life in London, with pictures taken from life. When I look at one
picture I see a man and a woman with a handcart loaded with household
furniture. These two are leaving a house at night, for they owe rent.
But when I look closer still, I recognize both the man and the woman;
and I know that the former has been in a lodging-house for twenty
years, during which time he never had furniture. I also know that
the woman has not for thirty years had cause to do what the picture
represents. Of course, this does not matter, for such things are to
be seen--but the picture was not taken from real life. The picture
was taken by day, when people do not make "moonlight flits"; and at
night--which the scene represents--the great journalist was sleeping
in his luxurious home.
XXX
Gentleman Bill
A man may not only play many parts in life, but sometimes even his
real character undergoes a change and conforms to his surroundings.
Such was the case with Gentleman Bill. When he first came to our
lodging-house he was a quiet, modest man, who was almost too timid
to hazard a suggestion on the most common subjects; but in less than
three months conceit and importance was so thrust upon him that he
was almost too proud to walk. I was a witness of this development
of a new character, right from the beginning, and saw that Bill was
not in any way to blame; but that the ignorance of his associates
shoved him, in spite of his modesty, shoulder-high above themselves.
Bill, it appeared to me, had mixed, ere his downfall, with people who
were his equal, and not a few of whom were his superior--hence his
modesty when he first came to our house as a needy lodger.
He was seen to be a very quiet man, always reading newspapers or
books, or walking silently up and down the kitchen in deep thought.
For a month or more the lodgers took very little notice of him, but
when his appearance had grown familiar to them, they began to ask
his opinion on different subjects--cooking, physic, the nutritious
value of foods, the meaning of words, the use of the House of Lords,
and many other interesting things. These questions were answered by
Bill in such a high-flown manner, as became a great reader, that
really his hearers were little the wiser, and came to the conclusion
that Bill's knowledge was far too deep for them. The lodgers were so
awestruck at Bill's easy delivery of unusual words that they could
not grasp the underlying thought. It was not long before he became so
puffed with his own importance, and so eager to express his opinions,
that he did not wait an invitation to join in a conversation, but
stood in the middle of the kitchen and spoke in such a masterly
way that some of the lodgers thought that he was an ex-M.P. He was
not satisfied with giving his own opinions, but quoted poets,
philosophers, lawyers, and statesmen; and the lodgers at last became
so impressed that they sought him all over the house to hear him
settle an argument. One morning Little Brum actually took a cup of
tea to Gentleman Bill, while the latter was in bed, so as to get him
down to settle a dispute which was likely to make the principals lose
a morning's work.
It was not long before Bill had to pay the penalty of being so
important, for some of the more simple lodgers began to ask him such
idiotic questions that Bill, who up to the present had never been
at a loss for a word, could do little more than stand dumb with
amazement. For instance, one day a poor simple fellow asked the
following question: "Is it right to post a letter to-day that was
written yesterday?" An Irishman asked him the belief of the laity,
and whether they were for or against the Pope of Rome. Another had
heard that an egg boiled too hard could be again boiled soft, and
wanted to know if it could be boiled to recover its first raw state.
Poor Bill began to lose patience and grumble, saying that he could
not be expected to know everything. The lodgers would not allow him
peace to have a cup of tea, to shave, wash, or read.
I happened to be sleeping in the same room as Bill, a large room with
seven beds to accommodate seven men. Early one morning, about three
o'clock, I was in that half-wakeful state when a man turns his body
over in sleep, and thought I heard voices. Curiosity getting the
better of sleep, I listened, and sure enough the man in the next bed
to Bill was asking him a number of questions. The questions must have
interested Bill, for he immediately sat up in bed and began a long
talk. When I fell asleep he was still sitting up and talking, and I
did not wonder that he was a late riser.
