with a degree of vigourthat carried all before it. "Go and do your own part, Mr Seaward.Give no directions to the proprietor of the lodging, and leave Sammy tome. I will have a cab ready for him, and his mother in the cab waiting,with a suit of his own clothes. Are you ready?"
"Quite ready," said the missionary, amused as well as interested by thegood man's sudden display of resolution. Mrs Twitter, also, wasreduced to silence by surprise, as well as by submission. Sir Richardagreed to go and take Di with him, if Giles promised to hold himself inreadiness within call.
"You see," he said, "I have been in similar places before now, but--notwith my little child!"
As for Loper, Larrabel, Crackaby, Stickler, and Company--feeling that itwould be improper to remain after the host and hostess were gone; thatit would be equally wrong to offer to go with them, and quiteinappropriate to witness the home-coming,--they took themselves off, buteach resolved to flutter unseen in the neighbourhood until he, or she,could make quite sure that the prodigal had returned.
It was to one of the lowest of the common lodging-houses that SamTwitter the younger had resorted on the night he had been discovered byNumber 666. That day he had earned sixpence by carrying a carpet bag toa railway station. One penny he laid out in bread, one penny in cheese.With the remaining fourpence he could purchase the right to sit in thelodging-house kitchen, and to sleep in a bed in a room with thirty orforty homeless ones like himself.
On his way to this abode of the destitute, he was overtaken by a hugeman with a little bit of blue ribbon in his button-hole.
"Hallo! young feller," exclaimed the man, "you're the chap that waslivin' wi' Ned Frog the night I called to see 'im--eh! Sam Twitter,ain't you?"
"Yes," said young Sam, blushing scarlet with alarm at the abruptness ofthe question. "Yes, I am. T-Twitter _is_ my name. You're the man thatgave him the Bible, are you not, whom he turned out of his house fortryin' to speak to him about his soul?"
"The same, young feller. That's me, an' Reggie North is my name. He'd'ave 'ad some trouble to turn me out _once_, though, but I've given upquarrellin' and fightin' now, havin' enlisted under the banner of thePrince of Pe
ace," replied the man, who was none other than ourBible-salesman, the man who contributed the memorable speech--"Bah!" and"Pooh!" at the Gospel-temperance meeting. "Where are you going?"
Sam, who never could withhold information or retain a secret if askedsuddenly, gave the name of the common lodging-house to which he wasbound.
"Well, I'm going there too, so come along."
Sam could not choose but go with the man. He would rather have beenalone, but could not shake him off.
Entering, they sat down at a table together near the kitchen fire, andNorth, pulling out of his pocket a small loaf, cut it in two and offeredSam half.
Several men were disputing in the box or compartment next to them, andas they made a great noise, attracting the attention of all around,North and his friend Sam were enabled the more easily to holdconfidential talk unnoticed, by putting their heads together andchatting low as they ate their frugal meal.
"What made you leave Ned?" asked North.
"How did you know I'd left him?"
"Why, because if you was still with him you wouldn't be here!"
This was so obvious that Sam smiled; but it was a sad apology for asmile.
"I left him, because he constantly offered me beer, and I've got such anawful desire for beer now, somehow, that I can't resist it, so I cameaway. And there's no chance of any one offering me beer in this place."
"Not much," said North, with a grin. "But, young feller," (and therewas something earnestly kind in the man's manner here), "if you feel an_awful_ desire for drink, you'd better put on this."
He touched his bit of blue ribbon.
"No use," returned Sam, sorrowfully, "I once put it on, and--and--I'vebroke the pledge."
"That's bad, no doubt; but what then?" returned North; "are we never totell the truth any more 'cause once we told a lie? Are we never to giveup swearin' 'cause once we uttered a curse? The Lord is able to saveus, no matter how much we may have sinned. Why, sin is the very thingHe saves us from--if we'll only come to Him."
Sam shook his head, but the manner of the man had attracted him, andeventually he told all his story to him. Reggie North listenedearnestly, but the noise of the disputants in the next box was so greatthat they rose, intending to go to a quieter part of the large room.The words they heard at the moment, however, arrested them. The speakerwas, for such a place, a comparatively well-dressed man, and wore atop-coat. He was discoursing on poverty and its causes.
"It is nothing more nor less," he said, with emphasis, "than the absenceof equality that produces so much poverty."
"Hear! hear!" cried several voices, mingled with which, however, werethe scoffing laughs of several men who knew too well and bitterly thatthe cause of their poverty was not the absence of equality, but, drinkwith improvidence.
