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IT NEVER CAN HAPPEN AGAIN
* * * * * *
BY WILLIAM DE MORGAN
JOSEPH VANCE
An intensely human and humorous novel of life near London in the '50s.
$1.75.
"If the reader likes both 'David Copperfield' and 'Peter Ibbetson' he
can find the two books in this one."--_The Independent._
"The first great English novel that has appeared in the 20th
Century."--_New York Times Review._
ALICE-FOR-SHORT
The story of a London waif, a friendly artist, his friends and family.
$1.75.
"If any writer of the present era is read half a century hence,
a quarter century, or even a decade, that writer is William De
Morgan."--_Boston Transcript._
"It is the Victorian age itself that speaks in these rich,
interesting, overcrowded books.... Will be remembered as Dickens's
novels are remembered."--_Springfield Republican._
SOMEHOW GOOD
A lovable, humorous romance of modern England. $1.75.
"A higher quality of enjoyment than is derivable from the work of any
other novelist now living and active in either England or America.
Absolutely masterly."--_Dial._
"A book as sound, as sweet, as wholesome, as wise, as any in the
range of fiction."--_Nation._
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
* * * * * *
IT NEVER CAN HAPPEN AGAIN
by
WILLIAM DE MORGAN
Author of "Joseph Vance," "Alice-for-Short"
and "Somehow Good"
[Illustration]
New York
Henry Holt and Company
1909
Copyright, 1909.
By
Henry Holt and Company
Published November, 1909
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
OF LIZARANN COUPLAND, HER FATHER AND HER FAMILY. OF HIS
PREVIOUS STORY, AND LIZARANN'S BIRTH 1
CHAPTER II
OF JIM'S MATCH-SELLING, AND HOW HE CAME TO TAKE TO IT. HOW
HE WALKED HOME WITH LIZARANN 11
CHAPTER III
OF ROYD HALL, AND ITS LITERARY GUEST WHO HAD AN IMPOSSIBLE
WIFE 24
CHAPTER IV
OF MISS ARKROYD AND HER AVIARY. HOW MR. CHALLIS WALKED IN
THE GARDEN WITH HER. OF MR. TRIPTOLEMUS WRAXALL. AND
OF HOW MR. CHALLIS WROTE TO HIS WIFE 37
CHAPTER V
OF A RAINY DAY AT ROYD. HOW A MOTOR-CAR CAME TO GRIEF. HOW
MISS ARKROYD'S MOTHER WENT TO THANES CASTLE AND SHE HERSELF
DIDN'T 46
CHAPTER VI
OF THE GRAUBOSCHIAN PHILOSOPHY. HOW JUDITH ARKROYD WALKED
WITH MR. CHALLIS TO THE RECTORY. HOW HE SAID NOTHING
ABOUT HIS WIFE BEING HIS DECEASED WIFE'S SISTER. HOW HE
WAS OUT OF HIS ELEMENT AT THE RECTORY. SALADIN AND HIS
CAT. HIS HEDGEHOG 57
CHAPTER VII
OF OTHER GUESTS AND THEIR TALK. OF A SOFA-HAVEN AND HOW MISS
ARKROYD PERCEIVED THAT MR. CHALLIS COULD WRITE A TRAGEDY.
BEAUTY A MATTER OF OPINION 76
CHAPTER VIII
OF HOW NO ACCIDENT HAD REALLY HAPPENED TO THE MOTOR-CAR.
OF A COMBAT BETWEEN TWO SISTERS, CHIEFLY ABOUT THOSE
OF PEOPLE'S DECEASED WIVES. OF FLIRTATIONS WITH MARRIED
MEN. HOW CHALLIS WROTE A LONG AMUSING LETTER TO
MARIANNE 89
CHAPTER IX
HOW MARIANNE SHOWED THAT LETTER TO AN INTIMATE FRIEND,
MRS. ELDRIDGE. WHERE WAS THAT SOFA? OF COUNTRY AND
TOWN HOUSES. JEALOUSY 101
CHAPTER X
CHALLIS'S _adieu_ TO MISS ARKROYD. A LONG RIDE HOME, AND A
COLD WELCOME. BUT IT WAS JOLLY TO BE BACK, AT ANY RATE.
MISS ARKROYD'S MESSAGE DELIVERED 120
CHAPTER XI
VATTED RUM CORNER, AND CHESTNUTS. A YOUNG TURK. HOW
LIZARANN TOLD MOTHER GROVES OF THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.
OF AN AMBULANCE, AND WHAT WAS IN IT. HOW LIZARANN
WENT HOME WITHOUT DADDY 135
CHAPTER XII
HOW UNCLE BOB HAD THE HORRORS. HOW LIZARANN ATE COLD
CHESTNUTS IN BED. DELIRIUM TREMENS. HOW JIM COULD
SEE AT NIGHT, AND WAS UNDER THE BED. POLICE! 148
CHAPTER XIII
HOW THE RECTOR OF ROYD TOOK A WRONG TURNING, AND PICKED
UP LIZARANN IN THE SNOW. MR. STEPTOE'S KNIFE, AND HOW
LIZARANN MADE HIM LEAVE HOLD OF IT. HOW AUNT STINGY
WAS HANDY IN CASE OF ANYTHING, AND UNCLE BOB WENT TO
SLEEP ON A SECOND-HAND SOFA 163
CHAPTER XIV
OF THE END OF THE BLIZZARD, AND OF SIMON MAGUS. HOW MR.