On one occasion there was a terrible fuss in the house, and a lodger
called Bill a damned conspirator. It seemed that the man had claimed
a letter at the office which did not belong to him. When the clerk
received letters he wrote the surnames on a sheet of paper, which he
placed in the window. The Christian names were kept secret, so that
he could question applicants about them, this being the only plan of
placing letters in the right hands. Where there were such a number of
men there were certain to be several of the name of Smith, Jones,
Brown, and other common names. So when one morning the clerk received
a letter for William Henry, he added the surname to his list. Reading
the list of names a simple lodger, whose Christian name was Henry,
made application for the said letter. The clerk got the letter and,
glancing at the envelope, made his usual enquiry, "Your Christian
name?" Now it happened that the man did not know the meaning of this
question, and to be on the safe side he gave his full name, which was
Henry Brown. The clerk lost patience at Brown's simplicity and said,
"This letter is not for you; your Christian name is Henry, but the
man to whom this letter belongs is surnamed Henry." The dissatisfied
and unconvinced lodger left the office and sought Gentleman Bill,
whom he found and consulted. Bill went into a long discourse as to
the origin of surnames, but the lodger cut him short by asking what
right the clerk had to place his name on the list and not give up
the letter. It was no use for Bill to try to explain the difference
between surnames and Christian names, and he was no more successful
than the clerk, although he took fifty times the time and words.
The upshot of it was that the infuriated lodger called Bill a damned
conspirator, whereas Bill also lost his calmness and called the
lodger a fool.
How Bill was spoilt by so much consultation was made apparent to me
by a little incident that escaped the notice of others. He had been
having a glass or two of ale, and, coming into the kitchen with his
book, which was a grammar, seated himself comfortably at the fire.
The effect of the ale, the heat of the fire, and the inactive state
of his body, soon made Bill bow his head to the table, and in a
minute or two he was fast asleep. I happened to be sitting near him
at the time, and was taken by surprise to hear his voice. Thinking
he was addressing me I turned, but saw that he was fast asleep and
talking to himself. All at once I heard him say, as distinctly
as though he had been awake, "What I need is a silk hat and a
frock-coat"; meaning, of course, that if he had those things, for the
sake of appearance, his knowledge, conversation, and manners would be
the making of him.
On one or two occasions I had the honour of being consulted by
Bill--of which I am very proud, for he did not consider any other
man in the house able to teach him anything. I had always managed to
satisfy him with my remarks, but when he approached me one night,
with his grammar book in his hand, and asked me if I knew anything
about the infinitive split, the question almost took my breath away.
Certainly I had heard of it, heard enough to know that it was to be
avoided as a subject of argument, or it would soon worry a man to
a shadow. I told Bill at once that I could not enlighten him, and
advised him not to worry over it. This advice was not taken, for he
bought two more cheap second-hand grammar books, and still could
not get on the track of the infinitive split. In less than three
weeks his voice was low and weak, his face became haggard and thin,
his hair lay uncombed on his forehead, and his bones began to show
their shape under the skin. He was not even civil in those days, and
no longer felt the importance of being consulted. He requested the
lodgers not to bother him, that he had other things on his mind, and
far more trouble than he could contend with.
Yes. Bill was a nice fellow when he first came to the house, modest
and unassuming; he was also interesting to hear when he became
confident and assertive; but after he fell foul of the infinitive
split, he became a man to be avoided, and his curt answers made many
a man frown.
XXXI
Fallacies Concerning Beggars
There are quite a number of fallacies, concerning beggars, which are
sadly in need of contradiction, so that these much-misunderstood men
may stand in their innocence before the public. They do not mark
houses, as is commonly supposed; they do not spend the money of
charity on drink; they do not possess hidden hoards; and they have as
much dread of meeting women in lonely places as the latter have of
meeting them.
