"If there is one matter about which I am more particular than
another," said Sir Leopold Kershaw, with much emphasis, "it is that
due recognition should be given to the absolute equality of man with
his fellow-man. Show me my fellow-man"--Sir Leopold was very defiant
at this point--"and I will grasp him by the hand and hail him as
'Brother.' And I defy anyone to prevent me!"
Sir Leopold Kershaw--big, portly, and somewhat brow-beating--stood in
front of the blazing fire in his comfortable dining-room and addressed
these remarks to his son. Some eight or nine winters only having
passed over the head of that young gentleman, it must be presumed that
his father addressed him for lack of a better audience. Master Teddy
Kershaw, for his part, gazed solemnly up at his father from the depths
of an easy chair, and took in the ponderous phrases like gospel.
"Then I suppose, papa, that Wilkins is my brother?" said the child,
slowly, after some moments of deep thought. Wilkins, it should be said,
was the butler.
Sir Leopold Kershaw coughed. "My child, there are certain distinctions
absolutely necessary to be observed. Wilkins, although nominally your
brother, has already, I am given to understand, an abnormally large
following of relatives, and needs no addition to them. When I touched
upon the principles of brotherhood just now, I did not speak so much of
distinct individuals as of man in the abstract. Wilkins, I trust, knows
his place"--Sir Leopold frowned a little, and seemed to suggest that,
if Wilkins did not, there were those capable of teaching him--"and
is, in a sense, provided for. In an ideal condition of society men
would share and share alike: one man would not be permitted to partake
of roast pheasant while his less fortunate fellow gnawed the humble
trotter; feather beds would be unknown among the classes while the
masses continued to court repose upon doorsteps."
Now, the mind of a child is a peculiar thing--having a tendency, by
some strange gift of the gods, to retain the true and to cast aside
the worthless. So it happened that the mind of little Teddy Kershaw,
by some subtle process, eliminated from his father's speech all that
was mere verbiage, and began to construct for itself a glorious fabric
called Universal Brotherhood. Setting aside those who were well fed
and prosperous, the child came to see in every houseless wanderer of
the streets--in every toil-worn, white-faced man or woman--some being
who had a right, not only to his pity, but to every luxury which
he himself enjoyed. And the idea grew and grew until it filled his
childish mind, and until--like a small and gallant Crusader--he began
to feel that he must do something, more than mere thoughts and words,
to carry the thing into effect. He began for the first time to notice,
with a sort of pained wonder, that little children, smaller and weaker
even than himself, shivered in the streets while he rolled along in
his father's carriage; that women carried heavy baskets, while his own
mother would scarce put her delicate feet to the ground and was buried
in furs and wraps. The incongruity of it came full upon him; and he
determined at last, in an inspired moment, to do something to remedy
the matter.
To carry out his desires in the presence of those who were responsible
for him was, of course, out of the question; instead, he watched his
opportunity, and slipped out of the house one day unobserved.
The town house of Sir Leopold Kershaw was in a very fine and extremely
aristocratic square; but quite near to it--crouching and hiding under
the wing of its grandeur--was a terrible nest of slums. And into this,
by some natural instinct, drifted Master Teddy Kershaw.
With that newly-kindled love of humanity fairly bursting out of him he
was prepared to seize the first likely wastrel by the hand and give
instant effect to his father's many speeches; and he had not far to
seek.
Just on the borderland, where the genteel streets began to grow more
shabby and where untidy women and children seemed to be overflowing out
of every house, stood a costermonger's barrow, the proprietor of which
was leaning, in a dejected attitude, against it. It was the poorest
barrow imaginable, with one of its shafts mended with string, and with
a few sorry-looking vegetables, which never by any chance could have
grown in any imaginable garden, displayed upon it.
The costermonger himself had evidently come to the conclusion that
it was quite useless to attempt to impose his wares, at any price,
even in that most poverty-stricken market; despair sat heavily upon
him, and lurked even in the empty bowl of his cold pipe. Yet he was
comparatively a young man, and not ill-looking; and the woman who
leaned near him, with her elbows on the barrow and her chin propped in
her hands, had once, and not so long ago, been quite pretty, despite
the gaudy hat which drooped disconsolately over her eyes.
