TO THE RESCUE
The first weeks of my experience in the Anarchist camp had flown by with
astounding rapidity. The chapter of my experiences had opened with the
expulsion of an alleged spy and _agent provocateur_, and had closed with
a sentence of penal servitude passed on two of my new-found comrades.
Between these two terminal events I seemed to have lived ages, and so I
had, if, as I hold, experience counts for more than mere years. Holloway
and Newgate, Slater's Mews and the Middle Temple, barristers and
solicitors, judges and juries and detectives; appointments in queer
places to meet queer people--all this had passed before me with the
rapidity of a landscape viewed from the window of an express train; and
now that the chapter had closed, I found that it was but the preface to
the real business I had set my shoulder to.
The morning after the conclusion of the trial I met Armitage by
appointment, and together we wended our way towards Slater's Mews. The
doctor was preoccupied, and for some minutes we proceeded in silence;
the problem of what to do with the _Bomb_ was evidently weighing on
his mind. At last he spoke: "It is our duty," he said, "to see that
the movement be not unduly crippled by the loss of these two men. Poor
fellows, they are doing their duty by the Cause, and we must not shirk
ours. The _Bomb_ must be kept going at all costs; we can ill afford to
lose two workers just now, but the loss of the paper would be a yet more
severe blow to our movement. How thankful I am that you are with us!
It is always so. The governments think to crush us by imprisoning or
murdering our comrades, and for one whom they take from us ten come to
the fore. I am sure you must agree with me as to the paper."
"I quite agree with you in the main," I replied, "but I fear that the
_Bomb_ itself is past hope. It strikes me it had got into somewhat
bad hands, and I fear it would be useless to try to set it on its feet
again. It is hardly fair to a paper to give it a Jacob Myers for editor.
Really it seems to me to have died a natural death. The entire staff
has disappeared--Myers, the editor; Banter, the publisher; O'Flynn, the
printer--who remains? where are the others? It seems to me they have all
vanished and left no trace behind."
"Oh, that is hardly the case, I think," said the doctor in a tone
of deprecation. "I went up to the office last night and found Short
sleeping on the premises."
"Short? Is not he the man whom I first saw wrapped in the red flag of
glory?"
"Yes, that is the man; perhaps his appearance is somewhat
disadvantageous, but he is constant to the Cause, anyhow."
"Well, I should not have thought him much of a staff to lean on; still,
appearances are often deceptive. But, anyhow, do you not think it would
be advisable to start a new paper, rather than to attempt to galvanise a
corpse?"
"The idea would not be a bad one; in fact I think you are right, quite
right," returned Armitage. "It is not wise to put new wine into old
skins. Anyhow, here we are, I dare say other comrades have mustered in
the office who will have something to say in the matter."
We had now reached our destination, and passing the curious scrutiny of
several cabmen and scavengers assembled at the entrance of the mews, we
prepared to ascend the break-neck ladder leading to the office. I had
but put my foot on the first step when I heard the loud yelping of a dog
followed by a string of oaths, and the office door opened, emitting a
tall brawny man in shirt-sleeves with a very red face and close-cropped
hair, who appeared holding out at arm's length a pair of tongs which
gripped some repulsive-looking fronts and collars. On seeing me, he
exclaimed, "Take care," and proceeded to drop the objects on a heap of
rubbish below. We were both somewhat surprised at this apparition, but
realised without difficulty that the office was still in the possession
of the police. They were, in fact, contrary to the doctor's expectation,
the sole occupants of the place. The comrades had not seen fit so far to
muster round the paper. To say there was none, however, is an injustice,
for there on the sofa, still huddled in the red flag, lay Short,
apparently little affected by what had taken place since I last saw him.
He had been aroused from his slumbers by the yelping of his dog, whose
tail had been trodden on by one of the detectives, and he had raised
himself on his elbow, and was looking round, uttering curses volubly.
He nodded slightly on seeing us enter, but did not change his position.
There he lay, quite heroic in his immovable sloth; of all the many
fighters he alone remained staunch at his post; and that because he was
positively too lazy to move away from it.
Dr. Armitage on entering had gone up to one of the three detectives and
spoken to him, and the man now turned to me.
