Barrington Finds a Situation
The revulsion of feeling that Barrington experienced during the
progress of the election was intensified by the final result. The
blind, stupid, enthusiastic admiration displayed by the philanthropists
for those who exploited and robbed them; their extraordinary apathy
with regard to their own interests; the patient, broken-spirited way in
which they endured their sufferings, tamely submitting to live in
poverty in the midst of the wealth they had helped to create; their
callous indifference to the fate of their children, and the savage
hatred they exhibited towards anyone who dared to suggest the
possibility of better things, forced upon him the thought that the
hopes he cherished were impossible of realization. The words of the
renegade Socialist recurred constantly to his mind:
“You can be a Jesus Christ if you like, but for my part I’m finished.
For the future I intend to look after myself. As for these people, they
vote for what they want, they get what they vote for, and, by God! they
deserve nothing better! They are being beaten with whips of their own
choosing, and if I had my way they should be chastised with scorpions.
For them, the present system means joyless drudgery, semi-starvation,
rags and premature death; and they vote for it and uphold it. Let them
have what they vote for! Let them drudge and let them starve!”
These words kept ringing in his ears as he walked through the crowded
streets early one fine evening a few days before Christmas. The shops
were all brilliantly lighted for the display of their Christmas stores,
and the pavements and even the carriageways were thronged with
sightseers.
Barrington was specially interested in the groups of shabbily dressed
men and women and children who gathered in the roadway in front of the
poulterers’ and butchers’ shops, gazing at the meat and the serried
rows of turkeys and geese decorated with coloured ribbons and rosettes.
He knew that to come here and look at these things was the only share
many of these poor people would have of them, and he marvelled greatly
at their wonderful patience and abject resignation.
But what struck him most of all was the appearance of many of the
women, evidently working men’s wives. Their faded, ill-fitting garments
and the tired, sad expressions on their pale and careworn faces. Some
of them were alone; others were accompanied by little children who
trotted along trustfully clinging to their mothers’ hands. The sight of
these poor little ones, their utter helplessness and dependence, their
patched unsightly clothing and broken boots, and the wistful looks on
their pitiful faces as they gazed into the windows of the toy-shops,
sent a pang of actual physical pain to his heart and filled his eyes
with tears. He knew that these children—naked of joy and all that makes
life dear—were being tortured by the sight of the things that were
placed so cruelly before their eyes, but which they were not permitted
to touch or to share; and, like Joseph of old, his heart yearned over
his younger brethren.
He felt like a criminal because he was warmly clad and well fed in the
midst of all this want and unhappiness, and he flushed with shame
because he had momentarily faltered in his devotion to the noblest
cause that any man could be privileged to fight for—the uplifting of
the disconsolate and the oppressed.
He presently came to a large toy shop outside which several children
were standing admiring the contents of the window. He recognized some
of these children and paused to watch them and to listen to their talk.
They did not notice him standing behind them as they ranged to and fro
before the window, and as he looked at them, he was reminded of the way
in which captive animals walk up and down behind the bars of their
cages. These children wandered repeatedly, backwards and forwards from
one end of the window to the other, with their little hands pressed
against the impenetrable plate glass, choosing and pointing out to each
other the particular toys that took their fancies.
“That’s mine!” cried Charley Linden, enthusiastically indicating a
large strongly built waggon. “If I had that I’d give Freddie rides in
it and bring home lots of firewood, and we could play at fire engines
as well.”
“I’d rather have this railway,” said Frankie Owen. “There’s a real
tunnel and real coal in the tenders; then there’s the station and the
signals and a place to turn the engine round, and a red lantern to
light when there’s danger on the line.”
“Mine’s this doll—not the biggest one, the one in pink with clothes
that you can take off,” said Elsie; “and this tea set; and this
needlecase for Mother.”
Little Freddie had let go his hold of Elsie, to whom he usually clung
tightly and was clapping his hands and chuckling with delight and
desire. “Gee-gee?” he cried eagerly. “Gee-gee. Pwetty Gee-gee! Fweddy
want gee-gee!”
“But it’s no use lookin’ at them any longer,” continued Elsie, with a
sigh, as she took hold of Freddie’s hand to lead him away. “It’s no use
lookin’ at ’em any longer; the likes of us can’t expect to have such
good things as them.”
This remark served to recall Frankie and Charley to the stern realities
of life, and turning reluctantly away from the window they prepared to
follow Elsie, but Freddie had not yet learnt the lesson—he had not
lived long enough to understand that the good things of the world were
not for the likes of him; so when Elsie attempted to draw him away he
pursed up his underlip and began to cry, repeating that he wanted a
gee-gee. The other children clustered round trying to coax and comfort
him by telling him that no one was allowed to have anything out of the
windows yet—until Christmas—and that Santa Claus would be sure to bring
him a gee-gee then; but these arguments failed to make any impression
on Freddie, who tearfully insisted upon being supplied at once.
