One afternoon Fred Parsons came into the bar of the "King's Head." He wore
the cap and jersey of the Salvation Army; he was now Captain Parsons. The
bars were empty. It was a time when business was slackest. The morning's
betting was over; the crowd had dispersed, and would not collect again
until the _Evening Standard_ had come in. William had gone for a walk.
Esther and the potboy were alone in the house. The potman was at work in
the backyard, Esther was sewing in the parlour. Hearing steps, she went
into the bar. Fred looked at her abashed, he was a little perplexed. He
said--
"Is your husband in? I should like to speak to him."
"No, my husband is out. I don't expect him back for an hour or so. Can I
give him any message?"
She was on the point of asking him how he was. But there was something so
harsh and formal in his tone and manner that she refrained. But the idea
in her mind must have expressed itself in her face, for suddenly his
manner softened. He drew a deep breath, and passed his hand across his
forehead. Then, putting aside the involuntary thought, he said--
"Perhaps it will come through you as well as any other way. I had intended
to speak to him, but I can explain the matter better to you.... It is
about the betting that is being carried on here. We mean to put a stop to
it. That's what I came to tell him. It must be put a stop to. No
right-minded person--it cannot be allowed to go on."
Esther said nothing; not a change of expression came upon her grave face.
Fred was agitated. The words stuck in his throat, and his hands were
restless. Esther raised her calm eyes, and looked at him. His eyes were
pale, restless eyes.
"I've come to warn you," he said, "that the law will be set in motion....
It is very painful for me, but something must be done. The whole
neighbourhood is devoured by it." Esther did not answer, and he said, "Why
don't you answer, Esther?"
"What is there for me to answer? You tell me that you are going to get up
a prosecution against us. I can't prevent you. I'll tell my husband what
you say."
"This is a very serious matter, Esther." He had come into command of his
voice, and he spoke with earnest determination. "If we get a conviction
against you for keeping a betting-house, you will not only be heavily
fined, but you will also lose your licence. All we ask is that the betting
shall cease. No," he said, interrupting, "don't deny anything; it is quite
useless, we know everything. The whole neighbourhood is demoralized by
this betting; nothing is thought of but tips; the day's racing--that is
all they think about--the evening papers, and the latest information. You
do not know what harm you're doing. Every day we hear of some new
misfortune--a home broken up, the mother in the workhouse, the daughter on
the streets, the father in prison, and all on account of this betting. Oh,
Esther, it is horrible; think of the harm you're doing."
Fred Parsons' high, round forehead, his weak eyes, his whole face, was
expressive of fear and hatred of the evil which a falsetto voice denounced
with much energy.
Suddenly he seemed to grow nervous and perplexed. Esther was looking at
him, and he said, "You don't answer, Esther?"
"What would you have me answer?"
"You used to be a good, religious woman. Do you remember how we used to
speak when we used to go for walks together, when you were in service in
the Avondale road? I remember you agreeing with me that much good could be
done by those who were determined to do it. You seem to have changed very
much since those days."
For a moment Esther seemed affected by these remembrances. Then she said
in a low, musical voice--
"No, I've not changed, Fred, but things has turned out different. One
doesn't do the good that one would like to in the world; one has to do the
good that comes to one to do. I've my husband and my boy to look to.
Them's my good. At least, that's how I sees things."
Fred looked at Esther, and his eyes expressed all the admiration and love
that he felt for her character. "One owes a great deal," he said, "to
those who are near to one, but not everything; even for their sakes one
should not do wrong to others, and you must see that you are doing a great
wrong to your fellow-creatures by keeping on this betting. Public-houses
are bad enough, but when it comes to gambling as well as drink, there's
nothing for us to do but to put the law in motion. Look you, Esther, there
isn't a shop-boy earning eighteen shillings a week that hasn't been round
here to put his half-crown on some horse. This house is the immoral centre
of the neighbourhood. No one's money is refused. The boy that pawned his
father's watch to back a horse went to the 'King's Head' to put his money
on. His father forgave him again and again. Then the boy stole from the
lodgers. There was an old woman of seventy-five who got nine shillings a
week for looking after some offices; he had half-a-crown off her. Then the
father told the magistrate that he could do nothing with him since he had
taken to betting on horse-races. The boy is fourteen. Is it not shocking?