"We are just having a final look round before leaving, miss," he
remarked. "It is not at all pleasant work, I assure you, to be put in to
search such a filthy place. Look there," he exclaimed, pointing at the
recumbent Short with his outstretched tongs. "I shall have to burn every
rag I have on when it is over, and I'd advise you to be careful," and he
resumed his occupation, which consisted in raking out some old papers,
while his two companions, having contrived to resume an official
appearance, prepared to leave.
The police once gone Dr. Armitage and I found ourselves in sole
possession of the office and the lethargic Short. It was no sinecure, to
be sure. Heaps of "pie," some due to the police and some to Banter, who
previous to his arrest had put his foot through several "forms" which it
was inadvisable to let fall into the hands of the police, encumbered the
floor. Everything was intensely chaotic and intensely dirty, from the
type cases and the other scanty belongings to the dormant compositor.
Armitage understood nothing of printing and I very little, and there we
stood in the midst of a disorganised printing-office whence all had fled
save only the unsavoury youth on the couch. I looked at Armitage and
Armitage looked at me, and such was the helpless dismay depicted in our
faces that we both broke into a laugh.
"Well," I said at last, "what shall we do? Suggest something. We cannot
stay on here."
"The only thing I can think of," he rejoined after a pause, "is that
I should go around and look up some of the comrades at their addresses
whilst you remain here and get Short to help you put up the type, &c.,
as best you can, so that we may remove it all elsewhere. Here certainly
nothing can be done and we must start our new paper amidst new
surroundings."
"So you are thinking of starting a new paper?"
We looked round, surprised at this interruption, for Short had
apparently returned to his slumbers, but we now saw that he had emerged
from the banner and was standing behind us, fully dressed (I discovered
later on that he had discarded dressing and undressing as frivolous
waste of time), a queer uncouth figure with his long touzled black hair
and sallow, unhealthy face. He had a short clay pipe firmly set between
his teeth, and his large lips were parted in a smile. He held his head
slightly on one side, and his whole attitude was somewhat deprecatory
and cringing.
"Well," said the doctor, "Isabel and I think that would be the best
plan. You see the _Bomb_ seems thoroughly disorganised, and we think
it would be easier and better to start afresh. I was just saying that I
would go round and hunt up some of the comrades and get their views on
the subject."
"Oh," rejoined Short, "you can save yourself that trouble. One half of
them will accuse you of being a police spy, the others will be ill or
occupied--in short, will have some excuse for not seeing you. They
are all frightened out of their lives. Since the arrest of Banter and
O'Flynn I have not seen one of them near the place, though I have been
here all the time."
This remark confirmed what we both half suspected; and as Short, who by
right of possession seemed authorised to speak on behalf of the _Bomb_,
seemed willingly to fall in with our idea of starting a new paper,
taking it for granted--which I was not exactly prepared for--that he
would install himself in the new premises as compositor, we decided to
take practical steps towards the move. Short informed us that six weeks'
rent was owing, and that the landlord threatened a distraint if his
claims were not immediately satisfied; and in spite of the advice,
"Don't pay rent to robber landlords," which stared us in the face,
inscribed in bright red letters on the wall, I and Armitage between us
sacrificed the requisite sum to the Cause.
Whilst we were discussing these matters the dog warned us by a prolonged
bark that some one was approaching, and the new-comer soon appeared. He
greeted Short, who introduced him to us as Comrade M'Dermott. He shot a
scrutinising glance at us from his keen grey eyes and proceeded to shake
hands with friendly warmth.
He was a very small man, certainly not more than five feet high, thin
and wiry, with grey hair and moustache, but otherwise clean-shaven. His
features were unusually expressive and mobile from his somewhat scornful
mouth to his deep-set, observant eyes, and clearly denoted the absence
of the stolid Saxon strain in his blood. His accent too, though not that
of an educated man, was quite free from the hateful Cockney twang. His
dress was spare as his figure, but though well worn there was something
spruce and trim about his whole demeanour which indicated that he was
not totally indifferent to the impression he created on others. He
looked round the "office," took a comprehensive glance at Short, who was
occupying the only available stool and smoking hard with a meditative
air, and then walked over to me, and addressing me in an undertone, with
the same ease as if he had known me all my life, he said, with a twinkle
in his eye, jerking his head in the direction of Short, "There's a
rotten product of a decaying society, eh?" This remark was so unexpected
and yet so forcibly true, that I laughed assent.