Here, surely, was a forlorn brother indeed! Teddy hesitated for but an
instant, and then advanced towards the man. He felt that it would be
wiser not to shake hands with him at once, as that smacked too much of
familiarity; so he merely bowed and put a casual question--suggested by
the barrow--as to the state of trade.
"Can't you sell anything?" he asked.
The costermonger looked Teddy up and down in astonishment, and then
looked round at the woman and jerked his head sideways in a very
curious fashion; drew the back of his hand slowly and elaborately
across his mouth, and looked at Teddy again.
"No, yer 'Ighness, I can't," he replied, slowly and emphatically.
Turning to the woman, with another jerk of the head, he muttered
something about a "rum start."
"But wouldn't people buy the things if you shouted?" asked the boy.
"Other people shout what they have to sell." Which was evident by the
babel of noise about them.
The costermonger, who appeared to have got over his surprise, and
who seemed to be rather a friendly sort of fellow, proceeded to
explanations. "You see, yer 'Ighness, it's this 'ere way," he began.
"I've 'ollered an' 'ollered till there ain't a puff of bref left in
me; an' it's me private opinion that if yer was to bring sparrergrass
tied up wiv pink ribbin into this 'ere street an' chuck it at 'em,
they'd chuck it back agin. As fer this little lot"--he indicated the
contents of the barrow with a backward jerk of his thumb--"they'll see
me blue-mouldy afore they'll lay out a bloomin' farden on 'em."
Having so far relieved his mind, the man looked into the bowl of his
pipe and, finding nothing there, returned the pipe to his pocket; then
took up the handles of the barrow and prepared to move away.
Now it happened that Master Teddy knew that his father and mother
were out and were not expected to return until late; it was probably
owing to that circumstance that he had escaped from durance so easily.
Further, the boy knew that, in a household where he ruled supreme as
the only child of a rich man, he could practically do as he liked.
True, he had never attempted so bold a scheme as that which was at
the present moment seething in his small brain; but he felt not the
slightest doubt that he could carry it through successfully and without
opposition. Accordingly, in the most casual fashion possible, he asked
the costermonger if he would come and have some lunch.
The unfortunate man almost upset the barrow in the shock of the moment;
but, recovering himself, began to perform the most extraordinary
antics Teddy had ever seen. First he straightened himself from the
hips and gave a sudden tilt to his hat with both hands, which threw it
dexterously over one eye; next he twisted up the collar of his coat and
stuck his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat; then took a little
skip backwards and a little skip forwards; put his tongue into his
cheek and ejaculated the single word: "Walker!"
[Illustration: "WALKER!"]
Perceiving from these signs, in a dim fashion, that the man doubted
the honesty of his intentions, Teddy became more emphatic, assuring
the man that he lived quite near at hand, and that lunch would be just
about ready; that he would be quite alone with them; even going so far
as to enumerate some of the dishes which might be expected. But the
costermonger evidently still had his doubts.
The woman, however, with the keenness of her sex, saw farther into the
matter than the man. She spoke in a lower voice.
"Sam, there may be summink in it, arter all. 'E's a little swell, by
the looks of 'im, an' 'e don't look 'ard-'earted enough to go for to
guy us, do 'e?"
The man, who appeared, even under the most distressing circumstances,
to have some latent spark of humour about him, scratched his head for
a moment, and then addressed the boy with extreme politeness.
"Seein' as 'ow you're so pressin', yer nibs, I dunno but what we won't
take a snack wiv yer--me an' me Donah"--he indicated the woman with one
hand. "Do yer fink I might leave the barrer in yer front garding?"
Teddy was wise enough to see that the carrying out of the latter
suggestion might cause tongues to wag in the aristocratic square, so
it was finally decided that the barrow should be left in the care of
a worthy man, of disreputable appearance, who lived in a yard near at
hand, and who, for its better protection, agreed to sleep in it until
their return.
It is probable that, had Master Teddy Kershaw brought in a travelling
menagerie with him--including the elephant--to lunch, Wilkins the
butler would scarcely have expressed surprise, whatever his private
feelings might have been. Therefore, when the boy introduced his two
new friends into the house, gravely referring to them as "Mr. and Mrs.