TAYLOR FOUND A DOCTOR. OF A CHASE THROUGH THE SNOW, AND
A CANAL LOCK. WHAT WAS FOUND IN IT. BUT SIMON WAS
INVISIBLE 175
CHAPTER XV
HOW LIZARANN WAS TAKEN TO MISS FOSSETT'S, BUT HAD A STITCH
IN HER SIDE, AND WASN'T TO GO TO DADDY TO-DAY. HOW THE
RECTOR WENT TO JIM IN THE HOSPITAL, AND JIM WAS DISAPPOINTED
ABOUT HIM 187
CHAPTER XVI
BREAKFAST IN GROSVENOR SQUARE. STRAINED RELATIONS OF TWO
SISTERS. A BATTLE INTERRUPTED. SAMARIA A GOOD-NATURED
PLACE. WHO WAS TO PAY? 202
CHAPTER XVII
LADY ARKROYD'S VISIT TO JIM. GOODY TALK. JIM AND HIS MAKER.
HOW MR. TAYLOR VISITED ANOTHER CASE. A DEATH-BED CONFESSION 213
CHAPTER XVIII
THAT NASTY LITTLE STETHOSCOPE! A RETROSPECT ABOUT THE
RECTOR AND MISS FOSSETT. A TRANSACTION IN KISSES. AUNT
STINGY'S WEEDS, AND WHAT A GOOD COOK SHE WAS 225
CHAPTER XIX
HOW AUNT STINGY BECAME MARIANNE'S COOK. A MOST OFFENSIVE
BIBLE CLASS. MR. CHALLIS'S JUDITH. ESTRILD AND THE
OSTROGOTHS. THE ACROPOLIS CLUB 236
CHAPTER XX
MRS. ELDRIDGE IN FULL BLOW. THE IMPROPER STUDY OF MANKIND.
NOTHING REALLY WRONG! AN IDENTIFICATION WITH A VENGEANCE.
HOW CHALLIS CAME HOME LATE 248
CHAPTER XXI
HOW JIM RETURNED HOME, ALL BUT ONE LEG, AND LIZARANN CALLED
ON HIM. HAD THE DEVIL GOT UNCLE BOB? HOW BRIDGETTICKS
HAD HEARD OF A SCHEME FOR LIZARANN'S BENEFIT 263
CHAPTER XXII
THE EXACT STORY OF CHALLIS'S FIRST WIFE'S FIRST MARRIAGE.
HOW HE AND MARIANNE MISSED THEIR EXPLANATION. CHARLOTTE
THE DETECTIVE. CHALLIS'S SECOND COURTSHIP, IN A NUTSHELL 276
CHAPTER XXIII
HOW CHALLIS CALLED ON MISS ARKROYD IN GROSVENOR SQUARE.
A SPRAINED ANKLE. ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE. KING
SOLOMON AND HIS DJINN BOTTLE 284
CHAPTER XXIV
HOW MARIANNE WENT TO TULSE HILL. OF BOB'S PHONOGRAPH,
AND HOW HE POSTED A LETTER TO JUDITH. OF MARIANNE'S
RETURN, AND MORE MISUNDERSTANDINGS. BUT IT WOULD BE
ALL RIGHT IN THE MORNING 297
CHAPTER XXV
OF AN UNCALLED FAMILY ROW, AND HOW BOB'S BREAKFAST WAS
POSTPONED. OF A LETTER FROM JUDITH THAT MADE MATTERS WORSE 315
CHAPTER XXVI
AT ROYD AGAIN. THE BREAD OF IDLENESS. A GOOD PLAIN COOK.
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PRIEST AND A PROFANE AUTHOR. THE
RECTORY AND ITS GUEST, LIZARANN. HOW THE CARRIAGE DIDN'T
STOP 323
CHAPTER XXVII
HOW JUDITH'S STAGE MANIA HAD COOLED. TROUT BEND, AND A
TICKLISH INTERVIEW. HALF-A-MILE OFF TEA. A DISCUSSION
ON RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 337
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE BRITISH HOUSEKEEPER. HOW MRS. ELDRIDGE CAME INSTEAD
OF TO-MORROW. HER ADVICE. TELEGRAPH GIRLS. A FRENCH
WOMAN'S IDEAS. HOW THE CAT GOT NO SLEEP. HOW MARIANNE
POSTED A CIVIL SORT OF LETTER IN THE PILLAR-BOX, AND
WAS SORRY 353
CHAPTER XXIX
HOW CHALLIS MET LIZARANN IN SOCIETY. OF A LECTURE THE
RECTOR READ CHALLIS, AND ITS EFFECT ON HIS IMAGE OF
MARIANNE. HOW HE HADN'T BEEN TO ASHCROFT. IT WAS AN
UNSATISFACTORY LETTER THAT! 368
CHAPTER XXX
HOW CHALLIS HAD A NEW NEIGHBOUR AT DINNER AND METAPHYSICS
AFTER. HOW HE WAS GUILTY OF EAVESDROPPING, AND MET
MISS ARKROYD AFTER IN A LITTLE GARDEN CALLED TOPHET.