In the first place, why should they mark houses? If you enter a
common lodging-house in the country, you will find, on making
enquiry, that two out of three beggars have been there before, and
know from past experience one or more good houses; but they would
rather share their spoils with you than show these houses, or explain
their where-abouts. Beggars, however good-natured they may be in a
lodging-house, are all selfish on this one point. They always live
in expectation of future benefits from those houses, and it is not
likely that they will risk spoiling them by giving information to
others who may not approach them in a proper manner, or may even be
impudent. If you ever see a house marked you may be sure that it is
by one of a family, who are working different parts of the town, and
who will change about on the following days. Private people seem to
know more of this matter than beggars, for, after visiting more than
a hundred lodging-houses, and hearing the conversation of thousands
of beggars, I have not heard one whisper of a marked house.
Another belief is that beggars possess secret hoards. Because
people in years of reading have seen two or three accounts of cases
of this kind, they are under the impression that half the beggars
that approach them are misers that would rather beg than buy. Now
good beggars will still work on the public feeling with three or
four shillings' worth of coppers in their pockets, but you could
search the first thousand you met and be very unlikely to find
gold. The most persistent beggars will often beg hard until they
have saved a few shillings, after which they feel justified in
taking a much-deserved rest, and are often to be seen idling for a
couple of days in a town that is no good for begging, but where the
accommodation of the lodging-house is excellent.
Another fallacy is that they are eager to molest women and children.
It is a mystery how these charges can be made against them, for few
cases of the kind get into the papers. The only way to account for
this belief is that all undiscovered violence and petty crime is put
down to be the work of tramps, and the papers are only too eager to
take such a view. When a man fell from his bicycle, trying to avoid
running over an old deaf tramp, the local press thought it would make
better copy to say that the man was knocked off his bicycle by a
vicious tramp, much to the surprise of the man himself.
Again, a tramp does not like to meet a woman in a lonely place, and
he often whistles loudly so as to encourage her not to faint, and he
never forgets to give her plenty of room to pass, and nothing annoys
him more than to see timid children run into their houses at his
approach. A tramp likes to have women answer the door to him, when
they have the confidence of being surrounded by neighbours; but when
it comes to the open air, women are a nuisance to him, and he would
be glad if no women walked abroad. He can approach his own sex and
speak, but he is afraid of being within ten feet of a woman's nerves.
Then there is the fallacy that he is spending money on drink,
because he is seen going in or out of a public-house. People do not
know that he enters as a beggar, not as a customer, and that he
often gets tipsy because beer is often easier to beg than bread or
pennies. I have seen hundreds of beggars drunk who had not spent one
penny on drink. On a Saturday night, almost every man in a common
lodging-house is drunk, and often against his wish. All beggars know
that they can do almost as well on a Saturday night by telling their
tales in public-houses, as they can by calling at private houses all
through the week; and in doing so they get drunk on free drinks,
without having spent one of the many pennies they have received from
customers.
Another fallacy is that beggars are the authors of so many deeds of
barn-burning, theft, and assaults on women who could not recognize
their assailants in the dark. It is quite a common thing to hear
tramps in a common lodging-house say, "Tramps, of course, will be
blamed for this," when one of them reads aloud of an undiscovered
crime. Sometimes the real culprits are at last found, and though they
are not strange tramps, but people of the locality, yet no one thinks
of apologizing for the unjust suspicion on tramps.
They do not often burn hayricks for spite, as is commonly supposed.
They may accidentally burn one through smoking. It should be
understood that they are very careful not to do so, or they would
have to walk until they were miles away, and would rob themselves of
a comfortable night's rest. No, farmers have jealous neighbours and
discontented labourers, who are worse enemies than strange tramps.
Idle threats, due to irritation, are generally the extent of their
crime. Is it likely that a beggar who has been refused food at a
house will hide somewhere and nurse vengeance for hours, so that he
may break into it or set fire to it at night? He is hungry, and
he must travel on in search of food, and he will at last meet with
success; and there is not a man in the world more innocent of acts of
crime than he is then, when his empty body is satisfied. He forgets
all past unkindness, and the household that he has threatened to
murder has passed out of his recollection for ever.