Donah," and announcing that they would partake of lunch with him,
Wilkins merely bowed and murmured "Very good, Master Edwin"; discreetly
waiting until he had gained the seclusion of his pantry before
exploding.
Mrs. Donah was very much subdued and decidedly ill at ease; but
Mr. Donah, on the other hand, made himself quite at home with much
rapidity. He addressed the appallingly stiff footman pleasantly as
"Calves," and taunted him with the suggestion that he was quite big
enough to be "put into trahsis." Finally, having appeased his appetite,
he lounged easily about the room and admired its appointments.
"I say, yer nibs, is this 'ere yer guv'nor's chivvy?" he asked
presently, stopping in front of a full-length portrait of Sir Leopold
Kershaw--a portrait which, by the way, appeared to frown down upon him
with anything but a brotherly expression.
"I beg your pardon?" said Teddy.
"I sed: 'Is this yer guv'nor's chivvy?' 'Chivvy' bein' parlyvoo for
face," replied Mr. Donah.
"Oh, I see," said the boy. "Yes, that's my father."
Mr. Donah surveyed the portrait for some moments, with his head on one
side; finally turning to Mrs. Donah, with that curious sideways jerk of
the head.
"Twig 'is dial, ole gal? Lor' luv us--'e's a 'ot 'un--I giv' yer _my_
word. 'Eard 'im spout once, abaht every bloke bein' 'is bruvver. That
was abaht 'lection time las' year. Ain't 'eard nuffink from 'im since,
an' I don't fink 'e's bin ter tea dahn our court, 'as 'e?"
"You're quite right about what my father says," broke in Teddy,
proudly. "Every man is his brother, and everyone has the right to
exactly the same things that he enjoys."
"Yuss; if 'e can git 'em," responded Mr. Donah, with fine scorn. "But
if I 'ooked it wiv a dozen or two of 'is spoons 'e wouldn't 'ave
nuffink to say abaht it--bless yer eyes--not 'e!"
Mr. Donah was becoming so particularly scornful, and he jerked his head
so threateningly in the direction of the portrait, that Teddy deemed it
wise to change the subject; accordingly he said:--
"It's because I believe that my father is right that I asked you and
Mrs. Donah to come in to lunch to-day. I'm not quite sure--but I think
my father would have been delighted to welcome you."
"Take yer oaf of it!" replied Mr. Donah, with a chuckle. "'E'll be that
upset w'en 'e finds 'e's missed us, there won't be no 'oldin' 'im. As
to me--I'm fair bowed down wiv it--an' the missis--w'y, ole gal, wot
yer blubbin' for?"
Mrs. Donah, who had really eaten very sparingly of everything put
before her, had suddenly begun to dab her eyes in a most suspicious
manner with the corner of her shawl. Mr. Donah's question, however,
appeared at once to rouse her; she got up hurriedly and jerked her hat
straight with some fierceness, and told him angrily to--"Come aht of
it!"
"'Ere we've bin a-settin' and shovin' grub into ourselves, like beasts,
and that poor little nipper at 'ome wivaht so much as a bite!"
Mr. Donah, appeared instantly to droop; his fine spirits were gone in
a moment. Indeed, Teddy had a suspicion that he saw the man draw his
sleeve hurriedly across his eyes. Curiously, too, there was a sort of
dull, heavy anger upon him as he made for the door.
"Come back ter the barrer, ole gal," he said, in a voice more husky
even than usual. "An' don't fink that I was fergettin' the nipper--'cos
I wasn't." Stopping awkwardly at the door, he came back to the boy. "As
fer you, my nibs--you're a nobleman--that's wot _you_ are. There ain't
no flam abaht you, an' no partic'ler gas-works. It's a deal pleasanter
ter fill a man's stummick than to fill 'is bloomin' 'ed. If yer don't
mind, I'd be prahd ter shake a fin wiv yer."
Understanding by this that Mr. Donah desired to shake hands, Teddy
promptly responded. He had but dimly understood the half of what they
said, or he might have pressed something further upon them; but they
were gone before he had had time to make up his mind what to do; and
the house returned to its normal condition.