It cannot be allowed to go on. We have determined to put a stop to it.
That's what I came to tell your husband."
"Are you sure," said Esther, and she bit her lips while she spoke, "that
it is entirely for the neighbourhood that you want to get up the
prosecution?"
"You don't think there's any other reason, Esther? You surely don't think
that I'm doing this because--because he took you away from me?"
Esther didn't answer. And then Fred said, and there was pain and pathos in
his voice, "I am sorry you think this of me; I'm not getting up the
prosecution. I couldn't prevent the law being put in motion against you
even if I wanted to.... I only know that it is going to be put in motion,
so for the sake of old times I would save you from harm if I could. I came
round to tell you if you did not put a stop to the betting you'd get into
trouble. I have no right to do what I have done, but I'd do anything to
save you and yours from harm."
"I am sorry for what I said. It was very good of you."
"We have not any proofs as yet; we know, of course, all about the betting,
but we must have sworn testimony before the law can be set in motion, so
you'll be quite safe if you can persuade your husband to give it up."
Esther did not answer. "It is entirely on account of the friendship I feel
for you that made me come to warn you of the danger. You don't bear me any
ill-will, Esther, I hope?"
"No, Fred, I don't. I think I understand." The conversation paused again.
"I suppose we have said everything." Esther turned her face from him. Fred
looked at her, and though her eyes were averted from him she could see
that he loved her. In another moment he was gone. In her plain and
ignorant way she thought on the romance of destiny. For if she had married
Fred her life would have been quite different. She would have led the life
that she wished to lead, but she had married William and--well, she must
do the best she could. If Fred, or Fred's friends, got the police to
prosecute them for betting, they would, as he said, not only have to pay a
heavy fine, but would probably lose their licence. Then what would they
do? William had not health to go about from race-course to race-course as
he used to. He had lost a lot of money in the last six months; Jack was at
school--they must think of Jack. The thought of their danger lay on her
heart all that evening. But she had had no opportunity of speaking to
William alone, she had to wait until they were in their room. Then, as she
untied the strings of her petticoats, she said--
"I had a visit from Fred Parsons this afternoon."
"That's the fellow you were engaged to marry. Is he after you still?"
"No, he came to speak to me about the betting."
"About the betting--what is it to do with him?"
"He says that if it isn't stopped that we shall be prosecuted."
"So he came here to tell you that, did he? I wish I had been in the bar."
"I'm glad you wasn't. What good could you have done? To have a row and
make things worse!"
William lit his pipe and unlaced his boots. Esther slipped on her
night-dress and got into a large brass bedstead, without curtains. On the
chest of drawers Esther had placed the books her mother had given her, and
William had hung some sporting prints on the walls. He took his
night-shirt from the pillow and put it on without removing his pipe from
his mouth. He always finished his pipe in bed.
"It is revenge," he said, pulling the bed-clothes up to his chin, "because
I got you away from him."
"I don't think it is that; I did think so at first, and I said so."
"What did he say?"
"He said he was sorry I thought so badly of him; that he came to warn us
of our danger. If he had wanted to do us an injury he wouldn't have said
nothing about it. Don't you think so?"
"It seems reasonable. Then what do you think they're doing it for?"
"He says that keeping a betting-house is corruption in the neighbourhood."
"You think he thinks that?"
"I know he do; and there is many like him. I come of them that thinks like
that, so I know. Betting and drink is what my folk, the Brethren, holds as
most evil."
"But you've forgot all about them Brethren?"
"No, one never forgets what one's brought up in."
