BRUM
Brum was a man of an original turn of mind and his ideas were often at
variance with others. For instance, all tramps in America travel on
the railroad, whether they walk or take free rides. Therefore it seems
reasonable to infer that the people who live on the outskirts of a
town, being farthest from the track, would be more in sympathy with
tramps, for they would see and hear less of them. But Brum laughed at
this idea, and claimed that his own success was through being of a
different mind. "For," said he, "as all tramps are of that opinion,
therefore the outskirts are begged too much and the centre of the town
too little. For instance," he continued, "here is the railroad depot,
with its restaurant; now, not one tramp in a hundred would visit such
a place, for it is on their direct road, and they believe that it
receives far too many appeals. This opinion, being so common, must
prove it to be false. However, we will test it and see." Saying which
Brum boldly entered the restaurant, leaving me to wait outside. It was
a considerable time before he reappeared, and I began to think that
he was being supplied with a meal on the premises, but at last he
came, carrying in his hand a large paper parcel. "The place is as good
as gold," said he, "for here we have a day's provisions for two. Take
it down the track to that clump of woods," said he, "for the waiter
promised that did I bring a jug or can he would supply me with hot
coffee." I started at once towards the woods with this bag, the weight
of which proved the presence of either much meat or pudding; while
Brum made his way to a small house near the railroad to see if he
could borrow a can. It was not long after this when we were seated in
the shady green wood with the contents of this parcel before us, which
were found to consist of a number of chops, bread and butter, some
potatoes and cake. These, with a quart or more of good hot coffee,
made such a meal as a working man could only reasonably expect once a
week--the day being Sunday.
One of Brum's peculiarities was, on approaching a town, to look out
for a church steeple with a cross, which denoted a Catholic church,
and therefore a Catholic community. Making his way in the direction of
that cross he would begin operations in its surrounding streets,
"and," said he, "if I fail in that portion of the town, I shall
certainly not succeed elsewhere."
I shall never forget the happy summer months I spent with Brum at the
seaside. Some of the rich merchants there could not spare more than a
month or six weeks from business, but, thanks be to Providence, the
whole summer was at our disposal. If we grew tired of one town or, as
more often the case, the town grew tired of us, we would saunter
leisurely to the next one and again pitch our camp; so on, from place
to place, during the summer months. We moved freely among the
visitors, who apparently held us in great respect, for they did not
address us familiarly, but contented themselves with staring at a
distance. We lay across their runs on the sands and their paths in the
woods; we monopolised their nooks in the rocks and took possession of
caves, and not a murmur heard, except from the sea, which of a
certainty could not be laid to our account. No doubt detectives were
in these places, but they were on the look out for pickpockets,
burglars and swindlers; and, seeing that neither the visitors nor the
boarding house keepers made any complaint, these detectives did not
think it worth while to arrest tramps; for there was no promotion to
be had by doing so. "Ah," I said to Brum, as we sat in a shady place,
eating a large custard pudding from a boarding house, using for the
purpose two self-made spoons of wood--"Ah, we would not be so
pleasantly occupied as tramps in England. We would there receive
tickets for soup; soup that could be taken without spoons; no pleasant
picking of the teeth after eating; no sign of a pea, onion or carrot;
no sign of anything, except flies." Two-thirds of a large custard
pudding between two of us, and if there was one fault to be found with
it, it was its being made with too many eggs. Even Brum was surprised
at his success on this occasion. "Although," as he said, "she being a
fat lady, I expected something unusual." Brum had a great admiration
for a fat woman; not so much, I believe, as his particular type of
beauty, but for the good natured qualities he claimed corpulence
denoted. "How can you expect those skinny creatures to sympathise with
another when they half starve their own bodies?" he asked. He often
descanted on the excellencies of the fat, to the detriment of the
thin, and I never yet heard another beggar disagree with him.
After seeing Brum wash the dish, and wipe it with his
pocket-handkerchief, with a care that almost amounted to reverence,
and trusting in my own mind that the good lady would have the thought
and precaution to wash it again--I settled to a short nap, till Brum's
return. For there was no knowing how long he might be away; he might
take a notion to beg a shirt, a pair of trousers or shoes, or anything
else that came to his mind.
Now, when Brum left, he had on a dark shirt, but I was so accustomed
to seeing him change his appearance with a fresh coat, or a different
shaped hat, that I was not at all surprised on waking to see him
sitting before me in a clean white shirt with a starched front. I said
nothing about this change, and he was too good a beggar to give
unsolicited information, which would look too much like boasting of
his own exploits. That he had met another of his favourite fat ladies,
or perhaps the same one had added to her kindness--there was not the
least doubt.
Brum's first words rather startled me, for he continued the
conversation from the place I left off previous to my sleep. "When I
was in England," he began, "I did not experience such hardship as is
commonly supposed to exist. Beggars there, as here, choose the wrong
places, and not one in three knows which are the best." "Surely," I
said, "a good clean street of houses with respectable fronts, of
moderate size, and kept by the better class mechanics, are the best?"
"And so they would be," he answered, "if every beggar did not think
so. But let me tell you, for your benefit if ever stranded in England,
the best places for beggars to operate." How I learned the truth of
his wise teaching, in after days! Every fine looking street you chance
upon, pass it; but every little court or blind alley you come across,
take possession without delay, especially if its entrance is under an
arch, which hides the approach to the houses, making them invisible
from the street. Such little out of the way places are not only more
profitable than good streets, but are comparatively safe where the
police are unusually severe. Then again you should avoid every town
that has not either a mill, a factory, or a brewery; old fashioned
towns, quiet and without working people--except a few gardeners,
coachmen, domestic servants, etc: such places where you see a sign at
the free libraries warning tramps not to enter, and every plot of land
has its sign--"Beware of the Dog." In towns where working men are
numerous, and the idle rich are few, such signs are not to be seen.
"Of course," he continued, "your object in England must be money, for
you cannot expect to get meat, cake and custard pudding in a land
where even the rich live poorer, with regards to diet, than the
labouring classes of this country." I remembered these wise thoughts
of Brum, uttered on the shores of the Atlantic, and if I did not
profit much by them in my own experience in England, I certainly made
enough attempts to test their truth. I always kept a keen eye for
blind alleys, and quiet courts under arches, and I invariably came out
of one richer than I went in. And what nice quiet places they are for
drinking cups of tea on a doorstep, with only a neighbour or two to
see you, and perhaps thousands of people passing to and fro in the
street at the other side of the arch. There is no thoroughfare for
horses and carts; no short cut for business men, and the truth of the
matter is that a number of the inhabitants themselves, born and bred
in the town, know not of the existence of such places; and others,
knowing them, would be ashamed to confess their acquaintance with
them. But Brum knew where to find the kindest hearts in England, not
in the fine streets and new villas, but in the poor little
white-washed houses in courts and alleys.