"What right," asked the man, somewhat indignantly, "what right has SirCrossly Cowel, for instance, the great capitalist, to his millions that'e don't know what to do with, when we're starvin'?" (Hear!) "He didn'tearn these millions; they was left to 'im by his father, an' _he_ didn'tearn 'em, nor did his grandfather, or his great-grandfather, and so,back an' back to the time of the robber who came over with William--thegreatest robber of all--an' stole the money, or cattle, from ourforefathers." (Hear! hear!) "An' what right has Lord Lorrumdoddy to thethousands of acres of land he's got?" (`Ha! you may say that!' from anoutrageously miserable-looking man, who seemed too wretched to think,and only spoke for a species of pastime.) "What right has he, I say, tohis lands? The ministers of religion, too, are to be blamed, for theytoady the rich and uphold the unjust system. My friends, it is theserich capitalists and landowners who oppress the people. What right havethey, I ask again, to their wealth, when the inmates of this house, andthousands of others, are ill-fed and in rags? If I had my way,"(_Hear_! hear! and a laugh), "I would distribute the wealth of thecountry, and have no poor people at all such as I see before me--such asthis poor fellow," (laying his hand on the shoulder of the outrageouslymiserable man, who said `Just so' feebly, but seemed to shrink from histouch). "Do I not speak the truth?" he added, looking round with theair of a man who feels that he carries his audience with him.
"Well, mister, I ain't just quite clear about that," said Reggie North,rising up and looking over the heads of those in front of him. Therewas an immediate and complete silence, for North had both a voice and aface fitted to command attention. "I'm not a learned man, you see, an'hain't studied the subjec', but isn't there a line in the Bible whichsays, `Blessed are they that consider the poor?' Now it do seem to methat if we was all equally rich, there would be no poor to consider, an'no rich to consider 'em!"
There was a considerable guffaw at this, and the argumentative man wasabout to reply, but North checked him with--
"'Old on, sir, I ain't done yet. You said that Sir Cowley Cross--"
"Crossly Cowel," cried his opponent, correcting.
"I ax your pardon; Sir Crossly Cowel--that 'e 'ad no right to 'ismillions, 'cause 'e didn't earn 'em, and because 'is father left 'em to'im. Now, I 'ad a grandmother with one eye, poor thing--but of coorsethat's nothin' to do wi' the argiment--an' she was left a fi' pun noteby 'er father as 'ad a game leg--though that's nothin' to do wi' theargiment neither. Now, what puzzles me is, that if Sir Cow--Cross--"
A great shout of laughter interrupted North here, for he looked soinnocently stupid, that most of the audience saw he was making game ofthe social reformer.
"What puzzles me is," continued North, "that if Sir Crossly Cowel 'as noright to 'is millions, my old grandmother 'ad no right to 'er fi' punnote!" ("Hear, hear," and applause.) "I don't know nothin' about thatthere big thief Willum you mentioned, nor yet Lord Lorrumdoddy, notbein' 'ighly connected, you see, mates, but no doubt this gentlemanbelieves in 'is principles--"
"Of course I does," said the social reformer indignantly.
"Well, then," resumed North, suddenly throwing off his sheepish look andsternly gazing at the reformer while he pointed to the outrageouslymiserable man, who had neither coat, vest, shoes, nor socks, "do you seethat man? If you are in earnest, take off your coat and give it to him.What right have you to two coats when he has none?"
The reformer looked surprised, and the proposal was received with loudlaughter; all the more that he seemed so little to relish the idea ofparting with one of his coats in order to prove the justice of hisprinciples, and his own sincerity.
To give his argument more force, Reggie North took a sixpence from hispocket and held it up.
"See here, mates, when I came to this house I said to myself, `The Lord'as given me success to-day in sellin' His word,'--you know, some ofyou, that I'm a seller of Bibles and Testaments?"
"Ay, ay, old boy. _We_ know you," said several voices.
"And I wasn't always that," added North.
"_That's_ true, anyhow," said a voice with a laugh.
"Well. For what I was, I might thank drink and a sinful heart. Forwhat I am I thank the Lord. But, as I was goin' to say, I came hereintendin' to give this sixpence--it ain't much, but it's all I canspare--to some poor feller in distress, for I practise what I preach,and I meant to do it in a quiet way. But it seems to me that, seein'what's turned up, I'll do more good by givin' it in a public way--so,there it is, old man," and he put the sixpence on the table in front ofthe outrageously miserable man, who could hardly believe his eyes.
The change to an outrageously jovial man, with the marks of misery stillstrong upon him, was worthy of a pantomime, and spoke volumes; for,small though the sum might seem to Sir Crossly Cowel, or LordLorrumdoddy, it represented a full instead of an empty stomach and apeaceful instead of a miserable night to one wreck of humanity.
The poor man swept the little coin into his pocket and rose in hastewith a "thank 'ee," to go out and invest it at once, but was checked byNorth.
"Stop, stop, my fine fellow! Not quite so fast. If you'll wait tillI've finished my little business here, I'll take you to where you'll getsome warm grub for nothin'
, and maybe an old coat too." Encouraged bysuch brilliant prospects, the now jovially-miserable man sat down andwaited while North and Sam went to a more retired spot near the door,where they resumed the confidential talk that had been interrupted.
"The first thing you must do, my boy," said North, kindly, "is to returnto your father's 'ouse; an' that advice cuts two ways--'eaven-ward an'earth-ward."
"Oh! no, no, _no_, I can never return home," replied Sam, hurriedly, andthinking only of the shame of returning in his wretched condition to hisearthly father.
It was at this point that the couple had come under the sharp stern eyeof Number 666, who, as we have seen, went quietly out and conveyed theinformation direct to the Twitter family.