People should know that tramps talk aloud to themselves, owing to
being so much alone. Therefore, when a woman refuses a tramp on the
score of a husband doing little work, and the said tramp goes away
muttering, she must not at once come to the conclusion, as she always
does, that he is cursing her; for it is more than likely that he is
cursing some cause he imagines has placed her in such a helpless
position.
There is one thing against a beggar that has been witnessed so often
that it would be folly to dispute the truth of it, which is that he
throws food away. Although he cannot be altogether justified, yet an
explanation of the real facts may go far to make people sympathize
with his dilemmas.
People seldom take into consideration that he needs a bed, and they
would often rather give him two-penny-worth of food than a halfpenny
in money. Now a beggar knows that if he asks at a house point-blank
for money, nothing will he get; or, occasionally a woman will say, "I
will give you something to eat." For that reason he always asks for
food, and then gets an odd penny here and there--which he would not
get if he asked for money. But it is often necessary to beg so much
food in getting a few coppers for his lodging and a little tea and
tobacco, that he soon gets encumbered with more food than he can hide
or eat. In this case he cannot continue begging--which he must, or go
into the workhouse--so he throws the food away and continues to beg
more of it, in the hope of getting money for his bed. But very few
beggars ever threw food away without feeling regret that they had to
do so. It is for this reason that so many beggars carry a few cheap
trifles, such as pins, needles, laces, or some self-made novelty.
With these things they are sure of getting money for their lodging,
and, while doing so, beg food from those that will not buy.
I hope by these explanations to have made a beggar worthy of kinder
consideration, and proved his to be a character to be loved and
respected. Henceforth let no lady be afraid to walk a lonely road
without a dog, for her presence is dreaded by a tramp, however
beautiful she may be. The tramp has not Tommy Atkins's eye for female
beauty.
Let no total abstainer, who has given a beggar a penny, and sees
him enter a public-house, think that the penny goes for beer, for a
beggar is more likely to go in to beg instead of buy.
Think not because you have read of one case where a beggar was
arrested and found to have considerable money sewn in his clothes,
that every beggar you meet has saved money.
Think not because a beggar was seen in the morning to pass a barn
that was burned to the ground that same night, that he was the guilty
one. A burning barn would not feed his body, and he would not remain
there long enough to warm his feet and dry his socks.
And if you still believe that beggars mark houses, go to the window
and watch every one that leaves, and you are likely to be a great
many years before you catch one in the act of doing so. Houses _are_
marked, but in nine cases out of ten children are the guilty ones.
XXXII
Lady Tramps
Almost all tramps who travel alone object to women in a common
lodging-house. Even the landlord of such a place soon learns from
experience that women take out in accommodation the worth of their
money, for they make the place too much of a home. If they are
bad wives they are continually squabbling with their husbands, or
scolding their children; if they are good wives they are always
cooking, or covering the limited number of seats and tables with
sewing material, or surrounding the fire with newly washed clothes;
and the poor bachelor, who is more indifferent to cleanliness, and
often prefers a slice of bacon quickly done to the labour of cooking
vegetable meals--this poor bachelor complains not only that he cannot
get near the fire, but that there is not enough room on the tables
to lay his food, which is not often the truth.
As for the landlords, they are becoming more bitter every day, and
these unfortunate women now find it so difficult to get lodgings,
that they dare not visit any town haphazard, but must make enquiries
of their fellow travellers as to accommodation for women. Often they
hear, to their disappointment, of houses that formerly lodged women
being changed into houses for men only. And if these women have
children, matters are still worse, for they are objected to on that
account. It is therefore not the least wonder that when a man, his
wife, and two or more children, succeed in being lodged, they are
loth to leave that town until they have tapped it thoroughly--north,
south, east, and west, house and shop; and sometimes they remain
so long in that one town--perhaps three months or more--that their
faces become known, and they are not supposed to belong to a tribe of
wanderers. It is in the summer months, when the nights are warm, and
they are independent of lodging-houses, that they prove themselves to
be true travellers.
Perhaps it is because women are so much better beggars than men that
they are disliked both by bachelor beggars and lodging-house keepers.