With a curious distrust of that loud-voiced father of his, the boy
refrained from saying anything about his extraordinary guests; so that
nothing of the matter came to the ears of Sir Leopold Kershaw.
Some three nights later little Teddy Kershaw had a dream. He thought
in his dream that he had just sat down comfortably to dinner, and that
in some extraordinary fashion the dining-room was open to the street;
and that first one hungry child and then another crept in upon him
unawares, and snatched desperately the very food from before him; that
although Thomas, the large footman, and Wilkins, the equally large
butler, and even his father, Sir Leopold, strove hard to drive the
famished mites away, they swarmed thicker and faster--until at last,
by some subtle dream-change not to be explained in waking hours, his
seat at the table was usurped and he had taken the place of a shivering
street-boy, who seemed the hungriest of them all; so that he stood
outside the house, among the ragged ones, shivering with cold and
hunger. Waking suddenly he still seemed to shiver, and found, to his
astonishment, that the window of his room was wide open.
While he was meditating sleepily upon this circumstance a stranger
thing happened--the head and shoulders of a man appeared against the
light of the sky, and the man himself dropped, with a soft thud, into
the room.
Teddy started up in bed and opened his mouth with the full intention of
giving vocal effect to his alarm; but in an instant a hand--rough, and
not particularly sweet-smelling--had closed over it, and a gruff voice,
which seemed in the darkness curiously familiar, whispered huskily in
his ear:
"Lie dahn, will yer! If yer so much as breave I'll be the death of yer!"
Teddy Kershaw could see nothing distinctly in the darkness; only the
dim form of the man seemed to hover above him. On the man releasing
his grip Teddy lay down passively, and tried to breathe as little as
possible.
"'Oller, an' I'll be back afore yer can say 'knife' an' do fer yer,"
whispered the man again. Then, quite noiselessly, he crept to the door
and opened it, and glided out into the house.
Master Teddy Kershaw, consumed by curiosity, waited for a few moments
and then slipped out of bed and went through the door also. Outside
on the stair-case a dim light was burning; and, leaning over the
stair-head, Teddy could see the man gliding down and keeping as much as
possible within the shadow of the wall. A door creaked on its hinges
and the man disappeared.
[Illustration: "LEANING OVER THE STAIR-HEAD, TEDDY COULD SEE THE MAN
GLIDING DOWN."]
Teddy, mindful of the threat which had been breathed into his ear, was
just about to creep back again when he heard another door open more
noisily than the first, and then a quick challenging voice; the sound
of running feet--a scuffle--and a fall: then other doors opening and
more running feet; and lights seemed to flash up all over the house.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, Teddy scuttled downstairs in his
small pyjamas and headed straight for the fray.
In the dining-room he burst in upon a curious group. In the centre
was Mr. Donah, struggling feebly and ineffectually between the grasp
of two of the footmen; standing by the fireplace, looking at Mr.
Donah sternly, was Sir Leopold Kershaw, appearing dignified even in a
dressing-gown and with his hair rumpled; while the room was half-filled
by a crowd of semi-clad, startled servants.
"Yer 'Ighness," exclaimed Mr. Donah, with some poor show of
cheerfulness, as the boy appeared, "yer 'umble is a fair gorner!"
Sir Leopold, apparently not hearing the remark or not understanding,
proceeded to improve the occasion.
"You have been caught, my fine fellow, in the perpetration of one of
the most heinous crimes possible to imagine--that of purloining, after
forcible entry, goods to which you have no right. Now, sir, I am a
Justice of the Peace, and, while I must warn you not to say anything
which will tend to incriminate you at your public trial, I am willing
to hear any remarks you may make with reference to your purpose in
being here or your reason for selecting my abode for your nefarious
practices."
Mr. Donah looked all round him, somewhat helplessly; fixed his eye on
Teddy, and winked with some cheerfulness; gave that peculiar jerk to
his head which seemed to express any emotion of the moment; and spoke.
"Guv'nor, _and_ yer 'Ighness, it's a thousand to one in canary birds
that I'm up the wust gum-tree as ever you see! Fair nabbed, wiv me
dukes on the bloomin' 'all-marked ladles and corfee-pots, I am, an'
don't yer fergit it! As fer alibis an' sich-like fings, yer won't find
one abaht me, if yer search me till Easter Monday. It's a fair cop, an'
no error. Same time I should jist like to say as 'ow this is the fust
time I've been on the rails in all my natural, an' it ain't exactly my
fault."