"So you're the only ones up here," he continued. "I expected as much
when I heard of the raid on the office. I was up in the North doing a
little bit of peddling round the country, when I read the news, and
I thought I'd come to London to see what was up. What do you think of
doing with the paper anyway? It seems a pity the old _Bomb_ should die.
It would mean the loss of the only revolutionary organ in England."
"Oh, it must not die," I replied, "or at least if it cannot be kept up,
another paper must take its place. Comrade Armitage agrees with me in
thinking that that would be the best plan. You see this place looks
altogether hopeless."
Armitage, who had been engaged in looking over some papers, now joined
us and the conversation became general.
"Well, how did you get on up North?" inquired Short, who seemed to wake
up to a sense of actuality. "How did you hit it off with young Jackson?
Did you find him of much use?"
"Use!" retorted M'Dermott with an infinite depth of scorn in his voice.
"A fat lot of use he was. If it was a matter of putting away the grub,
I can tell you he worked for two, but as to anything else, he made me
carry his pack as well as my own, on the pretext that he had sprained
his ankle, and his only contribution to the firm was a frousy old
scrubbing-brush which he sneaked from a poor woman whilst I was selling
her a ha'p'orth of pins. He seemed to think he'd done something mighty
grand--'expropriation' he called it; pah, those are your English
revolutionists!" and he snorted violently.
Short gave vent to an unpleasing laugh. He always seemed to take
pleasure at any proof of meanness or cowardice given by his fellows.
Armitage looked pained. "Such things make us long for the Revolution,"
he said. "This rotten society which breeds such people must be swept
away. We must neglect no means to that end, and our press is one. So now
let's set to work to move the plant and start a new paper, as we seem
all agreed to that plan. Who'll go and look for a suitable workshop?"
Short volunteered, but M'Dermott scouted the idea, declaring that the
mere sight of him would be enough to frighten any landlord, and this we
all, including Short, felt inclined to agree with. At last we decided
to fall in with M'Dermott's suggestion that he and I should sally forth
together. "You see, my dear," he said with almost paternal benevolence,
"you will be taken for my grand-daughter and we shall soften the heart
of the most obdurate landlord."
The field of our researches was limited by a few vital considerations.
The rent must not be high. For the present anyhow, the expenses of
the paper would have to be defrayed by Armitage and myself. Short had
proposed himself as printer and compositor, on the tacit understanding
of free board and lodging, and the right to make use of the plant
for his own purposes; I was willing to give my time to the material
production of the paper, and to contribute to its maintenance to the
best of my ability; and Armitage's time and means were being daily more
and more absorbed by the propaganda, to the detriment of his practice;
but he was not of those who can palter with their conscience. The
individual initiative inculcated by Anarchist principles implied
individual sacrifices. Another consideration which limited our choice
was that the office must be fairly central, and not too far from my
home, as, spite of my enthusiasm for Anarchy, I could not wholly neglect
household duties. We talked over these points as we walked along, and
M'Dermott suggested Lisson Grove, where a recent epidemic of smallpox
had been raging, as likely to be a fairly cheap neighbourhood, but after
tramping about and getting thoroughly weary, we had to acknowledge that
there was nothing for us in that quarter. We were both hungry and tired,
and M'Dermott suggested a retreat to a neighbouring Lockhart's. Seated
before a more than doubtful cup of tea, in a grimy room, where texts
stared at us from the walls, we discussed the situation, and decided
to inquire about a workshop which we saw advertised, and which seemed
promising. Our destination led us out of the slummy wilderness into
which we had strayed, into cleaner and more wholesome quarters, and at
last we stopped before some quite imposing-looking premises. "We seem
destined to consort with the cabbing trade," I remarked; "the
last office was over a mews, this place seems to belong to a
carriage-builder." There was, however, no other connection between the
unsavoury mews and the aristocratic carriage-yard, whose proprietor,
resplendent in side-whiskers and a shiny chimney-pot hat, advanced
to meet us, a condescending smile diffusing his smug countenance. I
explained to him our object, and he showed us over the shop, which
consisted in a large loft, well lighted and fairly suitable, at the back
of the premises.