The former know well that if a woman once starts in a street,
she will carry all before her--money, clothes, and food; and the
landlords know that a woman is so successful that she is soon back
again in the lodging-house; in fact she is often there twenty-three
hours out of the twenty-four. Whereas the man, however good a beggar
he may be, is absent several hours in a day, for he not only takes
much longer than a woman to earn a living, but he is fond of standing
at street corners, and sometimes he visits a library. The woman is
instinctively inclined to make the place a home, but the man more
often uses it simply as a place wherein to eat and sleep.
The woman, whether she has little ones or not, is always believed
when she claims to have a family, and she receives wearing apparel
for them, and food. The former she sells cheaply to the poor but
more respectable class of people that live in the locality of cheap
lodging-houses. But the man can never do business with children in
the spirit; he needs them in the flesh at his side, or he is not
believed to be a father.
After a woman has been on the road a little time and become
familiar with lodging-houses and begging, she finds little
difficulty in maintaining a husband that will neither work, beg, nor
steal--especially if she has a child for the poor fellow to look
after; to wheel in a box, when he must take great care to stop in
front of the house where his wife is. The most hard-hearted cannot
withhold their charity, for the child's sake. As soon as the man
hears the front door open, he must become very interested in his
offspring, and move in a circle round the box, trying to make the
child more comfortable. His solicitude is almost certain of reward,
for the lady of the house cannot fail to see this, and her tender
heart overflows in pity for the whole family. "Whatever his faults
are," thinks she, "he undoubtedly has a father's feeling for the poor
child." Of course the father is as fond of his child as any other
father would be, and he would do anything in reason for it--anything,
except work.
Another objection lodging-house keepers have to women lodgers is
that when they begin a quarrel they are so long in bringing it
to an end, especially if under the influence of drink. Whereas
in the case of men it is often a short violent tussle of two or
three minutes--fifteen minutes would be unusual for two untrained
men--and that is the end of it, for neither one has a wish to renew
hostilities. It is all over before a constable can be found, much
less dragged unwillingly to the battle ground.
"Yes," I heard one lady lodger say to a landlord, who had threatened
to eject her for speaking her mind--"Yes," said she, "and if
I had Liverpool Nora and Brummagem Sal at my side, instead of
this"--pointing to her husband--"we would soon see who's who in a
very short time." Some time after I had the pleasure of meeting
Liverpool Nora, and my opinion is that if Brummagem Sal was as
high-spirited and brawny as that lady, well, it would be folly to
aggravate them singly, much less the twain.
There is one man who favours the presence of women, and that is the
true working-man, who is travelling for work, and after paying his
last few coppers for a bed, sits hungry in the lodging-house kitchen,
for he is a poor beggar indeed. As a rule the men are indifferent,
but these women always guess his secret and pity him. They watch,
and if they see no sign of food cooked, or to be cooked, it is not
long before he is asked to have a basin of broth or stew, and, if he
accepts, the other women--being now correct in their surmises--supply
him with bread. In fact, after this initial movement, he is certain
of a full stomach as long as he remains at that particular house.
Many a poor fellow would have gone supperless to bed, and begun
another weary day's march without breakfast, were it not for some
thoughtful and unselfish beggar woman in a lodging-house kitchen.
Now, as I have said, five women under the influence of drink are less
likely to go quietly to bed than twenty or thirty men in the same
condition, and that is the landlord's one just objection to female
lodgers. With regard to his other objections they are of little
account; for, though these women are in the kitchen almost the whole
day, continually using the cooking utensils and the fire, do they not
wash the former and keep the latter's hearth clean? If he had all
male lodgers he would have to keep a man or woman to do these things,
or either he or his wife be kept busy; for no lodger, whether it be
man, woman, or child, can be expected to do these things themselves,
after paying for accommodation. The truth of the matter is that
these landlords are like a good many others--they want both rent and
possession; and it is the limited number of these places--especially
for families--that makes these men so independent.