"Pray explain yourself," said Sir Leopold, loftily.
"Righto, ole Poker-back, just 'arf a shake! I'm a-comin' to it. I've
got a little nipper at 'ome, wot's wasted away to a mere shadder--yer
might let go a bloke's arm an' let him rub 'is dial-plate, Calves--'an
'e's a-lyin' in one room, an' most of the bed-clothes is up the spout.
I've 'ollered 'Fine 'earty cabbage!' till I've got it on my brain, an'
'tain't no good. Then, comin' in 'ere wiv the missis t'other day ter
lunch (leastways they called it lunch, but it was abaht a full week's
grub fer us) wiv 'is 'Ighness----"
"To lunch? What is the man talking about?" broke in Sir Leopold
Kershaw, sternly.
"W'y, 'is nibs comes aht w'en me and the ole gal was a-standin' by
the barrer, and ses 'e, quite friendly-like, 'Come in an' 'ave lunch
alonger me,' ses 'e. Not 'avin' me party frock on, in consequence of
it bein' kep' at the wash, I 'ung back; but 'is nibs was that pressin'
there was no gettin' over 'im, an' very 'andsome 'e done us, I mus'
say." Thus Mr. Donah, with much emphasis.
"It is perfectly right," said Teddy, coming a little farther into
the room. "I had heard what you said, father, about every man being
my brother, except Wilkins" (the unfortunate butler blushed hotly on
finding himself brought into such prominent notice), "and Mr. Donah, as
well as Mrs. Donah, looked so miserable and so hungry that I thought
you wouldn't mind. So I brought them in here, and we had quite a good
time."
"You brought them in here?" ejaculated the master of the house, in
amazement.
[Illustration: "'YOU BROUGHT THEM IN HERE?' EJACULATED THE MASTER OF
THE HOUSE."]
"Yes," said Teddy, boldly. Then, beginning to feel dimly and miserably
that Mr. Donah was in a very tight place, Teddy, for the first time
in his brief career, began to lie. "In fact, I told Mr. Donah that I
thought he had a perfect right to everything which we had, and I'm
afraid I even suggested that it wouldn't matter very much if he just
helped himself to----"
"'Ere, stow it, yer 'Ighness; no perjury," exclaimed Mr. Donah. "Yer
won't never sing wiv the angels if yer go on in that way." He turned
suddenly towards Sir Leopold, and spoke with a certain despairing
fierceness upon him: "Look 'ere, guv'nor--I don't want 'is nibs to
be tellin' no crams abaht it. I come in 'ere, an' I 'as a jolly good
feed--fair wallers in it, I does--till the ole gal breaks dahn, an'
reminds me abaht our little nipper at 'ome, wivaht a crust. I goes 'ome
that night an' meets the parish doctor on the stairs. 'Dockery'--that's
me name w'en I goes a-ridin' in the park--'Dockery,' ses 'e, 'that kid
o' yourn wants nourishment--beef tea--good eggs; and you did ought ter
get 'im away into the country.' Lor' luv us--w'y didn't 'e tell me to
take 'im to 'ave tea alonger the Queen at Buckingham Pallis while 'e
was abaht it?"
"You were not able to provide these necessaries for your child?" said
Sir Leopold, somewhat unnecessarily.
"I were not," responded Mr. Donah, doggedly. "So that night I sits
a-thinkin', an' a-thinkin', till me head fair buzzes, an' all next
day I thinks a bit 'arder, till at last it comes over me that it
ain't right, arter wot you've said abaht me bein' yer bruvver, that
'is nibs 'ere should be 'avin' roas' duck an' tomater sauce, so ter
speak, an' my pore kid a-chewin' 'is fingers fer comfort. An' this
mornin', seein' 'im look a bit finner than usual, I got fair desp'rit',
an' couldn't stan' it no longer. So I made up me min' as 'ow I'd 'elp
meself to a bit of me bruvver's silver stuff."