In answer to Mr. White's inquiries, I informed him that I needed it as a
printing-office, for a small business I had, and he quite beamed on me,
evidently considering me a deserving young person, and expressed the
opinion that he had no doubt I should get on in that neighbourhood.
M'Dermott, who was greatly enjoying the fun of the situation, here
broke in: "Yes, sir, my grand-daughter deserves success, sir; she's a
hardworking girl, is my poor Emily," and here he feigned to wipe away a
tear, whilst casting a most mischievous side-glance at me.
"Dear, dear, very affecting, I'm sure," muttered the prosperous
carriage-builder.
Everything was soon satisfactorily settled. I gave him my name and
address, and that of my brother's Socialist friend as a reference, and
we agreed that I should move in on the following Monday morning.
Great was the amusement at Slater's Mews at the account of our
adventures, given with a few enlargements by M'Dermott. He had an
artist's soul, and would never consent to destroy the effect of a tale
by slavish subservience to facts.
"Well, I fear he will find he has taken in wolves in sheep's clothing,"
Armitage remarked; "anyhow, I am thankful that matter is settled and
that we can get to work without further delay. I met Kosinski, and he
has promised to give us a hand with the move. I shall not be able to be
here all the time as I have to attend an operation on Monday, but I will
put in an hour or two's work in the morning. I suppose I can get in if
I come here at five on Monday morning?" he said turning to Short who was
"dissing pie," his inseparable clay pipe still firmly set between his
yellow and decayed teeth.
"Oh, yes. I shan't be up, but you can get in," the latter surlily
remarked. He was evidently no devotee of early hours.
On Monday a hard day's work awaited me. At Slater's Mews I found the
poor doctor, who had already been there some two hours, packing up
the literature, tying up forms, and occasionally turning to Short for
instruction or advice.
The latter, seated on a packing-case, was regaling himself on a bloater
and cheesecakes, having disposed of which he took up a flute and played
some snatches of music-hall melodies. He seemed quite unconcerned at
what took place around him, contenting himself with answering Armitage's
questions. Soon after I arrived on the scene Kosinski appeared. It was
the first time I had seen him since the memorable evening at Chiswick,
and I felt a little nervous in his presence, overcome by a half-guilty
fear lest he should think I was merely dallying, not working in true
earnest. I was conscious of my own sincerity of purpose, yet feared his
mental verdict on my actions, for I now realised that his uncompromising
words and scathing denunciation of dilettanteism had had much to do with
my recent conduct; more than all Armitage's enthusiastic propagandising,
much as I liked, and, indeed, admired the latter. Kosinski shook hands
with Armitage and Short. The latter had stepped forward and assumed an
air of unwonted activity, having pulled off his coat and rolled up his
shirt sleeves, and there he stood hammering up a form and whistling
"It ain't all Lavender"--very appropriate verses, considering the
surroundings. The Russian merely recognised my presence with a slight
bow, not discourteous, but characterised by none of the doctor's
encouraging benevolence; I, however, felt more honoured than snubbed,
and worked away with a will.
"Well, I must be going," said Armitage; "it is nearly ten, and at
half-past eleven I have an appointment at a patient's house. You will
stay, won't you, Kosinski, and help our comrades to move the plant?"
"I will do what I can," replied the Russian. "I do not understand
printing, but I will wheel the barrow, and do anything I may be told."
"That's right. Well, good luck to you, comrades. I will try and get
round about five. I suppose you will then be at the new place?"
"Oh, yes," I replied, "you will be in time to help us get things
ship-shape."
"Well, good-bye, Isabel; good-bye, comrades," and he was off.
