A LONDON dust-yard is, I think, the ne plus ultra of ugliness.It stands most likely in the midst of a dingy, miry chaos of straddling railwayarches and coal sidings. The whitewash on the pens of neighbouring cattlestations only, by its contrast, makes the circumjacent dirt more noticeable.Very likely, too, there is a gloomy gas works near at hand, and a muddy canal,burdened with grimy, gritty, splashed, mal-odorous barges, creeping past theyard. When rain falls on its "soil," how different is the odourexhaled from that sent up from garden-mould beneath a summer shower! There is ahuddle of black mounds, big and little, whose bulk tilted carts are increasingwith shot loads, that send out clouds of blinding, stifling dust. Besides the dust-heaps, sifted and unsifted, [-128-]there are piles of old metal, old shoes, brick- bats, oyster shells,rags, bones and cinders. Think of pigs and poultry routing and pecking in thegolden straw around a farm-house, and then look at the melancholy swine, thedismal ducks, and penitential hens which grub, with Lenten ashes not only ontheir heads but all over them, within the dust-yard. When the cocks try to crow,they seem, like the Ancient Mariner and his companions, to have been"choked with soot." In such a dreary place of industry a row of dust-dredged,leather-aproned women were sifting as usual, with their little ones grubbingnear them, very much like the pigs, only with perhaps a shade more cheerfulness,- since even in a dust-yard, thank heaven, a child can manage to be merry, -when one of the sifters suddenly exclaimed, "It beats me, it do, however Jack come to take up wi' aweak young gal like she. She didn't ought to ha' come to the yard this mornin'.'Old up, can't yer?" The woman addressed the last words to a young fellow-worker,about to become a mother, who had fallen face foremost into the dust she hadbeen sifting. " 'Old up, can't yer? My ole man would ha' licked me -an' surve me jolly well right - if I'd been sich a chicken. You're a nice 'unfor a smart chap like Jack to take up with!" [-129-] Bet might have a roughtongue, but she had, after a fashion, a kind heart, and accordingly, when"Madam Sal" had come a little to herself, she helped her home. Bill,the man who was "feeding" the sieves, and the other sifters resumedtheir work as if nothing had happened; but as the sultry day wore on and Bet didnot return, their curiosity was excited. One of the youngsters was despatched toJack's house, or rather room, to learn what was "up," and brought backthis news,- "Sal's dead; an' there's two kids, a b'y an' a gal, an'Bet's a-nussin' on 'em." The extemporized nurse was partly actuated by a genuinefeeling of motherly and sisterly pity. She called to mind the babies she hadlost, and was sorry for the wailing little twins up on' her lap. She felt sorry,too, for the young creature she had pulled off the dust-heap. The grime had beenwashed off "Madam Sal's" comely face - still comely, although wasted -but Bet no longer felt envious of its good looks. (The "Madam" had been added to Sal's name by hercomrades, partly in envious satire, partly in reluctant compliment; she was notonly far handsomer than they, but also morally superior. She did not get drunk.swear, or fight; she had insisted on having "marriage lines," and hadalways been true to her Jack; and she had some dim notion of a God and ahereafter.) [-130-] The corpse had beenstreeked as decently as circumstances would permit. With the moty afternoonsunlight pouring in upon the washed face, it lay at rest in the dusty, crowdedlittle room - no yard but the grave-yard now for it to go to. Bet and hergossips, out of respect to the dead, talked as if they had all got very badcolds; but neither their hoarse whispers nor the unchecked laughter andwrangling going on as usual outside the chamber of death, were anything to theyoung mother who could not hear the cries of her two poor helpless little babes.She was at peace, having done her duty in her poor little sphere, to the best ofher little light. Jack, in his heavy way, had been very fond of her, and shehad made him a little better man than he would have been without her. She was agood neighbour, too; willing to the best of her little power to do a kindness toanyone; no wrangler, but a peace-maker. When Bet thought of these things she was sorry for poor Sal,and yet she was not very sorry that Sal was gone. Bet's first "ole man" being dead, she wished foranother. She was not over particular,- anyone would be better than none, butstill she had her preferences. There are differences even in dustmen, alike asthey may seem to the superficial observer, and Jack was the one whom Bet wouldhave taken, as the racing prophets [-131-] say,"for choice." She did not make believe that she was disinterested intaking the care of his children upon herself. Such little attempts atself-deception are made by widowers' female friends of a higher social gradethan Bet's. If Bet had attempted so to deceive herself, she wouldnot have been allowed. "It's hearly days, Bet, to be wantin' to step into thepoor gal's shoes," was the Parthian arrow of one crabbed old crone, as shetook her departure. It was fortunate that she had not made the remark before shehad. got to the door, or Bet, whose temper was none of the mildest, might havebeen suddenly cured of her bad cold. As it was, her hands twitched at the twins,as if, in default of a flat-iron, she would have liked to fling one of them atthe old woman's head. When the news, as above reported, reached the dust-heap onwhich the dead woman had fallen, Bet's behaviour obtained no more charitablecriticism from her fellow-labourers of her own sex. Bill, however, objected thata fine woman like Bet need not fling herself at Jack's head, be being "nosich mighty ketch." "You dusn't say so to his face, no, nor to Bet's nayther,Bill," one of the women retorted. "Well, I knows this," said Bill,beating a double retreat, "as there won't be no more siftin' done to-day.It's a-going to rain cats an' dogs, an' I'm off home." [-132-] He had barely time totighten the outside garters of twine, with which his corduroy trousers werebegirt, and