Mr Clinton became daily stronger, and soon he was quite well. He resumed
his work at the office, and in every way seemed to have regained his old
self. He gave utterance to no more startling theories, and the casual
observer might have noticed no difference between him and the model
clerk of six months back. But Mrs Clinton had received too great a shock
to look upon her husband with casual eyes, and she noticed in his manner
an alteration which disquieted her. He was much more silent than before;
he would take his supper without speaking a word, without making the
slightest sign to show that he had heard some remark of Mrs Clinton's.
He did not read the paper in the evening as he had been used to do, but
would go upstairs to the top of the house, and stand by an open window
looking at the stars. He had an enigmatical way of smiling which Mrs
Clinton could not understand. Then he had lost his old punctuality--he
would come home at all sorts of hours, and, when his wife questioned
him, would merely shrug his shoulders and smile strangely. Once he told
her that he had been wandering about looking at men's lives.
Mrs Clinton thought that a very unsatisfactory explanation of his
unpunctuality, and after a long consultation with the cautious doctor
came to the conclusion that it was her duty to discover what her husband
did during the long time that elasped between his leaving the office and
returning home.
So one day, at about six, she stationed herself at the door of the big
building in which were Mr Clinton's offices, and waited. Presently he
appeared in the doorway, and after standing for a minute or two on the
threshold, ever with the enigmatical smile hovering on his lips, came
down the steps and walked slowly along the crowded street. His wife
walked behind him; and he was not difficult to follow, for he had lost
his old, quick, business-like step, and sauntered along, looking to the
right and to the left, carelessly, as if he had not awaiting him at home
his duties as the father of a family.... After a while he turned down a
side street, and his wife followed with growing astonishment; she could
not imagine where he was going. Just then a little flower-girl passed by
and offered him a yellow rose. He stopped and looked at her; Mrs Clinton
could see that she was a grimy little girl, with a shock of unkempt
brown hair and a very dirty apron; but Mr Clinton put his hand on her
head and looked into her eyes; then he gave her a penny, and, stooping
down, lightly kissed her hair.
'Bless you, my dear!' he said, and passed on.
'Well, I never!' said Mrs Clinton, quite aghast; and as she walked by
the flower girl, snorted at her and looked so savagely that the poor
little maiden quite started. Mr Clinton walked very slowly, stopping now
and then to look at a couple of women seated on a doorstep, or the
children round an ice-cream stall. Mrs Clinton saw him pay a penny and
give an ice to a little child who was looking with longing eyes at its
more fortunate companions as they licked out the little glass cups. He
remained quite a long while watching half a dozen young girls dancing to
the music of a barrel organ, and again, to his wife's disgust, Mr
Clinton gave money.
'We shall end in the work'ouse if this goes on,' muttered Mrs Clinton,
and she pursed up her lips more tightly than ever, thinking of the
explanation she meant to have when her mate came home.
At last Mr Clinton came to a narrow slum, down which he turned, and so
filthy was it that the lady almost feared to follow. But indignation,
curiosity, and a stern sense of duty prevailed. She went along with
up-turned nose, making her way carefully between cabbages and other
vegetable refuse, sidling up against a house to avoid a dead cat which
lay huddled up in the middle of the way, with a great red wound in its
head.
Mrs Clinton was disgusted to see her husband enter a public-house.
'Is this where he gets to?' she said to herself, and, looking through
the door, saw him talk with two or three rough men who were standing at
the bar, drinking 'four 'arf.'
But she waited determinedly. She had made up her mind to see the matter
to the end, come what might; she was willing to wait all night.
After a time he came out, and, going through a narrow passage made his
way into an alley. Then he went straight up to a big-boned,
coarse-featured woman in a white apron, who was standing at an open
door, and when he had said a few words to her, the two entered the house
and the door was closed behind them.
Mrs Clinton suddenly saw it all.
'I am deceived!' she said tragically, and she crackled with virtuous
indignation.
Her first impulse was to knock furiously at the door and force her way
in to bear her James away from the clutches of the big-boned siren. But
she feared that her rival would meet her with brute force, and the
possibility of defeat made her see the unladylikeness of the proceeding.