For some time we all worked with a will. Kosinski was set to stowing
away the literature in packing-cases. Short "locked up" forms and
"dissed" pie, and I busied myself over various jobs. M'Dermott had
come round, and he stood at my elbow discussing the propaganda and
the situation generally. He was much rejoiced at the turn matters
were taking on the Continent, and deplored the lukewarmness of English
Anarchists. "You cannot have a revolution without revolutionists," was a
favourite phrase of his, and he was at no trouble to conceal his opinion
of most of the comrades. I was as yet too new to the movement and too
enthusiastic to endorse all his expressions, but the little man was
congenial to me; his Irish wit made him good company, and there was an
air of independent self-reliance about him that appealed to me.
"That Kosinski's a good fellow," he continued. "He knows what Revolution
means. Not but what there is good material in England too, but it is
_raw_ material, ignorant and apathetic, hoodwinked and bamboozled by the
political humbugs."
"Have you known Kosinski long?" I inquired, interrupting him, for I saw
he was fairly started on a long tirade.
"Oh, some seven years," he replied. "He was over here in '87 at the time
of the unemployed riots; he and I were at the bottom of a lot of that
movement, and we should have had all London in revolt had it not been
for the palaver and soft-soap of the official labour-leaders. After that
he went to America, and has only been back in England some six months."
Our preparations were now well advanced, and M'Dermott and I set out to
procure a barrow whereon to transport our belongings.
I had expected on my return to find everything in readiness. Short had
spoken as if he would work wonders, and I had hoped that within an hour
we should be off. What was my surprise, then, to find that during the
half-hour of my absence a change had come o'er the scene. Instead of
the noise of the mallet locking up forms, the melodious notes of a flute
greeted my ear as I approached the office, and I must confess that my
heart sank, though I was not yet prepared for the truth. On entering
I found things just as I had left them, not a whit more advanced, but
Short was again seated, and opposite him lounged the weak-kneed youth
whom I had noted on the occasion of my first group-meeting, Simpkins by
name, as I had since found out; between them stood the small hand-press
which Short had promised to take to pieces for removal, on the "bed" of
which now stood three bottles of ginger-beer, a parcel of repulsive and
indigestible-looking pastry, and a packet of tobacco. My look of dismay
and surprise was answered by Short, who explained that his friend had
come up, bringing with him the wherewithal for this carouse; which
statement Simpkins supplemented by the information that he had been
occupied that week in "planting" an aunt and possessing himself of his
share of the good lady's property.
"My married sister got in first, but father waited his opportunity, and
whilst they went out to 'ave a 'alf-pint at the pub round the corner, he
got in. They thought themselves mighty clever, for they had locked the
door and taken the key, but father got in by the scullery window
which they had forgotten to latch, and when they came back they found
themselves sold. The guv'nor's a sharp one, 'e is, but I was fly too; 'e
always keeps me short, grumbles 'cause I won't let myself be exploited
by the capitalists; but I did 'im this time. I 'ad a good old-fashioned
nose round whilst the guv'nor left me in charge whilst 'e went for a
drink, and I found ten bob the old girl 'ad 'idden away in a broken
teapot, so I just pocketed 'em. We planted 'er the day before yesterday;
she was insured for twelve quid, an' everything was done 'ansome.
Yesterday I felt awful bad, but to-day I thought I'd come an' see 'ow
the paiper was getting on."
"Well, you see we're moving," I said. "If you care to give us a hand
you'll be welcome. Come, Short, the barrow's here; let's get the things
down."
"Oh, I'm going to have a half-day off," was his cool reply; "I'm tired.
Armitage woke me up at five this morning, and I couldn't get any sleep
after he came, he made such a damned noise."
"But surely you're going to help us get this move over; to-morrow you
can sleep all day if you like."
"You can do as you like; I'm not going to move," was his only reply,
and he calmly filled his pipe and puffed luxuriously. Simpkins giggled
feebly; he evidently was wavering as to his proper course, but Short's
calm insolence won the day.
I confess that at the moment I was blind to the humour of the situation.
I fancy people with a keen sense of humour are rarely enthusiasts;
certainly when I began to see the ludicrous side of much of what I had
taken to be the hard earnest of life, my revolutionary ardour cooled.
