_March 13, 1905._--This (Monday) morning Bettesworth came, slowly
hobbling with his stick. Last week he had promised himself to be at
work again to-day; but no--he is less well, and fancies he has taken
fresh cold.
He looked white, weak, pathetically docile and kind, as he led the way
from the kitchen door to the wood-shed, evidently desirous of a
private talk.
He said he was "purty near beat, comin' over Saddler's Hill"; he had
never before had such a job, having been forced to stop to get breath.
It "felt like a lot o' mud in his chest; it was all slushin' and
sloppin' about inside him, jest like a lot o' thick mud." But he had
been worrying so: he wanted to pay me his rent. And then about his
club pay--that worried him, too. He need not have worried? Ah, but he
had done so, none the less; and Liz had said to him, "You better go up
an' see about it, and you'll feel better when you got it off your
mind"; or else he was hardly fit to be out in this cold wind. He had
stayed indoors from Saturday afternoon until this morning. At
tea-time, "about four o'clock yesterday," Liz had brought him a cup
of tea with an egg beaten up in it, which had seemed to do him good.
And she had got him half a quarte'n of whisky to hearten him up as he
came away this morning. But he could not eat. "Law! they boys o'
Jack's 'll eat three times what I do. I likes to see 'em. Jack says,
'What d'ye think o' that for a table?'" and indicates to Bettesworth
the plentiful supply.
A hint brought the wandering talk back readily to the subject which
the old man had on his mind. "_I_ never owed that money to the club,
what you says Mrs. Eggar drawed from you.... She've done me out o'
that, ye see." Just as he had supposed, so it proved, he affirmed: he
had paid up to last August; and the inference was that Mrs. Eggar had
drawn the money from me for her own uses, and now Bettesworth must
repay it.
He produced two membership cards in support of his statements. The
first was the same which Mrs. Eggar had brought me, at that time
bearing no receipt later than February, 1904, but now certifying a
further payment of 1s. 6d. up to August. The other was a new card,
giving receipt in full to February of this year. To judge by the ink,
these two receipts had been given at the same time; in other words,
they had been obtained by Mrs. Eggar in return for the money duly paid
in by her. But it took me long to satisfy Bettesworth (if he was
satisfied) that she had not "done" me out of three shillings on his
behalf.
And then there was his rent, which had been running on all the time
that he was at the infirmary. He had brought the money for that now,
to get out of my debt.
Of course it was refused. In consideration of this rent, I said, I had
not helped otherwise during his sickness, and I did not wish him to
repay it. What he said to that I regret that I do not exactly
remember, but it went somehow in this way:-- "You done a _lot_ for me,
sir; more 'n you any call to. And I thinks of you...." He was unable
to go on and express his meaning, but his tone rang very sincere. I
did not find any ingratitude in him; nor was there any dishonesty in
the purpose for which he had come to me.
He, however, found dishonesty in the neighbours, who have bought his
household goods and now hang back with the purchase money. So cheap,
too, he had sold his things! "That landlord at the Swan said 'twas
givin' of 'em away.... But what could I do?" Bettesworth urged. His
brother-in-law had advised him "not to stand out for sixpence; 't
wa'n't as if they was new things," and had warned him against giving
trust. But what could he do? Even as it was, the trouble of attending
to the business had been too much for him in his weak state. So, one
had had a table, and another two saucepans, and so on; and now he
could not get the money. Instead of twenty-two shillings which should
have been received on Saturday, he found himself with no more than
five; and this morning only another five shillings had come in.
Yes, the people had "had" him; he was sure of that. There was "that
Tom Beagley's wife.... She come to me Saturday sayin' Tom was on the
booze and hadn't given her no money, so she couldn't pay me....
'That's a lie,' our Tom says; 'he en't bin on the booze. He bin at
work all the week, over here at Moorways.' So I told her I should have
the things back, if she didn't pay me this mornin'." Other instances
were generalized; Bettesworth thought himself cheated all round.
By this time we had left the shed, and were standing in its shadow,
where the wind blew up cold and draughty. "Let's get into the
sunshine," I proposed.
As we moved, "Wasn't it a day yesterday?" I remarked; and Bettesworth
assented, "No mistake!" It had in fact been a Sunday of March gales,
of furious rain and hail-storms, and then gay bursts of sunshine
hurrying down the valley. With none to sweep it, the path where we
stood was still bestrewn with a litter of dead twigs, which the east
winds had left, but this fierce westerly wind had finally torn out
from the lilac bushes. "It's a sort of pruning," I said, and was
answered, "Yes, that must do a lot o' good. Done it better 'n you
could ha' done, too." We found a sunny place, although still a
draughty wind searched us out, and fast-changing clouds sometimes drew
across the sunshine and left us shivering. "More showers," we
predicted, "before the day is out."
There, in the sunshine, Bettesworth coughed--a little painful cough
without variety. It seemed as if it need not have begun, yet, having
begun, need never cease. "You must get rid of that cough," said I.