A FOOL'S PASSION. WHAT ABOUT BOB? 382
CHAPTER XXXI
CONCERNING A ROSEBUD, AND MARIANNE'S TORTOISESHELL KNIFE.
CHALLIS'S PRESENCE OF MIND. THE FOOL ON FIRE. DEFINITION
WANTED OF DEFINITION. CHALLIS'S SUDDEN CALL BACK
TO TOWN. HOW SIBYL HAD SEEN IT ALL 394
CHAPTER XXXII
HOW LIZARANN AND JOAN PLAYED TRUANT. OF A RIDE IN A
MOTOR, AND ITS BAD EFFECTS. HOW LIZARANN CONVALESCED,
AND JUDITH WALKED HOME FROM CHURCH WITH THE RECTOR.
HOW MARIANNE HAD BOLTED WITH THE TWO CHILDREN 412
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHALLIS'S INSIPID RETURN HOME. WHAT HAD IT ALL BEEN, THIS
DREAM? OLD LINKS WITH BYGONES. HOW CONFESS, AND
TO WHAT? OF A FIRE GOD GAVE FOR OTHER ENDS 425
CHAPTER XXXIV
A BAD RAILWAY ACCIDENT. AND, AFTER ALL, MARIANNE WAS AT
HOME. CHALLIS'S REPORT OF ROYD. BUT, NO!--MARIANNE
WOULDN'T HAVE JUDITH SLURRED OVER 434
CHAPTER XXXV
OF MUTUAL MISTRUST. HANDSOME JUDITH! BUT MARIANNE HAD
NO WISH TO PRY INTO HER AFFAIRS. HOW MATTERS WERE
COMFORTABLER. PLEASE BURN THAT POSTSCRIPT! CHALLIS'S
EXPLANATION. HOW IT FAILED, AND HE WENT FOR A WALK 444
CHAPTER XXXVI
HOW CHALLIS AND HIS WIFE PARTED. A DINNER AT THE CLUB,
AND HIS RETURN FROM IT. WHAT HAS BECOME OF YOUR MISTRESS?
A LETTER FROM MARIANNE CRAIK. DAMN CHARLOTTE
ELDRIDGE! 456
CHAPTER XXXVII
HOW CHALLIS COULDN'T BELIEVE MARIANNE WAS IN EARNEST.
HOW HE SOUGHT HER AND FAILED. THE EYES OF HOLY WRIT.
THE DISGRACEFUL TRUTH. DEAR MISS ARKROYD! WHY FIGHT
AGAINST INFLICTED LIBERTY? GLENVAIRLOCH TO LET 465
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE EMPTY HERMITAGE. A COMPROMISE ABOUT BOB. HOW MRS.
STEPTOE HAD NOTHING TO CONCEAL. HOW CINTILLA CAUGHT
MR. CHALLIS. CALYPSO'S RUG ISLAND. GOOD-BYE! PROMISE
NOT TO COME TO BIARRITZ! THE SKEIN WOUND 481
CHAPTER XXXIX
OF THE NEWS MR. ELPHINSTONE TOLD MRS. PROTHEROE. HOW
CHALLIS HAD FOLLOWED JUDITH TO MENTONE. YOUNG MRS.
CRAIK AND HER DEAD DICKY-BIRD. HOW CHALLIS BECAME
A KNIGHT 497
CHAPTER XL
HOW MISS FOSSETT WENT TO ROYD. ON SUSPENSION OF OPINION.
ANXIETY ABOUT LIZARANN. A VISIT TO JIM, AND A RETROSPECT.
HOW MISS FOSSETT MADE A NICE MESS OF IT 513
CHAPTER XLI
HOW JIM FOUND A MISSION IN LIFE, AND LIZARANN MOVED TO
MRS. FORKS'S COTTAGE. OF A FINE AUTUMN, AND HOW ALL
WAS RIGHT TILL SOMETHING WENT WRONG. OF A SEASIDE
SCHEME, AND ITS EFFECTS ON JIM 523
CHAPTER XLII
HOW A NAUGHTY LITTLE GIRL CAME OUT IN THE COLD AND TALKED
TO HER DADDY. AND HOW WINTER MADE HER WORSE. OF A
TALK BETWEEN THE RECTOR AND MISS FOSSETT, AND A SUGGESTION
SHE MADE TO HIM 534
CHAPTER XLIII
CHALLIS'S VISIT TO THE RECTORY. A VISIT TO JIM AT THE WELL.
