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WE AND THE WORLD:
A BOOK FOR BOYS.
PART II.
BY
JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
LONDON: NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.
BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET.
NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO.
[Published under the direction of the General Literature
Committee.]
WE AND THE WORLD.
CHAPTER I.
"A friend in need is a friend indeed."--_Old Proverb_.
I have often thought that the biggest bit of good luck (and I was
lucky), which befell me on my outset into the world, was that the man I
sat next to in the railway carriage was not a rogue. I travelled third
class to Liverpool for more than one reason--it was the cheapest way,
besides which I did not wish to meet any family friends--and the man I
speak of was a third-class passenger, and he went to Liverpool too.
At the time I was puzzled to think how he came to guess that I was
running away, that I had money with me, and that I had never been to
Liverpool before; but I can well imagine now how my ignorance and
anxiety must have betrayed themselves at every station I mistook for the
end of my journey, and with every question which I put, as I flattered
myself, in the careless tones of common conversation, I really wonder I
had not thought beforehand about my clothes, which fitted very badly on
the character I assumed, and the company I chose; but it was not perhaps
to be expected that I should know then, as I know now, how conspicuous
all over me must have been the absence of those outward signs of
hardship and poverty, which they who know poverty and hardship know so
well.
I wish _I_ had known them, because then I should have given the man some
of my money when we parted, instead of feeling too delicate to do so. I
can remember his face too well not to know now how much he must have
needed it, and how heroic a virtue honesty must have been in him.
It did not seem to strike him as at all strange or unnatural that a lad
of my age should be seeking his own fortune, but I feel sure that he
thought it was misconduct on my part which had made me run away from
home. I had no grievance to describe which he could recognize as
grievous enough to drive me out into the world. However, I felt very
glad that he saw no impossibility in my earning my own livelihood, or
even anything very unusual in my situation.
"I suppose lots of young fellows run away from home and go to sea from a
place like this?" said I, when we had reached Liverpool.
"And there's plenty more goes that has no homes to run from," replied he
sententiously.
Prefacing each fresh counsel with the formula, "You'll excuse _me_," he
gave me some excellent advice as we threaded the greasy streets, and
jostled the disreputable-looking population of the lower part of the
town. General counsels as to my conduct, and the desirableness of
turning over a new leaf for "young chaps" who had been wild and got into
scrapes at home. And particular counsels which were invaluable to me, as
to changing my dress, how to hide my money, what to turn my hand to with
the quickest chance of bread-winning in strange places, and how to keep
my own affairs to myself among strange people.
It was in the greasiest street, and among the most disreputable-looking
people, that we found the "slop-shop" where, by my friend's orders, I
was to "rig out" in clothes befitting my new line of life. He went in
first, so he did not see the qualm that seized me on the doorstep. A
revulsion so violent that it nearly made me sick then and there; and if
some one had seized me by the nape of my neck, and landed me straightway
at my desk in Uncle Henry's office, would, I believe, have left me tamed
for life. For if this unutterable vileness of sights and sounds and
smells which hung around the dark entry of the slop shop were indeed
the world, I felt a sudden and most vehement conviction that I would
willingly renounce the world for ever. As it happened, I had not at that
moment the choice. My friend had gone in, and I dared not stay among the
people outside. I groped my way into the shop, which was so dark as well
as dingy that they had lighted a small oil-lamp just above the head of
the man who served out the slops. Even so the light that fell on him was
dim and fitful, and was the means of giving me another start in which I
gasped out--"Moses Benson!"
The man turned and smiled (he had the Jew-clerk's exact smile), and said
softly,
"Cohen, my dear, not Benson."
And as he bent at another angle of the oil-lamp I saw that he was older
than the clerk, and dirtier; and though his coat was quite curiously
like the one I had so often cleaned, he had evidently either never met
with the invaluable "scouring drops," or did not feel it worth while to
make use of them in such a dingy hole.
One shock helped to cure the other. Come what might, I could not sneak
back now to the civil congratulations of that other Moses, and the scorn
of his eye. But I was so nervous that my fellow-traveller transacted my
business for me, and when the oil-lamp flared and I caught Moses Cohen
looking at me, I jumped as if Snuffy had come behind me. And when we got
out (and it was no easy matter to escape from the various benevolent
offers of the owner of the slop-shop), my friend said,
"You'll excuse me telling you, but whatever you do don't go near that
there Jew again. He's no friend for a young chap like you."
"I should have got your slops cheaper," he added, "if I could have taken
your clothes in without you."
My "slops" were a very loose suit of clothes made of much coarser
material than my own, and I suppose they were called "slops" because
they fitted in such a peculiarly sloppy manner. The whole "rig out" (it
included a strong clasp-knife, and a little leathern bag to keep my
money in, which I was instructed to carry round my neck) was provided by
Mr. Cohen in exchange for the clothes I had been wearing before, with
the addition of ten shillings in cash. I dipped again into the leathern
bag to provide a meal for myself and my friend; then, by his advice, I
put a shilling and some coppers into my pocket, that I might not have to
bring out my purse in public, and with a few parting words of counsel he
wrung my hand, and we parted--he towards some place of business where he
hoped to get employment, and I in the direction of the docks, where the
ships come and go.
"I hope you _will_ get work," were my last words.
"The same to you, my lad," was his reply, and it seemed to acknowledge
me as one of that big brotherhood of toilers who, when they want
"something to do," want it not to pass time but to earn daily bread.