to cowl himself with an old sack, before the black cloud overheadbroke. Down came a torrent of rain, rattling on the barge tarpaulins, plumpinglike big bullets into the canal, raising from the dust-heaps that hideous stenchto which I have referred, making everyone moistly miserable, - except the ducks,which partly recovered from their chronic depression and made feeble attempts toquack. As Bill splashed his way through inky puddles out of theyard, Jack's cart splashed into it: Jack, half-muddled with the beer on which hehad spent his copper douceurs, and in a very bad temper. Amenities of intercourse are not cultivated in dust-yards."Your Sal's kicked the bucket, Jack," shouted Bill. With a superfluity of parts of speech, - especially of verbsand adjectives - Jack accused Bill of saying the thing that was not, and seizinghis shovel flung it at Bill's head. Jack, as I have said, was fond of his wife, and that was hisway of showing it. Bill ducked: the shovel whizzed over his head, and burieditself up to the handle in a dust-heap. "Tworn't my fault, you fool," Bill growled back. [-133-] In his way Bill wassorry for his yard-mate, - "sympathized with him in his bereavement"would be the polite phrase, - and, therefore, in spite of the provocation he hadreceived, Bill used mild language. When poor Jack got home, and learned that Bill had,figuratively, told the truth, he was for a short time mad with grief, andendured anguish very much like that of a bereaved bear. Civilized widowers userefined phrases, and smother their emotions in perfumed pocket-handkerchiefs.Jack's phrases were the reverse of refined, and he did not possess apocket-handkerchief of any sort. "Rampagin' like a wild beast," as his neighboursphrased it, he bundled the hoarsely whispering gossips out of his room. Even Betbad to flee before him, taking the twins with her. "Yes, he've comed in," said the crabbed old croneto his cart-mate, who came later on to inquire after him. "Can't yer 'ear 'ima-roarin' like a bull?" Jack's mate was sympathetic, but he was also practical. Hewent into Jack's room, and when he found him with his grimy face buried in hisgrimy hands, on the corpse's coverlet, shaking all over as he bellowed forth hissorrow, he patted him on the shoulder. "Coom, Jack," he said, in a tone of friendlysuperiority; "what's the good o' that? It [-134-] 'ontwake her, poor gal, an' you're only a messin' of the sheet. Grievin's dry work,-don't ye find it so? Coom along, man: I'll stand a pot willin,' - 'alf a gallon,I will." So Jack and his mate went out to the "Seven Bells,"a house of call for dustmen and barge-men. Jack was easily persuaded to drink.He swallowed a good pint of porter at starting, as with one deep sigh; but atfirst he considered it due to the memory of his deceased wife to abstain fromsmoke. However, the bargees and the dusties, male and female, came dropping in.The room soon was full: the foaming pots went round, the fair sex (if such aphrase may be applied to dustwomen) taking care to have their full share of theheavy wet. Under its influence Jack's heavy heart began to lighten. Hefingered a pipe, and then he surreptitiously charged it. After having pluggedthe shag with his little finger for an unusally long time, he began to toy witha spill, and at last stood boldly up and lighted it at the gas-burner. "That's right, mate," cried his friend."You'll do now, Jack! Beer's good (puff) an' baccy's good (puff) butthere's nuffink like both on 'em (puff, puff, puff) together (puff), oldchap (puff), ven a cove's (puff) in the doldrums (puff, puff,puff). As the smoke went up in widening rings, [-135-]Jack began to feel that, after all, his wife's death had not robbed life of allits joys. More beer was drunk and songs were sung, of the kind in.which both words and air are ad libitum, the only thing imperative beinga thundering chorus. The force of habit ever and anon made Jack's lips framethemselves for the ri-tol-de-rol-de-lido, hut after having so recentlyroared like a bull over poor Sal's corpse, he could not quite bring himself tojoin in these jovial roarings. Ere long, however, he waved irregular time withhis pipe and hammered applause with his pewter. Seeing him in this half-comforted state of mind, Bill, beeryhimself, unfortunately came up to make friends. "I don't bear no malice, Jack," he said, holdingout his hand, which Jack took - and began to cry. "It's a ill wind,"Bill went on, with sententious gravity, "that don't blow nobbudy no good:that's vhat I ollus says. Vhat I mean, an' vich I means to say, Jack, as nobbudycan deny. Shake 'ands agin, old feller: yer needn't look so black. Who's afraid?I don't bear no malice. Glad to see yer. Your gal wouldn't ha' let ye come: nowyer can. Yer ain't tied to yer old 'ooman's apron-strings, are ye, Jack? She'sgone, pore gal! We must all on us die some time or t'other: so vhat's the oddsvhen yer dies, says I, - that's vhat I says, Jack. She's gone, [-136-]pore gal: she was a nice gal, a wery nice gal!" Bill's maunderings were suddenly cut short. Jack sprang up ina fury, and felled him with his quart pot like an ox. Instantly the room was in a tumult. Everybody was talking atonce, and hitting out at somebody, - it didn't much matter whom. The womenjoined in the fray - amongst them Bet, who had, left the twins in the charge ofsome other nurse. Seeing Jack beset, she rushed to the rescue, and received twoblack eyes from a bargeman, which she repaid in kind. To put an end to the free fight the publican turned off thegas; but when the combatants had tumbled out into the road, hostilities wererenewed. The police, taught wisdom by experience, allowed the fire to burnitself out. It was still sputtering in the small hours, but at last expired. Everybody got to bed somehow, and next morning nobody boreany malice, Bill not excepted. Nobody, indeed, could definitely remember how it came to passthat there were so many black eyes to be seen, so far as grime would permit, atthe dust-yard next day. That was the mourning which was put on for poorSal.
Dead Man's Shoes torrent
Download Zip: https://0arfracrapi.blogspot.com/?vg=2vHgV1
2ff7e9595c
Comments