HOW LIZARANN WAS AT THE SEASIDE. ST. AUGUSTIN'S SUMMER. HOW
THEY MET SALADIN. HOW CHALLIS TOLD ALL 543
CHAPTER XLIV
THE RECTOR'S OPINION, AND WHY IT CARRIED NO WEIGHT. OF THE
EFFICACY OF PRAYER, AND WHY CHALLIS DOUBTED IT. YET THE
RECTOR TOLERATED HIS IMPIETY 552
CHAPTER XLV
HOW CHALLIS AND JUDITH MET AGAIN AT TROUT BEND, AND TALKED
IT OVER. HOW SHE CRIED OFF, FEELING SECURE. AND OF THE
ARRANGEMENT THEY MADE. OF A CENTENARIAN WHO GOT HALF-A-SOVEREIGN 563
CHAPTER XLVI
HOW LIZARANN SAW THE SEA, AND A CHINESE LADY WROTE A BAD
ACCOUNT OF HER TO HER FRIENDS. HOW IT NEVER REACHED
JIM, AND MISS FOSSETT WAS WIRED FOR. HOW THE RECTOR
HAD TO GO TO CHIPPING CHESTER 574
CHAPTER XLVII
OF THE APPROACH OF LIZARANN'S RETURN, AND HOW JIM'S HOPES
WERE FED BY OLD DAVID. HOW JIM DID NOT CURSE A MOTOR-CAR.
HOW LIZARANN DIED OF TUBERCULOSIS 585
CHAPTER XLVIII
HOW JIM ADDED STORIES TO HIS AIR-CASTLE, AND SMOKED HIS LAST
PIPE. HOW HE KNEW CHALLIS'S VOICE AGAIN. WHO HAD TO
BE AT THE PARK GATE BY NINE. HOW JIM HEARD THE MOTOR
COMING BACK, AND LIZARANN'S VOICE. HOW ATHELSTAN TAYLOR
ARRIVED WITHOUT HER. OF JIM'S DEATH, AND HERS 599
CHAPTER XLIX
JUDITH'S VAGARIES. HOW SHE BROUGHT SIR ALFRED CHALLIS,
INSENSIBLE, TO ROYD HALL IN A MOTOR. A MESSAGE PER
MR. BROWNRIGG TO THE RECTOR. HOW TO PROBE THE MYSTERY.
JUDITH'S RESERVE. PUBLIC IMPATIENCE. THE CHAUFFEUR'S
TESTIMONY 614
CHAPTER L
OF MARIANNE AT BROADSTAIRS, AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF A
"DREADNOUGHT." AND HOW SHE READ OF HER HUSBAND'S
ACCIDENT ON ITS ARMOUR-PLATES, AND AT ONCE STARTED
FOR ROYD. BUT SUPPOSE THEY CALLED HER "LADY CHALLIS"! 628
CHAPTER LI
HOW CHALLIS CAME TO, AND SPOKE. BUT HE ASKED FOR MARIANNE,
AND DIDN'T KNOW JUDITH FROM ADAM. HOW THE LATTER
PROMISED TO TELL HER FATHER. THE WORLD'S GUESSES,
MEANWHILE. HOW THE DUCHESS SAID WHAT THE POINT WAS,
AND CHALLIS RELAPSED 643
CHAPTER LII
OF JUDITH'S STATE OF MIND, AND HOW SHE TOLD HER FATHER.
BUT DID NOT IMPRESS HIM AS HE WOULD HAVE WISHED. WHO
KNOWS WHAT JUDITH WAS? OF A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR TO THE
HALL. HOW NO ONE RECOGNIZED MARIANNE. IS MY HUSBAND
DYING? A SCENE ON THE BIG STAIRCASE, AND HOW TWO TOFFS
WERE FAR FROM ODIOUS. HOW THE NURSE RECOGNIZED ATHELSTAN
TAYLOR. HOW JUDITH SAID GOOD-BYE TO CHALLIS. HOW
IT CAME OUT WHO MR. KEITH HORNE'S FRIEND WAS 652
CHAPTER LIII
A POSTSCRIPT. MR. AND MRS. ATHELSTAN TAYLOR. MR. AND
MRS. BROWNRIGG. ODDS AND ENDS OF SEQUELS. THE DREAM
VANISHES, READABLE BITS AND ALL! 674
THE AUTHOR TO HIS READERS ONLY 688
IT NEVER CAN HAPPEN AGAIN
CHAPTER I
OF LIZARANN COUPLAND, HER FATHER AND HER FAMILY. OF HIS PREVIOUS
STORY, AND LIZARANN'S BIRTH
Lizarann Coupland did not know what her father's employment was; but
she knew that, every morning, she saw him to the corner of Bladen
Street, put his left hand on the palin's of number three, and left him
to shift for himself. She was on honour not to watch him down Bladen
Street, and she had a keen sense of honour. She also knew by experience
that when her aunt, Mrs. Steptoe, said she would learn her a lesson she
wouldn't easy forget, Mrs. Steptoe was not referring to teacher-book
instruction like at school. And this lesson, Lizarann understood, would
be imparted by her aunt with some blunt instrument, perhaps a slipper,
in case she failed to observe her promise. She was not to go spyin' and
starin' after Father no farther than where it was wrote up "Old Vatted
Rum, fivepence-halfpenny" at the Green Man and Still. It was a compact,
and Lizarann observed it--always running away as fast as possible to
get out of reach of temptation as soon as ever her father's fingers
closed on the knob of a particular low paling. It was a paling good to
turn upside down over, which affirmed the territorial rights of the
Green Man over a certain six-foot foreshore of pavement liable else to
be claimed by the Crown, or the Authority.
