SOME WAYS OF MAKING A LIVING
No doubt laces are the best stock to carry, for a gross of them can be
had for eighteen pence, sometimes less, which, sold at a penny a pair,
realises six shillings; and, counting the number of pennies that are
tendered free in pity for the man's circumstances, who must be cunning
enough to show only two or three pairs at a time--he has nothing to
complain of in the end. Although he sometimes meets a lady who
persists in regarding him as a trader and bargains for two pairs for
three halfpence, and ultimately carries them off in triumph--in spite
of his whine of not being able to make bed and board out of them--in
spite of these rare instances, he must confess that in the end he has
received eight or nine shillings for an outlay of eighteen pence, and,
what is more, an abundance of free food. Then, again, laces are light,
they are easy to carry and can be stored in one coat-pocket. Another
great advantage is that although a man may get wet through, or roll on
his laces in the grass, he does not spoil his living. In fact, if they
become crumpled and twisted and their tags rusty, he makes them his
testimony that he was wet through, being out all night, which story
rarely fails in coppers and he still retains his laces.
But with all these advantages of a light and profitable stock, there
are two men who scorn to carry even these and will not on any account
make any pretence at selling. These two men are the gridler and the
downrighter. The former sings hymns in the streets, and he makes his
living by the sound of his voice. Professional singers are paid
according to the richness, sweetness, and compass of their voices, but
the gridler's profit increases as his vocal powers decline. The more
shaky and harsh his voice becomes, the greater his reward. With a
tongue like a rasp he smoothes the roughness off hard hearts. With a
voice like an old hen he ushers in the golden egg. With a base mixture
of treble, contralto and bass, he produces good metal which falls from
top story windows, or is thrown from front doors, to drop at his feet
with the true ring. Then, if the voice be immaterial, where lies the
art of gridling? No more or less than in the selection of hymns, which
must be simple and pathetic and familiar to all. Let the gridler
supply the words sufficiently to be understood, and the simple air
with variations--a good gridler often misses parts of the air itself
for breathing spells and in stooping for coppers--let him supply the
words, I say, and his hearers will supply the feeling. For instance,
if a gridler has sung an old well known hymn fifty or sixty times a
day for ten or fifteen years, he cannot reasonably be expected to be
affected by the words. It would be extremely thoughtless to request of
such an one an encore without giving a promise of further reward. In
fact this man is really so weary of song that if there is any merry
making at the lodging house, he is the one man who will not sing, not
even under the influence of drink; and, what is more no man would
invite him for, being a gridler and earning his living by song, we
know well that his voice is spoilt, and that he cannot sing. The
gridler considers himself to be at the top of the begging profession,
for his stock never gets low, nor requires replenishing; and his voice
is only a little weak thing of no weight, the notes of which are born
into the world from his throat, and was never roused from sleep in the
depths of his chest. There is no strain or effort in giving these
notes to the world--despite the gridler's affectations--and he neither
grows pale nor red with the exertion.
But the downrighter not only scorns grinders, pedlars, etc., but he
even despises the gridler for being a hard worker. "I," says he, "do
not carry laces, needles, matches, or anything else; and I do not
advertise my presence to the police by singing in the streets. If
people are not in the front of the house, I seek them at the back,
where a gridler's voice may not reach them. I am not satisfied with
getting a penny for a farthing pair of laces--I get the whole penny
for nothing. People never mistake me for a trader, for I exhibit no
wares, and tell them straightforward that I am begging the price of my
supper and bed."
The fact of the matter is that all these men have different ways of
making a living, and each man thinks his own way the best and fears to
make new experiments, such an opinion being good for the trade of
begging. Sometimes, owing to the vigilance of the police, and their
strict laws, the gridler has to resort to downright begging, but his
heart is not in the business, and he is for that reason unsuccessful.
He longs to get in some quiet side street where he can chant slowly
his well known hymns. But everything is in favour of the more silent
downrighter; who allows nothing to escape him, neither stores, private
or public houses, nor pedestrians. All he is required to do is to keep
himself looking something like a working man, and he receives more
charity in the alehouse by a straightforward appeal as an unemployed
workman, than another who wastes his time in giving a song and a
dance. People often hurry past when they hear a man singing, or see
one approaching with matches or laces, but the downrighter claims
their attention before they suspect his business.
When I met Long John at Oxford, we had much talk of the merits of
different parts of a beggar's profession. He, it seemed, had carried
laces; he had also gridled sacred hymns in the streets, and sung
sporting songs in the alehouses; he had even exerted himself as a
dancer, "but," said he, "I must confess, after all, that as a
downrighter my profits are larger, at the expenditure of far less
energy."
In the course of conversation Long John informed me that he also was
travelling London way, and if I was agreeable we would start together
on the following morning. "And," said he, in a whisper, so that other
lodgers might not hear--"there is a house on our way that is good for
a shilling each. He is a very rich man and has been an officer in the
army. He pretends to be prejudiced against old soldiers, and when they
appeal to him, he first abuses them, after which he drills them and,
after abusing them again rewards each with a two shilling piece. Do
you know the drills'?" "No," I answered, "I have never been in the
army." "That is a great pity," said Long John, "for we lose a shilling
each. However, we will not say that we are old soldiers, for fear of
losing all, and be satisfied with the two shillings between us." So it
was agreed.
In less than two hours we were at the gentleman's lodge. Passing
boldly through the gates we followed the drive until we saw before us
a fine large mansion. Reaching the front door we rang the bell, which
was soon answered by a servant. To our enquiries as to whether the
master was in the servant replied in the negative, but intimated that
the mistress was. Of course, this made not the least difference, as
many a tramp knew, except that had we been old soldiers the lady not
being able to test us by drill, would therefore not have given more
than the civilian's shilling. Now, almost unfortunately for us,
the downrighter, knowing that the lady would not drill us, and
thinking that there might be a possibility of getting the master's
double pay to old soldiers, without danger of drill or cross
examination--suddenly made up his mind to say that we were two old
soldiers. For, thought he, if it does no good, it cannot do any harm.
Therefore, when the lady appeared smiling at the door Long John, being
spokesman, told a straightforward tale of hardship, and added that we
had both served our country on the battlefield as soldiers. He had
scarcely mentioned the word soldiers when a loud authoritative voice
behind us cried--"Shoulder Arms!" I was leaning heavily on a thick
stick when this command was given, but lost my balance and almost fell
to the ground. We both turned our faces towards the speaker and saw a
tall military looking gentleman scrutinising us with two very sharp
eyes. Giving us but very little time to compose ourselves he shouted
again--"Present Arms!" This second command was no more obeyed than the
first. Long John blew his nose, and I stood at ease on my staff, as
though I did not care whether the dogs were set upon us or we were to
be lodged in jail. After another uncomfortable pause the retired
officer said, looking at us severely--"Two old soldiers, indeed! You
are two imposters and scoundrels! Perhaps you understand this
command"--and in a voice fiercer and louder than ever he cried, "Quick
March!" Long John and I, although not old soldiers, certainly
understood this command, for we started down the drive at a good pace,
with the military looking gentleman following. When we reached the
public road, he gave another command--"Halt!" But this was another of
those commands which we did not understand. However, on its being
repeated less sternly we obeyed. "Here," said he, "you are not two old
soldiers, but you may not be altogether scoundrels; and I never turn
men away without giving them some assistance." Saying which he gave us
a shilling each. But what a narrow escape we had of being turned
penniless away, all through Long John's greed and folly!