My indignation was ready to boil over; I could have wept or stamped with
annoyance. "Oh, but you _must_ help!" I exclaimed. "You promised. How
are we ever to do anything if you go on like this?"
Short merely puffed at his pipe complacently.
For the first time since his arrival Kosinski spoke. I had almost
forgotten his presence; he was working quietly, getting things ready,
and now he stepped forward.
"The comrade is right," he said; "he does not want to work; leave him
alone; we can do very well without him. Let us get off at once. There is
enough ready to make a first load, anyhow."
The calm indifference of Kosinski seemed to take some of the starch out
of Short, who looked more than foolish as he sat over his ginger-beer,
trying to feign interest in the flagging conversation with Simpkins. I
was relieved at the turn matters had taken, which threw the ridicule on
the other side, and before long we were ready, little M'Dermott having
made himself very useful, running actively up and down the ladder laden
with parcels. We must have looked a queer procession as we set off. The
long stooping figure of Kosinksi, wrapped in his inseparable dark-blue
overcoat, his fair hair showing from under his billycock hat, pushing
the barrow, heavily laden with type-cases and iron forms, packets of
literature and reams of printing paper; I in my shabby black dress and
sailor hat, bearing the furled-up banner, and M'Dermott following on
behind, carrying with gingerly care a locked-up form of type, the work
of poor Armitage, which was in imminent danger of falling to pieces in
the middle of the street. We found that quite a crowd of loafers of both
sexes, the habitués of the "Myrtle Grove Tavern," had assembled outside
to witness our departure, and, as I never missed an opportunity to
spread the light, I distributed among them some hand-bills entitled
"What is Anarchy?" regardless of their decidedly hostile attitude. The
London loafer has little wit or imagination, and their comments did
not rise above the stale inquiry as to where we kept our bombs, and the
equally original advice bestowed upon Kosinksi to get 'is 'air cut. A
half-hour's walk brought us to our destination, but our Odyssey was not
so soon to end. The man who accompanied the carriage-builder when he
showed us over the shop was waiting at the entrance to the yard, and,
recognising me, he asked me to step into the office. He had a rather
scared appearance, but I did not notice this particularly at the moment,
and supposing that Mr. White wanted to give me the keys I told my
friends I should be back in a minute. The carriage-builder was awaiting
me in the little office where he usually received his fashionable
clients. He was still the self-same consequential figure, resplendent
in broadcloth and fine linen, but the benevolent smile had vanished from
his unctuous features, and he looked nervous and ill at ease.
"I am sorry to say, Miss Meredith," he began, "that I find I am unable
to let you the shop. I much regret having caused you inconvenience, but
it is quite impossible."
This was a staggerer for me. Everything had been settled. What could
have happened?
"What on earth does this mean?" I exclaimed. "Why, Saturday evening you
called at my house and told me you were satisfied with the references,
and that I could move in to-day."
The poor man looked quite scared at my indignation.
"I am very sorry, I assure you, but I cannot let you the shop," was all
he replied.
"But surely you will give me some explanation of this extraordinary
behaviour. I am not to be trifled with in this way, and if you will not
answer me I will get some of my friends to speak to you."
This last threat seemed quite to overcome him. He looked despairingly at
me, and then determined to throw himself on my mercy.
"Well, you see, the fact is I did not quite understand the nature of
your business--that is to say, I thought it was a printing business just
like any other."
Light dawned upon me. The police had evidently been at work here. I
was too new to the revolutionary movement to have foreseen all the
difficulties which beset the path of the propagandist.
"And since Saturday night you have come to the conclusion that it is
an _un_usual printing office?" I inquired somewhat derisively. I
could still see in my mind's eye the benevolent smile and patronising
condescension with which he had beamed on M'Dermott and me on the
occasion of our first meeting.
"You are a sensible person, Miss Meredith," he said, with an almost
appealing accent, "and you will, I am sure, agree with me that it
would be impossible for me to have revolutionary papers printed on my
premises. It would not be fair to my clients; it would interfere with my
business success. Of course every one has a right to their opinions, but
I had no idea that you were connected with any such party. In fact I
had gone out of town, and intended staying away two or three days when
yesterday afternoon I received this telegram," and he handed me the
document. It was from Scotland Yard, and warned him to return at once as
the police had something of importance to communicate.