Lizarann's father, James Coupland, was stone-blind, and the reason she
was sent with him every morning was because he had to cross Cazenove
Street, and Dartley Street, and Trott Street, before you come to
pavement all the way, and it wasn't safe. As soon as you got to the
Green Man, why there you were! Only like touchin' the wall, and your
stick on the right, and on you kep' direck. But as to what Lizarann's
father did, at some place on this side of the next bad crossing,
his six-year-old daughter never could guess. All she knew was that
she was useful, and assisted towards some public object, not easily
understood by a little girl, when she piloted her father to and from
his starting-point of continuous pavement, as a ship through shoals and
cross-currents, to the mouth of a canal. But the metaphor of Lizarann's
flight when she left the ship to its captain is not an easy one. If
only metaphors would not be so lobsided!
That her father was a supplicant for public charity was a surmise that
never crossed Lizarann's mind. An idea can be got of how she thought
of him by any young lady who knows, for instance, that her father is
in the Custom-House, but who has never seen the Custom-House, and has
no idea what he does there; or even by one who, having for parent a
sexton, and being kept in ignorance of his functions, conceives of him
as the Archbishop of Canterbury; or more easily--to take yet another
parallel--by one situated like Lizarann's little friend Bridgetticks,
down a turnin' out of Trott Street, whose grandfather was in an
almshouse; but who was inflated past all bearing by his livery or
uniform when the old chap was out for his holiday, and Bridget was
allowed to walk with him all along Trott Street and round the Park.
There was no abidin' of her, struttin' about!
"My grandfather's richer than your father," said Bridgetticks, after
one such occasion, "and he's got his heyesight, too."
"Fathers are better than grandfathers," said Lizarann. "Fathers goes
down Bladen Street holdin' on to nuffin', and ain't they rich, neither?
My father he fetches home nine shillings in coarpers. Aunt Stingy,
she let Uncle Steptoe get at it, and he laid some of it out in gin."
The name of this aunt, as Lizarann pronounced it, seemed to ascribe a
waspish character to its owner rather than a parsimonious one.
"You lyin' little thing, how you ever can!" exclaimed Bridgetticks.
This was because the daring sum of nine shillings took her aback.
But on consideration another line of tactics seemed more effective.
"Nine shillin's ain't nothin'," she said. "My grandfather, he's got an
allowance regular, _he_ has."
Lizarann paused before replying. She was confronted with an unforeseen
thing, foreign to human experience. What _was_ an allowance? On the
whole, it would be better to keep clear of it. She changed the _venue_
of the discussion. "He's dressed up, he is," she said. But she spoke
with diffidence, too, and her friend felt conciliated.
"Dressed up's a falsehood," she said, but without asperity. "If
you'd 'a said cloze like the Lord Mayor's Show, now! But little
infant-school pippings like you don't know nothink." Lizarann felt put
upon her mettle.
"My father," she said, "he's got a board with wrote upon. Hangs it
round his neck, he does. Like on Harthurses carts and the milk."
"You never see it on his neck, not yet you can't read. You can't read
the words on Arthurses cart." But Lizarann could read one--the middle
one--and did it, a syllable at a time: "Prov-i-ded." It was correct,
and a triumph for the decipherer. But she was doomed to humiliation.
Bridgetticks was a great reader, like Buckle, and could read what was
wrote on milk-carts all through.
"Any little biby could read _that_! You can't read 'fammy-lies,' nor
yet 'dyly.' It's no use your tryin'." But Lizarann felt unhappy, and
yearned for Culture, and tried very hard to read "families" and "daily"
on each side of "provided," while Bridgetticks gave attention to a
doll's camp on the doorstep. But "families" is very hard to read--you
know it is!--and Lizarann quite forgot to put back a beautiful piece of
stick-liquorice in her mouth during her efforts to master it.
Anybody would have thought, to look along Tallack Street, where this
colloquy took place, that the announcement on Arthurses cart "Families
provided daily" was followed out literally by Arthurs, and that that
Trust or Syndicate was driving a brisk trade in the families it
provided daily. To-day was a holiday at the Board school, and the whole
street teemed with prams. And in every pram was one biby, or more,
assimilating Arthurses milk. But they themselves had not been provided
by Arthurs; merely the milk.
The prams were nearly the only vehicles in Tallack Street, which ran
straight acrost from the railway-arch to the 'Igh Road, parallel-like,
as you might say, to Trott Street. Even Arthurses cart wasn't a real
cart, only drove by hand. A nearer approach to an ideal was the coal,
which came behind a horse, and sold itself for a shillin' a hundred,
more or less, accordin' as the season. The scales, they'd weigh down
to twenty-eight pound, if you didn't want to have capital lying idle;
but then it was a sight easier to be cheated at that, and you could
always bring two coal-scuttles, and if one of 'em _was_ wore through,
why, a stout bit of brown paper, coverin' in the hole, and there you
were! Because the dropping of fragments of coal on the pavement was not
only wasteful, but giv' them boys something to aim with. Ammunition was
scarce, owing to the way the road was kep'; similar, them boys took
every opportunity.