So she turned on her heel, holding up her skirts and her nose against
the moral contamination and made her way out of the low place. She
walked tempestuously down to Fleet Street, jumped fiercely on a 'bus,
frantically caught the train to Camberwell, and, having reached her
house in the Adonis Road, flung herself furiously down on a chair and
gasped,--
'Oh!'
Then she got ready for her husband's return.
'Well?' she said, when he came in; and she looked daggers.... 'Well?'
'I'm afraid I'm later than usual, my dear.' It was, in fact, past nine
o'clock.
'Don't talk to me!' she replied, with a vigorous jerk of her head. 'I
know what you've been up to.'
'What do you mean, my love?' he gently asked.
She positively snorted with indignation; she had rolled her handkerchief
into a ball, and nervously dabbed the palms of her hands with it. 'I
followed you this afternoon, and I saw you go into that 'ouse with that
low woman. What now? Eh?' She spoke with the greatest possible emphasis.
'Woman!' said Mr Clinton, with a smile, 'What are you to me?'
'Don't call me woman!' said Mrs Clinton, very angrily. 'What am I to
you? I'm your wife, and I've got the marriage certificate in my pocket
at this moment.' She slapped her pocket loudly. 'I'm your wife, and you
ought to be ashamed of yourself.'
'Wife! You are no more to me than any other woman!'
'And you 'ave the audacity to tell me that to my face! Oh, you--you
villain! I won't stand it, I tell you; I won't stand it. I know I can't
get a divorce--the laws of England are scandalous--but I'll 'ave a
judicious separation.... I might have known it, you're all alike, every
one of you; that's 'ow you men treat women. You take advantage of their
youth and beauty, and then.... Oh, you villain! Here 'ave I worked
myself to the bone for you and brought up your children, and I don't
know what I 'aven't done, and now you go and take on with some woman,
and leave me. Oh!' She burst into tears. Mr Clinton still smiled, and
there was a curious look in his eyes.
'Woman! woman!' he said, 'you know not what you say!' He went up to his
wife and laid his hand on her shoulder. 'Dry your tears,' he said, 'and
I will tell you of these things.'
Mrs Clinton shook herself angrily, keeping her face buried in her pocket
handkerchief, but he turned away without paying more attention to her;
then, standing in front of the glass, he looked at himself earnestly and
began to speak.
'It was during my illness that my eyes were opened. Lying in bed through
those long hours I thought of the poor souls whose tale I 'ad 'eard in
the coroner's court. And all night I saw their dead faces. I thought of
the misery of mankind and of the 'ardness of men's 'earts.... Then a ray
of light came to me, and I called for a Bible, and I read, and read; and
the light grew into a great glow, and I saw that man was not meant to
live for 'imself alone; that there was something else in life, that it
was man's duty to 'elp his fellers; and I resolved, when I was well, to
do all that in me lay to 'elp the poor and the wretched, and faithfully
to carry out those precepts which the Book 'ad taught me.'
'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' sobbed Mrs Clinton, who had looked up and listened
with astonishment to her husband's speech. 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! what is
he talking about?'
Mr Clinton turned towards her and again put his hand on her shoulder.
'And that is 'ow I spend my time, Amy. I go into the most miserable
'ouses, into the dirtiest 'oles, the foulest alleys, and I seek to make
men 'appier. I do what I can to 'elp them in their distress, and to show
them that brilliant light which I see so gloriously lighting the way
before me. And now good-night!' He stretched out his arm, and for a
moment let his hand rest above her head; then, turning on his heel, he
left the room.
Next day Mrs Clinton called on the doctor, and told him of her husband's
strange behaviour. The doctor slowly and meditatively nodded, then he
raised his eyebrows, and with his finger significantly tapped his
head....
'Well,' he said, 'I think you'd better wait a while and see how things
go on. I'll just write out a prescription, and you can give him the
medicine three times a day after meals,' and he ordered the unhappy Mr
Clinton another tonic, which, if it had no effect on that gentleman,
considerably reassured his wife.