At this I rose, and went up-stairs to bed.
I think that most people who know me know that I am a man of my word.
On the following morning, before breakfast, I went into the High Street
to buy a pennyworth of hairpins. The short cut from our road into the
High Street is down Bloodstone Terrace.
It was in Bloodstone Terrace that I witnessed a sight which pained and
surprised me very much. It disgusted me. It was a disgrace to the
district, and amounted to a public scandal. St. Augustine's--which is
the third house in the terrace--had taken in washing, and not only had
taken in washing, but were using their front garden as a drying-ground!
An offensive thing of that kind makes my blood boil.
* * * * *
"Eliza," I said, as I brushed my hat preparatory to leaving for the
city, "I intend to write to Mr. Hamilton to-day."
"Have you got the money, then?" Eliza asked, eagerly.
"If you refer to last quarter's rent, I do not mean to forward it
immediately. A certain amount of credit is usual between landlord and
tenant. An established firm of agents like Hamilton & Bland must know
that."
"Yesterday was the third time they've written for the money, anyhow,
and you can say what you like. What are you writing for, then?"
"I have a complaint to make."
"Well, I wouldn't make any complaints until I'd paid last quarter, if I
were you. They'll only turn you out."
"I think not. I make the complaint in their interest. When a tenant in
Bloodstone Terrace is acting in a way calculated to bring the whole
neighbourhood into disrepute, and depreciate the value of house
property, the agents would probably be glad to hear of it."
"Well, you're missing your train. You run off, and don't write any
letters until to-night. Then you can talk about it, if you like."
In the evening, at supper, Eliza said she had been down Bloodstone
Terrace, and could not see what I was making all the fuss about.
"It is simply this," I said. "St. Augustine's is converted into a
laundry, and the front garden used as a drying-ground in a way that, to
my mind, is not decent."
"Yes," said Eliza, "that's Mrs. Pedder. The poor woman has to do
something for her living. She's just started, and only got one job at
present. It would be cruel----"
"Not at all. Let her wash, if she must wash, but let her wash somewhere
else. I cannot have these offensive rags flapping in my face when I
walk down the street."
"They're not offensive rags. I'm most particular about your things."
"What do you mean?"
"It's your things that she washes. I thought I'd give her a start."
I dashed off half a glass of beer, put the glass down with a bang, and
flung myself back in the chair without a word.
"Don't behave in that silly way," said Eliza. "She's a halfpenny
cheaper on the shirt than the last woman."
"You need not mention that," I replied. "In any case I shall not
complain now. I must bear the burden of any mistakes that you make. I
am well aware of it."
"I'll tell her to hang them out at the back in future."
"She can hang them where she pleases. I suppose I can bear it. It's
only one more trial to bear. One thing goes after another."
"On the contrary," said Eliza, "she's never lost as much as a collar.
There's a smut on your nose."
"It can stop there," I said, moodily, and went out into the garden.