There were two other vehicles that were known to Tallack Street.
One came every day with a drum, and sold vegetables. The proprietor
had made himself hoarse, many years since, with shouting about the
freshness of his stock between the outbreaks on the drum, and, as life
advanced and his lung-power declined, the drum-performances encroached
on the oratory. This suited a large majority of the inhabitants,
conveying a sense of Life--was, in fact, thought almost equal to the
Play--by those who had been to it--and was so appreciated by Lizarann
and Bridgetticks that they would petition to be allowed to stand in
contact with the drum to feel the noise inside of 'em like.
The other vehicle was, however, the climax of the Joy of Living in
Tallack Street, only it demanded a 'apenny a time, and you had to
save up. But if you could afford it, it was rapture. How describe it?
Well, it was drawed by a donkey, and went round and round and round.
You yourself, and your friends, sat on truncated chairs at the end of
radial spokes rotating horizontally on a hub, which played melancholy
tunes, and you could tell what they were by looking, because there
was the ticket of it, every time a new tune come. But the execution
supplied no clue, or very little, to its identity.
Tallack Street, as you will have inferred, was a cul-de-sac, and
therefore very popular as a playground with the children of the
neighbourhood. It ended in a dead wall, formerly enclosing an extinct
factory, which had survived the coming of the railway, by which it
had been acquired, and for some reason spared; about which factory,
or, rather, its remains, an understanding had been current for about
a generation that it could be took on lease from the Company and
adapted as workshops. The board was almost illegible, except one word
"inquire," of no value apart from its sequel, which anyone who could
read would have told you at once was a name and address; but as to what
name and what address, it would have taken a scollard to tell that.
* * * * *
There came occasionally to Tallack Street a lady, who appeared to
Lizarann to make her way into her Aunt Steptoe's home on insufficient
pretexts. She certainly was not the sort of lady to get her shoes
mended by a working cobbler in a suburban slum, and Lizarann made no
pretence of understanding her. She saw very little of any of her aunt's
visitors, because she was always sent, or bundled, out the moment they
appeared, and only allowed in the house again after their departure.
She was interested and pleased, therefore, when this lady, who was
dressed quite beautiful, developed as a friend of Teacher, the familiar
spirit of the Dale Road Schools, where this little girl was learning
to sew quite beautiful. She was still more interested when she became
aware that the conversation between these two ladies related to her own
family. Teacher and the lady talked out quite loud close to her--as if
she didn't matter, bless you!
"All the streets are not as bad as Tallack Street," said the lady. "And
all the houses in Tallack Street are not so bad as that house at the
end. People named Townroe, I think--awful people!"
"Do you mean Steptoe?"
"Oh yes--Steptoe. I've tried to talk to the woman, and it's perfectly
useless. You can't do anything when the man's in the way. And as for
him--well, you know, Adeline, when these people don't attend either
church or chapel, it's simply hopeless. There's nothing to begin upon."
"The man drinks. Of course!"
"Of course! He seemed sober, though, the only time I saw him, but very
sulky. Oh dear!--he _was_ trying."
"What did he say?"
"He wouldn't say anything--wouldn't answer! And he said to his wife:
'You say a _something_ word'--you understand, Adeline?--'you say a
something word, and see if I don't smack your eye. You try it!' My
daughter talked for an hour, and then he said: 'If you think you'll
sedooce me into committing of myself, you'll find you're mistook. So
I should think better of it, if I was you. Yours werry truly, Robert
Steptoe.' Just as if he was writing a letter." Both ladies laughed,
and Lizarann pricked her finger badly, and it redded all over the
'emstitch. But she couldn't understand the laugh. She was not fond of
her aunt's husband; you can't love pock-marks unless they have some
counterpoise in beauty of disposition. But she had a certain spirit of
partisanship about her belongings, too!
"I suppose the children go to some school--Board School or something,"
said Teacher.
"They haven't children, thank Heaven! these people," said the outside
lady. "But there's a little girl--somehow--with a father. They said she
came here--at least, I suppose the 'school-house up the road' meant
here."
"Then she must be here now. What was her name? Did you make out?"
"Eliza Ann something--Doubleday, I think, as near as I can recollect.
No, it wasn't Doubleday. What could it have been?..." And this lady
tapped one hand with the other, to keep on showing how hard she was
thinking.
"Was it Eliza Ann Coupland? Come here, Lizarann, and tell the lady if
it was you."
Lizarann approached by instalments, in awe. She had received false
impressions from the conversation--one that her uncle could write a
letter, and this lady knew it. A second that her aunt's children--if
any--would have been all over little sand-pits that would catch and
hold the grime awful, like their father, and that therefore we ought to
be thankful. A third that she was a "little girl somehow," and she had
never been told that she was one somehow, only that she was a little
girl.
"Are you the little girl?" said the lady.