"But what do you think now?"
"I've never said nothing about it. I don't believe in a wife interfering
with her husband; and business was that bad, and your 'ealth 'asn't been
the same since them colds you caught standing about in them betting rings,
so I don't see how you could help it. But now that business is beginning
to come back to us, it might be as well to give up the betting."
"It is the betting that brings the business; we shouldn't take five pounds
a week was it not for the betting. What's the difference between betting
on the course and betting in the bar? No one says nothing against it on
the course; the police is there, and they goes after the welshers and
persecutes them. Then the betting that's done at Tattersall's and the
Albert Club, what is the difference? The Stock Exchange, too, where
thousands and thousands is betted every day. It is the old story--one law
for the rich and another for the poor. Why shouldn't the poor man 'ave his
'alf-crown's worth of excitement? The rich man can have his thousand
pounds' worth whenever he pleases. The same with the public
'ouses--there's a lot of hypocritical folk that is for docking the poor
man of his beer, but there's no one that's for interfering with them that
drink champagne in the clubs. It's all bloody rot, and it makes me sick
when I think of it. Them hypocritical folk. Betting! Isn't everything
betting? How can they put down betting? Hasn't it been going on since the
world began? Rot, says I! They can just ruin a poor devil like me, and
that's about all. We are ruined, and the rich goes scot-free.
Hypocritical, mealy-mouthed lot. 'Let's say our prayers and sand
the sugar'; that's about it. I hate them that is always prating out
religion. When I hears too much religion going about I says now's the time
to look into their accounts."
William leaned out of bed to light his pipe from the candle on the
night-table.
"There's good people in the world, people that never thinks but of doing
good, and do not live for pleasure."
"'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,' Esther. Their only pleasure
is a bet. When they've one on they've something to look forward to;
whether they win or lose they 'as their money's worth. You know what I say
is true; you've seen them, how they look forward to the evening paper to
see how the 'oss is going on in betting. Man can't live without hope. It
is their only hope, and I says no one has a right to take it from them."
"What about their poor wives? Very little good their betting is to them.
It's all very well to talk like that, William, but you know, and you can't
say you don't, that a great deal of mischief comes of betting; you know
that once they think of it and nothing else, they neglect their work.
There's Stack, he's lost his place as porter; there's Journeyman, too,
he's out of work."
"And a good thing for them; they've done a great deal better since they
chucked it."
"For the time, maybe; but who says it will go on? Look at old John; he's
going about in rags; and his poor wife, she was in here the other night, a
terrible life she's 'ad of it. You says that no 'arm comes of it. What
about that boy that was 'ad up the other day, and said that it was all
through betting? He began by pawning his father's watch. It was here that
he made the first bet. You won't tell me that it is right to bet with bits
of boys like that."
"The horse he backed with me won."
"So much the worse.... The boy'll never do another honest day's work as
long as he lives.... When they win, they 'as a drink for luck; when they
loses, they 'as a drink to cheer them up."
"I'm afraid, Esther, you ought to have married the other chap. He'd have
given you the life that you'd have been happy in. This public-'ouse ain't
suited to you."
Esther turned round and her eyes met her husband's. There was a strange
remoteness in his look, and they seemed very far from each other.
"I was brought up to think so differently," she said, her thoughts going
back to her early years in the little southern seaside home. "I suppose
this betting and drinking will always seem to me sinful and wicked. I
should 'ave liked quite a different kind of life, but we don't choose our
lives, we just makes the best of them. You was the father of my child, and
it all dates from that."
"I suppose it do."
William lay on his back, and blew the smoke swiftly from his mouth.
"If you smoke much more we shan't be able to breathe in this room."
"I won't smoke no more. Shall I blow the candle out?"
"Yes, if you like."
When the room was in darkness, just before they settled their faces on the
pillow for sleep, William said--
"It was good of that fellow to come and warn us. I must be very careful
for the future with whom I bet."