"Of course I came back," continued the tremulous White. "At first I
thought it must be all a mistake, but I was shown a copy of the _Bomb_,
and told that that was what you intended printing. Now you must agree
that this is not a suitable place for such an office."
"I cannot see," I replied with some warmth, "that it can make any
difference to you what I print. I pay you your rent, and we are quits.
Of course if you refuse to give me the keys of the shop I cannot
force myself in, but I have reason to think that you will regret your
extraordinary conduct."
"Is that a threat?" inquired White, growing visibly paler, and glancing
nervously towards the door.
"No, it is only the expression of a personal opinion," I replied. At
this moment the door opened, and M'Dermott appeared.
"Well, are you coming with the keys? We are getting tired of waiting,"
he inquired.
"This man," said I, pointing with scorn at the abject carriage-builder,
"now refuses to let me the shop on the ground that he disapproves of
revolutionary literature."
M'Dermott gave a low whistle, "Oh, that's how the wind blows, is it?"
he remarked; "I thought I saw some 'narks' hanging round. So this is the
turn your benevolent interest in my grand-daughter has taken? Well,
come along, Isabel, we have no time to waste, and I am sure this good
gentleman will not feel comfortable till we are off the premises. He is
afraid we might waste some dynamite on him, I do believe."
At the word dynamite White seized a bell-pull and rang it violently,
and we could not help laughing heartily, as we left the office, at
his evident terror. Whilst crossing the yard we saw two well-known
detectives lurking on the premises. White had evidently thought it
necessary to take precautions against possible outrage.
We found Kosinski patiently waiting. He did not seem much surprised at
our news, and in answer to my inquiry as to what on earth we were to do,
he suggested that we should take the barrow back to Slater's Mews, and
then resume our search for a shop. This advice was so obvious and tame
that it almost surprised me coming from him, still there was nothing for
it, and back we went, looking somewhat more bedraggled (it had now come
on to rain) and decidedly crestfallen. We found Short as we had left
him, but I was still too indignant at his conduct to deign to answer
his inquiries. I was tired and worried, and could almost have wept with
annoyance. Kosinski at last came to the rescue. When he had brought the
last parcel up the stairs and deposited it on the floor he came up to
me.
"If you like we might go and look at a workshop I have heard of and
which might suit. Some German comrades rented it for some time; I
believe they used it as a club-room, but I dare say it would answer your
purpose, and I believe it is still unoccupied."
Of course I readily assented; it was indeed a relief to hear of some
definite proposal, and together we set off. Little M'Dermott, who
evidently did not much relish Short's company, armed himself with
leaflets and set off on a propagandising expedition, and Kosinski and I
wended our way in search of the office. At last we stopped in front of a
little green-grocer's shop in a side street off the Hampstead Road. "The
place I mean is behind here," explained Kosinski; "the woman in the shop
lets it; we will go in and speak with her."
Kosinski stepped inside and addressed a voluminous lady who emerged from
the back shop.
"Oh, good day, Mr. Cusins," she exclaimed, a broad smile overspreading
her face; "what can I do for you?"
Kosinksi explained our errand, and the good lady preceded us up a narrow
yard which led to the workshop in question. She turned out to be as
loquacious as she was bulky, a fair specimen of the good-natured cockney
gossip, evidently fond of the convivial glass, not over-choice in
her language, the creature of her surroundings, which were not of the
sweetest, but withal warm-hearted and sympathetic, with that inner
hatred of the police common to all who belong to the coster class, and
able to stand up for her rights, if necessary, both with her tongue and
her fists. She showed us over a damp, ill-lighted basement shop, in
a corner of which was a ladder leading to a large, light shop, which
seemed well suited to our purpose, meanwhile expatiating on its
excellencies. I was satisfied with it, and would have settled everything
in a few minutes, but Mrs. Wattles was not to be done out of her jaw.
"I'm sure you'll like this place, my dear, and I'm glad to let it to
you, for I've known your 'usband some time. I used to see 'im come when
those others Germans was 'ere, and----"
"Kosinski is not my husband," I interrupted. "I'm not married."