"I don't know, miss," said Lizarann. She thought the lady seemed
impatient. And whom did she mean by "they" when she said, "Oh
dear!--how trying they are!"?
"Ought I to tell her to say 'My lady,' or not?" said Teacher.
"Oh, bother!" said the lady. "What does your father do, my dear? You're
a nice little thing, only your mouth's too big."
Timid murmurs came from the catechumen. "What's that you say? Father
goes out to work? What does father go out to work at?"
"That's impossible!" said Teacher. "Her father's blind, and she leads
him about."
"I hope you're not telling stories, child, like the rest, because I
like you all except your mouth. Come close here, so that I can hear
you, and tell me what your father does. Only don't splutter or gabble!"
Whereupon Lizarann gave her version of her father's professional
employment. She knew she was to say, if pressed on the point, that
her father was "an asker," and she said it, standing first on one
leg and then on the other uneasily. She had a mixture of misgiving
and confidence that the statement would be sufficient; just as you
or I might have felt in stating, for instance, that our father was
an apparitor, or a stevedore, or a turnover-at-press. But she had
absolutely no idea of the meaning of her phrases.
"What on earth does the child mean? Say it again, small person!" Thus
the lady.
"A asker!" The child had the name perfectly clear, and added
"Yass!"--to drive it home--with eyes of assurance standing wide open.
Both ladies made her repeat it, and asked her what she meant by it;
but she evidently did not know. They pondered and speculated, till on
a sudden a light broke. "Is it possible she means a _beggar_?" said
Miss Fossett. Then the two of them spoke in an undertone, and Lizarann
felt that her family affairs were being discussed over her head, but by
creatures too great for her to take exception to, or even to interpret.
Presently the lady addressed her again:
"What does he ask for, little stuffy? Yes, you may come as close as
that. What does he ask for, child?"
Thereat Lizarann, in support of her family credit, said: "He took all
of nine shillings in coarpers once on a time." She couldn't compete
with the lady in birth and position, but she had a proper pride in her
race, for all that.
The lady and Miss Fossett looked at one another, and the latter said:
"It's quite possible. They do sometimes." And Lizarann felt flattered
and that she had done her duty. And that when she told her father,
he would certainly give her a peppermint-drop. She had a sense of an
improved position as she went back to her sewing. But the two ladies
went on talking about her under their breath, and she fancied they were
resuming some incidents of the previous Saturday at Tallack Street.
Teacher seemed to have heard something of them, and she now connected
them with her pupil. As the lady ripened towards departure she became
more audible.
"It only shows the truth of what I'm always saying to Sir Murgatroyd.
How can you _expect_ them to be any better when they have such wretched
homes? Give them air and light and sanitation and things, and then talk
goody to them if you like.... Oh dear!--I must rush. I've promised to
go with Sibyl and those Inglis girls to Hurlingham this afternoon."
Then the lady had a recrudescence of her perception that Lizarann was
funny, for she turned round, going away, to say to Miss Fossett: "Oh
dear, how funny they are! Fancy an Asker!" and, as it were, fell a
little into Miss Fossett's bosom to find sympathy, afterwards kissing
her, and saying, "But how good you are!" rather gushily, and making
off. She did say, however, to Lizarann: "Good-bye, little person!
Consider I've kissed you. I would, only it's such a sticky day."
Much of this conversation would have been quite unintelligible to the
child, even if she had heard the whole of it. Her mind was not prepared
to receive it, as, not having had much time to reflect since her birth,
she had not noticed that her domestic life had anything exceptional
about it. Extension of her social circle had not, so far, convinced her
that there was anything unusual in their rows and quarrels; in fact,
she was gently creeping on to a belief that Steptoes--their inclusive
name--was the rule, and the balance of the Universe the exception. But
her unconsciousness of the actual was liable to inroads from without,
and that day at school roused the curiosity of an inquiring mind.
Lizarann asked herself for the first time whether the conditions of
her home-life were really normal, and nothing better was to be looked
forward to in the future. No doubt Tallack Street would have sided with
the lady in the views she expressed of any one house in it, though each
house would have laid claim to an exceptional character for itself.
But in the case of Steptoe's its unanimity would have been impressive;
for Lizarann's Uncle Steptoe he'd be in liquor as often as not, and
frequently aim a stool or suchlike at his wife's head--besides language
you could hear the length of the street.
It does not follow that he had no provocation. Mrs. Steptoe was a
fine study of the effect of exasperating circumstances on a somewhat
uncertain temper, and Lizarann conceived of the result as a typical
aunt. She had married, some twelve years since, from motives difficult
of analysis, a cobbler who drank, towards whom she had always professed
indifference. She seemed to have based a low opinion of all mankind on
an assumption that they were none on 'em much better than her husband,
and most of 'em were a tidy sight worse. If so, the tidiness of the
sight might have disappointed orderly, old-fashioned folk. Not that Bob
Steptoe was a bad sort when he was sober. Only that was so seldom.