"To use one of the vulgarisms familiar to your class, my friend,"
interposed Sir Leopold, "I am afraid that your statement won't wash."
"It'll wash a lump better than some er yer spoutings," retorted Mr.
Donah, with some indignation. "Wot's the good er tellin' a man one
minute 'e's yer bruvver an' 'as a right ter share everyfink wiv yer,
an' lockin' 'im up the nex' fer 'elpin' 'isself? There, I've 'ad me
little jaw; now send fer the bloomin amberlance."
Sir Leopold Kershaw was thinking very hard indeed. It would be too much
to say that he was in any sense converted; such sudden conversions are
rare. But he had a wholesome dread of seeing his principles derided
or himself made a laughing-stock; and Mr. Donah's remarkably caustic
mode of speech would, he felt, suit the humour of the evening papers
to a nicety. Sir Leopold had a mental vision of himself prosecuting in
a police-court, and writhing under Mr. Donah's remarks in defence of
his crime--the while busy reporters scribbled as if for their lives.
Moreover, the man, to do him justice, had a certain honesty of purpose
beneath all his ponderous phrases; his only fault lay in the fact that
he did not, in any sense, understand the class about whom he talked so
much. After a moment or two of thought he sternly dismissed the whole
of the servants, cautioning them against chattering about the matter
for the present; and was left alone in the room with his little son and
Mr. Donah.
"Now, Dockery: I think you said that was your name----"
"C'ristened Sam, at Sin George's in the Borough, on a Toosday--wiv me
a 'owlin' proper an' bitin' the parson's little finger," broke in Mr.
Dockery.
"Well, Dockery, the circumstances attending your offence are somewhat
peculiar, and I am disposed to take a lenient view of the matter. I
am impelled to this course by the remembrance that my son is, to an
extent, concerned in the affair"--Sir Leopold Kershaw felt that he must
really make an excuse of some kind or other--"and I am unwilling that
he should imagine that the principles I have so strongly laid down in
his hearing are sentiments merely, and that I am not prepared to carry
them out when opportunity occurs. I deny your right to purloin my
property, but I will have inquiry made into your case, and if I find
that you are really deserving I will carry my principles into effect.
Leave me your name and address--and then go."
Sam Dockery looked all about him for a moment in sheer amazement, put
his hat on, and then took it off in a great hurry; took those queer
little dancing steps of his, first backwards and then forwards, made a
feint of squaring up to Teddy, and finally put his arm before his eyes
and broke into unmistakable tears.
"Yer 'Ighness," he observed, in a shaky voice, when he had somewhat
recovered, "parss no rude remarks! This is me one an' only; I was
thinkin' of the nipper an' of 'ow 'e might 'ave bin wivaht 'is daddy
fer a munf er two. Guv'nor"--he turned to Sir Leopold--"I've sed a few
fings wot I didn't orter; let it parss. Yer ain't sich a bad sort as
yer look--an' Gawd knows yer didn't make yer own chivvy! Ask for Sam
Dockery dahn in Dock's Buildings, an' anyone will direck yer to me
'umble cot. An' I'll interdooce yer to the missis an' the nipper."
Despite his levity Mr. Dockery appeared to find some difficulty
in getting out of the door. Sir Leopold--amazing man!--opened the
hall-door himself, and Teddy fancied he heard the quick chink of money.
Curiously, too, Sir Leopold, when he came back into the dining-room,
wore a smile on his usually stern face, and told Teddy, in quite a
pleasant tone of voice, to "cut away to bed."
Nor did Sir Leopold Kershaw forget his promise. Sam Dockery and his
wife were startled the very next day by a visit from the great man
himself, accompanied by "'is Ighness" and by a footman bearing a
hamper. Nor was this all: for, a lodge-keepership falling vacant on
Sir Leopold's country estate, Sam and his wife and the "nipper" were
installed in it in comfort; on which occasion Mr. Dockery gave himself
airs in Duke's Buildings, before his departure, and informed all
and sundry that he was going down to his country house "ter pot the
bloomin' dicky-birds."
Sir Leopold Kershaw is as great a man as ever; but he talks less about
the equality and brotherhood of man.
_The Story of "Bradshaw."_