"Oh, I see, my dear; just keeping company, that's all. Well, I don't
blame yer; of course, 'e is a furriner; but I'm not one to say as
furriners ain't no class. I was in love with an I-talian organ-grinder
myself, when I was a girl, and I might 'ave married 'im for all I know,
ef 'e 'adn't got run in for knifin' a slop what was always a aggravatin'
'im, poor chap. And I don't say but what I shouldn't be as well off as
what I am now, for Wattles, 'e ain't much class."
I ventured some sympathetic interjection and tried to get away, but her
eye was fixed on me and I could not escape.
"It was a long time before I forgot 'im, and when my girl was born I
called 'er Ave Maria, which was a name I used to 'ear 'im say, and a
very pretty one too, though Wattles does say it's a 'eathen-sounding
name for the girl. I was just like you in those days, my dear," she
said, surveying my slim figure with a critical eye. "No one thought I
should make old bones, I was that thin and white, and nothin' seemed to
do me no good; I took physic enough to kill a 'orse, and as for heggs
an' such like I eat 'undreds. But, lor', they just went through me like
jollop. It was an old neighbour of ours as cured me; she said, says she,
'What you want, Liza, is stimilant; stout 'ud soon set you right.'
An' sure enough it did. I took 'er advice, an' I've never 'ad a day's
illness since, though Wattles's been mighty troublesome at times, and
would 'av driven me to my grave long ago if it 'adn't been for stout.
You should take it, miss; you'd soon be as like me, and as 'arty too.
Two glasses at dinner and two at supper is my allowance, and if I chance
to miss it, why I jest seems to fall all of a 'eap like, an' I 'ears my
in'ards a gnawin' and a gnawin' and a cryin' out for stout."
I felt quite overcome at this charming picture of my future self, if
only I followed Mrs. Wattles's advice. I expressed my intention of
thinking the matter over, and, after shaking hands, paying a deposit
on the rent--which she informed me she should expend in drinking my
health--and settling to move in on the morrow, I made good my escape.
Cheered and elated by our success, I returned with Kosinksi to the
office of the _Bomb_. He was naturally very nervous and reticent with
women, but the events of this long day had broken down some of the
barriers between us, and I found it less difficult to talk to him as we
trudged on our way.
"I hope you will help us with the new paper," I said. "I feel really
very unfit for the responsibility of such a task, but Armitage thinks
I shall manage all right, and I do not wish to be a mere amateur, and
shirk the hard work entailed by our propaganda. You see, I remember your
words that night at Chiswick. I hope you do not still think that I am
merely playing."
He positively blushed at my words, and stammered out: "Oh no, I do not
in the least doubt your sincerity. I am sure you do your best, only I
have seen so much harm done by women that I am always on my guard when
they propose to share in our work. But you are not a woman: you are a
Comrade, and I shall take much interest in your paper."
We met Armitage coming up Red Lion Street. He greeted us with a look
of relief. "Where on earth have you been?" he exclaimed; "I went to the
address you gave me, but when I inquired for you the fellow looked as
scared as if he had seen a ghost, and said he knew nothing about you,
that I must have made a mistake; and when I insisted and showed him the
address you had written, seemed to lose his head, and rang a bell and
called for help as if I were going to murder him. I thought he must
be mad or drunk, and so turned on my heel and came away. In the yard I
recognised some of our friends the detectives, and I felt quite anxious
about you. At Slater's Mews the door is locked; there is no light, and
nobody answered when I knocked. I am quite relieved to see you. I was
beginning to fear you had all got run in."
"Well, you see we are still alive and in fighting form. As you say the
_Bomb_ has closed, I suppose Short has gone off to the music-hall with
Simpkins, as he hinted at doing. Anyhow, come home with me; you too,
Kosinksi, if you don't mind; there is a lot to say, and many things
to settle, and we can settle everything better there than here in the
street."
My proposal was agreed to, and we all three repaired to Fitzroy Square,
where over a cup of tea we settled the last details of the move,
including the name of our new paper, which was to be known as the
_Tocsin_.