Now, on the Saturday evening in question, this uncle by marriage of
Lizarann, having previously taken too much beer, took too much whisky,
and became quarrelsome. "A man ain't always answerable, look at it
how you may!" said Tallack Street. Let us hope Mr. Steptoe was not,
as on this occasion he loosened three of his wife's front teeth and
indented the bridge of her nose. His blind brother-in-law, returning
at this moment, personally conducted by his small daughter, was unable
to see, but guessed that Steptoe was under restraint by neighbours,
and from mixed sounds of pain and rage and inarticulate spluttering
that his wife had been the victim of his violence. Poor Jim, mad with
anger, besought the restraining party only to let him get hold of his
brother-in-law, and he would give him what would recall him to his
memory on future occasions. Feeling the desirableness of this, they
complied; and Mr. Steptoe, when, after a painful experience of the
superior strength of Jim, he got his head out of Chancery, felt ill,
and was conducted to bed by his wife. Of whom Lizarann afterwards
reported that when she heard Uncle Bob get louder, Aunt Stingy, she
said, "You do, and I'll call Jim back again," and then Uncle Bob he
shut up.
This little girl's father had been in the Merchant Service and had
lost his eyesight through an explosion of petroleum in the harbour
at Cape Town. Current belief held that it was his own fault, saying
that Jim Coupland hadn't any call to drop a lighted match into a
hole in an oil-cask that was standing in the January sun; still less
was it necessary that he should look after it through the hole, and
receive the full blast of the inevitable explosion in his face. He
admitted these facts, but maintained that a hundred oil-casks might
have exploded in his face, and no harm done, if he had not, a few days
before, seen the Flying Dutchman. This belief could not be shaken by
argument, not even by the fact that the other men on his watch, all of
whom had seen the Phantom Ship, had retained their eyesight intact.
Didn't old Sam Nuttall--and nobody could pretend he hadn't been forty
years in the Navy--say the very first thing of all, when he told him
he'd seen the Dutchman: "Look you here, my son," he said, "you've got
to look sharp and get yourself hanged or shot or drownded, if you
want to die with eyes in your head"? And warn't he right? Anyhow, the
coincidence of the accident a few days later had created a firm faith
in the mind of Jim Coupland, and very few had the heart to try to shake
it.
Whatever the cause, Jim Coupland came back eyeless from that voyage,
and found his wife lately delivered of a female infant that did well,
and became Lizarann. But her mother did ill, presumably, and the doctor
that attended her did certainly, if the verdict of Tallack Street was
warranted. She had no call to die, said Tallack Street. Perhaps its
many matrons did not allow enough for the hideous shock of poor eyeless
Jim's reappearance. She _did_ die, and poor Jim, the happy bridegroom
of a year ago, was left a widower at eight-and-twenty, hopelessly
blind, with a baby he could never see.
Oh the tragedies Life's records have to show, that remain unpublished,
and must do so!--all but a chance one or two, such as this one just
outlined.
Lizarann was named after the ship her father made his last voyage in,
or almost after it. The ship was the _Anne Eliza_, and the parson got
the name wrong. Jim said it wasn't any odds, that he could reckon; and
Mrs. Steptoe, his sister, said, on the contrary, it ran easier, took
that way. So Lizarann she became, and Lizarann she remained. And the
tale how father lost his eyesight through seeing the Flying Dutchman
was the ever-present Romance of her youth, and would constantly
creep into her conversation, even when the subject-matter thereof was
already interesting--as, for instance, when she was discussing with
Bridgetticks an expected, or perhaps we should say proposed, addition
to the family of Lizarann's doll, which had been fixed for the ensuing
Sunday. There could be no doubt--as there is usually in the case of
human parents--about the exact hour of arrival, as the Baby was ready
dressed for the event her intended mother was looking forward to, in
hypothetical retirement, on the house-doorstep. She and her friend were
comparing notes on previous events of a like nature.
"Oh, you story!" said Lizarann, but not offensively--it was only
current chat. "My father _says_ I understand. He says I understand
ship's victuals and port and starboard." Grasp of these involved
proficiency in other departments of thought, so the implication seemed
to run. But Bridget wouldn't have it so.
"Ya'ar little silly!" she said, standing on the parapidge, and hanging
to the riling, so as to project backwards into the little forecourt;
you couldn't, speakin' accurately, call it a garden, but it had the
feelin' about it, too. "Ya'ar little silly Simplicity Sairah in a
track! Ship's victuals ain't nothing to understand, nor yet port and
starboard! Wait till you can understand fly-wheels and substraction
engines! _They'll_ make you sit up and talk!" This little girl's father
was an engineer in charge of a steam-roller.
Bridget would have said the exact reverse if the two excursions
into the relative fields of knowledge had been exchanged between
them. Lizarann respected her friend too much to conceive of her as a
time-server, and her mind cast about to fortify her position on other
lines.
"My father he says I can understand the Flying Dutchman, and he seen
her. Yass! Afore ever he lost his heyesight!"
"He's lyin', then. Dutchmen ain't women. I seen a picter-Dutchman in
trowsers." Lizarann cogitated gravely on this before she answered. "A
ship's a her," she then said. "All ships is hers." She then added, but
not as a saddening fact, merely as a thing true and noticeable, "He
never seen me, father didn't."