Whilst they were thus occupied they caught sight of Barrington, whom
they hailed with evident pleasure born of the recollection of certain
gifts of pennies and cakes they had at different times received from
him.
“Hello, Mr Barrington,” said the two boys in a breath.
“Hello,” replied Barrington, as he patted the baby’s cheek. “What’s the
matter here? What’s Freddie crying for?”
“He wants that there ’orse, mister, the one with the real “air on,”
said Charley, smiling indulgently like a grown-up person who realized
the absurdity of the demand.
“Fweddie want gee-gee,” repeated the child, taking hold of Barrington’s
hand and returning to the window. “Nice gee-gee.”
“Tell him that Santa Claus’ll bring it to him on Christmas,” whispered
Elsie. “P’raps he’ll believe you and that’ll satisfy him, and he’s sure
to forget all about it in a little while.”
“Are you still out of work, Mr Barrington?” inquired Frankie.
“No,” replied Barrington slowly. “I’ve got something to do at last.”
“Well, that’s a good job, ain’t it?” remarked Charley.
“Yes,” said Barrington. “And whom do you think I’m working for?”
“Who?”
“Santa Claus.”
“Santa Claus!” echoed the children, opening their eyes to the fullest
extent.
“Yes,” continued Barrington, solemnly. “You know, he is a very old man
now, so old that he can’t do all his work himself. Last year he was so
tired that he wasn’t able to get round to all the children he wanted to
give things to, and consequently a great many of them never got
anything at all. So this year he’s given me a job to help him. He’s
given me some money and a list of children’s names, and against their
names are written the toys they are to have. My work is to buy the
things and give them to the boys and girls whose names are on the
list.”
The children listened to this narrative with bated breath. Incredible
as the story seemed, Barrington’s manner was so earnest as to almost
compel belief.
“Really and truly, or are you only having a game?” said Frankie at
length, speaking almost in a whisper. Elsie and Charley maintained an
awestruck silence, while Freddie beat upon the glass with the palms of
his hands.
“Really and truly,” replied Barrington unblushingly as he took out his
pocket-book and turned over the leaves. “I’ve got the list here;
perhaps your names are down for something.”
The three children turned pale and their hearts beat violently as they
listened wide-eyed for what was to follow.
“Let me see,” continued Barrington, scanning the pages of the book,
“Why, yes, here they are! Elsie Linden, one doll with clothes that can
be taken off, one tea-set, one needlecase. Freddie Easton, one horse
with real hair. Charley Linden, one four-wheeled waggon full of
groceries. Frankie Owen, one railway with tunnel, station, train with
real coal for engine, signals, red lamp and place to turn the engines
round.”
Barrington closed the book: “So you may as well have your things now,”
he continued, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. “We’ll buy them here;
it will save me a lot of work. I shall not have the trouble of taking
them round to where you live. It’s lucky I happened to meet you, isn’t
it?”
The children were breathless with emotion, but they just managed to
gasp out that it was—very lucky.
As they followed him into the shop, Freddie was the only one of the
four whose condition was anything like normal. All the others were in a
half-dazed state. Frankie was afraid that he was not really awake at
all. It couldn’t be true; it must be a dream.
In addition to the hair, the horse was furnished with four wheels. They
did not have it made into a parcel, but tied some string to it and
handed it over to its new owner. The elder children were scarcely
conscious of what took place inside the shop; they knew that Barrington
was talking to the shopman, but they did not hear what was said—the
sound seemed far away and unreal.
The shopman made the doll, the tea-set and the needlecase into one
parcel and gave it to Elsie. The railway, in a stout cardboard box, was
also wrapped up in brown paper, and Frankie’s heart nearly burst when
the man put the package into his arms.
When they came out of the toy shop they said “Good night” to Frankie,
who went off carrying his parcel very carefully and feeling as if he
were walking on air. The others went into a provision merchant’s near
by, where the groceries were purchased and packed into the waggon.
Then Barrington, upon referring to the list to make quite certain that
he had not forgotten anything, found that Santa Claus had put down a
pair of boots each for Elsie and Charley, and when they went to buy
these, it was seen that their stockings were all ragged and full of
holes, so they went to a draper’s and bought some stocking also.
Barrington said that although they were not on the list, he was sure
Santa Claus would not object—he had probably meant them to have them,
but had forgotten to put them down.