"I en't got strength to cough," he replied. Then he put his hands
against the pit of his stomach. "That's where it hurts me. Sims to
tear me all to pieces." I advised care in feeding, and avoidance of
solids. "Bread an' butter's the only solid food I takes," he said.
"Liz wanted me to have a kipper. 'Naw,' I says, 'I en't much of a fish
man.' But I don't want it. I en't got no appetite." It was suggested
that the warm weather presently would restore him; but he returned,
very quietly; "I dunno. I sims to think I shan't last much longer. I
got that idear. I can feel it, somehow."
"How long have you felt like that?"
"This six weeks I've had that sort o' feelin'." He went on to repeat
what he had said to Jack in consequence. When he had got his bed and
other things into Jack's house, "'It's all yours now,' I says. 'You
take everything there is. All you got to do is to see me put away.'"
His weakness was distressing to see, and he had to get back home
somehow. Would a little more whisky help him? We adjourned to the
kitchen, sat down there near the fire, and while the old man had his
stimulant he talked of many things.
At first, handing me the key of his cottage, he told of his cat, how
plump she looked, and how she had welcomed him home in such fashion as
to make Liz say with a laugh, "No call to ask whose cat she is!"
Sometimes he thought of "gettin' old Kid to put a charge o' shot into
her"; sometimes, of "puttin' her in a sack an' drownin' her." Either
was more than he had the heart to do; yet he could not bear to think
of his cat without a home. Would not Mrs. Norris take care of her,
then?" Oh yes, she'd _feed_ her, but.... But Mrs. Norris can't _hear_,
poor old soul. She bin a good ol' soul to me, though; and so've Kid."
Of course I did not tell Bettesworth how old Nanny had lately talked
of him.
What to do about his cabbages puzzled him. He had paid old Carver Cook
two shillings for digging the ground and planting them; and now that
he had given up the cottage, there was this value like to be lost! He
must get "whoever took the cot" to take to the cabbages too; they
ought to. He didn't like to cut 'em down--never liked to do anybody
else a bad turn, but.... Ultimately I promised to get the price
allowed, in settling with his landlord.
Through devious courses the conversation slid back to his nephew's
family and household ways. Liz "don't sit down to dinner 'long o' the
others." There are six boys besides her husband for her to wait upon,
so that, were she to begin, "before she'd got a mouthful the others 'd
be wantin' their second helpin'." The custom sounds barbarous--or
shall I say archaic?--until one remembers that the husband and one or
two of the boys must get home from work to dinner and back again
within an hour. On Sunday afternoon "Jack was off to the town to this
P.S.A. or whatever it is. He brought home another prize too.... A
beautiful book--a foot by nine inches, and three or four inches thick!
Jack _can_ read, no mistake!" Unfortunately he reads in a very loud
voice, so that Bettesworth grows weary of it, in spite of his passion
for being read to. On Saturday night Jack was reading the paper, and
said, "'Like any more?' 'Not to-night, Jack; I be tired.' All about
this war" (in Manchuria). "Sunday he said, 'Shall I read ye the paper,
uncle? 'Tis nothin' but the war.' 'Then we won't have it to-day.'"
Bettesworth's opinions on the war were tedious to me; he had so
greatly misunderstood. He thought that, after Mukden, the Russians
were retreating "right back into St. Petersburg," which would have
been a retreat indeed!" But it ought to be stopped now"; the other
Powers should interfere and say, "You've had your go in, and now you
must get back into your own bounds." For the Japanese, of course,
Bettesworth was full of admiration: "fighting without food!"... He
exclaimed at their pluck and their prowess.
Gradually his own memories of war were awaking, and at last, "The
purtiest little soldiers I ever see was the Sardinians." He described
their smartness; their pretty tight-fitting uniform. "They camped
'longside o' we." Of their language "you could get to pick out a good
many words" (I think he meant English words they used), "but it
pestered 'em when they couldn't make ye understand.... But there, we
was as bad.... Every nation has their own slang." The funniest
Bettesworth ever heard was that of the Turks, "like a lot o' geese....
I remember once a lot of 'em come up over the hill by our camp, with
about four hundred prisoners. They didn't let us have 'em, but was
takin' 'em on to their own camp; but they was so proud for us to see,
an' they was caperin' and cuttin' and dancin' about, jest like a lot
o' geese."
Something reminded him of George Bryant and his present job; something
else, of his own coal supply, now removed to Jack's; and that brought
up the coal merchant's receipt, which he had found in his waistcoat
pocket. He had given it to Liz, with his wife's little box full of
receipts for coal, groceries, tea, and so on, and had recommended Liz
to "put 'em on the fire." "You _be_ a careless old feller!" Liz
retorted, and he repeated, laughing.
He had been here nearly an hour, and at last I stood up. Bettesworth
took the hint. He was looking the better for his whisky as he went
off. But all the time, while he sat dreamily talking, he had had a
very mild, placid, old man's expression, and all my harsher thoughts
of him had quite slipped away.