Bill Napper went home in a hansom, ordering a barrel of beer on the way.
One of the chief comforts of affluence is that you may have beer in by
the barrel; for then Sundays and closing times vex not, and you have but
to reach the length of your arm for another pot whenever moved
thereunto. Nobody in Canning Town had beer by the barrel except the
tradesmen, and for that Bill had long envied the man who kept shop. And
now, at his first opportunity, he bought a barrel of thirty-six gallons.
Once home with the news, and Canning Town was ablaze. Bill Napper had
come in for three thousand, thirty thousand, three hundred
thousand--any number of thousands that were within the compass of the
gossip's command of enumeration. Bill Napper was called "W. Napper,
Esq."--he was to be knighted--he was a long-lost baronet--anything. Bill
Napper came home in a hansom--a brougham--a state coach.
Mrs. Napper went that very evening to the Grove at Stratford to buy silk
and satin, green, red, and yellow--cutting her neighbors dead, right and
left. And by the next morning tradesmen had sent circulars and samples
of goods. Mrs. Napper was for taking a proper position in society, and a
house in a fashionable part--Barking Road, for instance, or even East
India Road, Poplar; but Bill would none of such foolishness. He wasn't
proud, and Canning Town was quite good enough for him. This much,
though, he conceded: that the family should take a whole house of five
rooms in the next street, instead of the two rooms and a cellule
upstairs now rented.
That morning Bill lit his pipe, stuck his hands in his pockets, and
strolled as far as his job. "Wayo, squire," shouted one of the men as he
approached. "'Ere comes the bleed'n' toff," remarked another.
"'Tcheer, 'tcheer, mates," Bill responded, calmly complacent. "I'm
a-goin' to wet it." And all the fourteen men left their paving for the
beer-house close by. The foreman made some demur, but was helpless, and
ended by coming himself. "Now then, gaffer," said Bill, "none o' your
sulks. No one ain't a-goin' to stand out of a drink o' mine--unless 'e
wants to fight. As for the job--damn the job! I'd buy up fifty jobs like
that 'ere and not stop for the change. You send the guv'nor to me if
_'e_ says anythink: unnerstand? You send 'im to _me_." And he laid hands
on the foreman, who was not a big man, and hauled him after the others.
They wetted it for two or three hours, from many quart pots. Then there
appeared between the swing doors the wrathful face of the guv'nor.
The guv'nor's position was difficult. He was only a small master, and
but a few years back had been a working mason. This deserted job was his
first for the parish, and by contract he was bound to end it quickly
under penalty. Moreover, he much desired something on account that week,
and must stand well with the vestry. On the other hand, this was a time
of strikes, and the air was electrical. Several large and successful
movements had quickened a spirit of restlessness in the neighborhood,
and no master was sure of his men. Some slight was fancied, something
was not done as it should have been done from the point of view of the
workshop, and there was a strike, picketing, and bashing. Now, the worst
thing that could have happened to the guv'nor at this moment was one of
those tiny, unrecorded strikes that were bursting out weekly and daily
about him, with the picketing of his two or three jobs. Furious,
therefore, as he was, he dared not discharge every man on the spot. So
he stood in the door, and said: "Look here, I won't stand this sort of
thing--it's a damn robbery. I'll--"
"That's all right, ol' cock," roared Bill Napper, reaching toward the
guv'nor. "You come 'an 'ave a tiddley. I'm a bleed'n' millionaire meself
now, but I ain't proud. What, you won't?"--for the guv'nor,
unenthusiastic, remained at the door. "You're a sulky old bleeder. These
'ere friends o' mine are 'avin' 'arf a day auf at my expense:
unnerstand? My expense. I'm a-payin' for their time, if you dock 'em;
an' I can give _you_ a bob, me fine feller, if you're 'ard up. See?"
The guv'nor addressed himself to the foreman. "What's the meaning o'
this, Walker?" he said. "What game d'ye call it?"
Bill Napper, whom a succession of pots had made uproarious, slapped the
foreman violently on the shoulder. "This 'ere's the gaffer," he
shouted. "'E's all right. 'E come 'ere 'cos 'e couldn't 'elp 'isself. I
made 'im come, forcible. Don't you bear no spite agin' the gaffer, d'y'
ear? 'E's my mate, is the gaffer; an' I could buy you up forty times,
s'elp me--but I ain't proud. An' you're a bleed'n' gawblimy
slackbaked...."
"Well," said the guv'nor to the assembled company, but still ignoring
Bill, "don't you think there's been about enough of this?"
A few of the men glanced at one another, and one or two rose. "Awright,
guv'nor," said one, "we're auf." And two more echoed, "Awright,
guv'nor," and began to move away.
"Ah!" said Bill Napper, with disgust, as he turned to finish his pot,
"you're a blasted nigger-driver, you are. An' a sulky beast," he added
as he set the pot down. "Never mind," he pursued, "_I'm_ awright, an' I
ain't a 'arf-paid kerb-whacker no more, under you."
"You was a damn sight better kerb-whacker than you are a millionaire,"
the guv'nor retorted, feeling safer now that his men were getting back
to work.
"None o' your lip," replied Bill, rising and reaching for a pipe-spill:
"none o' your lip, you work'us stone-breaker." Then, turning with a
sudden access of fury, "I'll knock yer face off, blimy!" he shouted, and
raised his fist.
"Now, then, none o' that here, please," cried the landlord from behind
the bar; unto whom Bill Napper, with all his wonted obedience in that
quarter, answered only, "All right, guv'nor," and subsided.
Left alone, he soon followed the master-pavior and his men through the
swing doors, and so went home. In his own street, observing two small
boys in the prelusory stages of a fight, he put up sixpence by way of
stakes, and supervised the battle from the seat afforded by a convenient
window-sill. After that he bought a morning paper, and lay upon his bed
to read it, with a pipe and a jug; for he was beginning a life of
leisure and comfort, wherein every day should be a superior Sunday.