I
Outside, above the uneasy din of the traffic, the sky was glorious
with the far peace of a fine summer evening. Through the upper pane
of the station window Police-constable Bennett, who felt that his
senses at the moment were abnormally keen, recognised with a sinking
heart such reds and yellows as bedecked the best patchwork quilt at
home. By contrast the lights of the superintendent's office were
subdued, so that within the walls of the police-station sounds seemed
of greater importance. Somewhere a drunkard, deprived of his boots,
was drumming his criticism of authority on the walls of his cell.
From the next room, where the men off duty were amusing themselves,
there came a steady clicking of billiard-balls and dominoes, broken
now and again by gruff bursts of laughter. And at his very elbow the
superintendent was speaking in that suave voice that reminded Bennett
of grey velvet.
"You see, Bennett, how matters stand. I have nothing at all against
your conduct. You are steady and punctual, and I have no doubt that
you are trying to do your duty. But it's very unfortunate that as far
as results go you have nothing to show for your efforts. During the
last three weeks you have not brought in a charge of any description,
and during the same period I find that your colleagues on the beat
have been exceptionally busy. I repeat that I do not accuse you of
neglecting your duty, but these things tell with the magistrates and
convey a general suggestion of slackness."
Bennett looked down at his brightly polished boots. His fingers were
sandy and there was soft felt beneath his feet.
"I have been afraid of this for some time, sir," he said, "very much
afraid."
The superintendent looked at him questioningly.
"You have nothing to say?" he said.
"I have always tried to do my duty, sir."
"I know, I know. But you must see that a certain number of charges,
if not of convictions, is the mark of a smart officer."
"Surely you would not have me arrest innocent persons?"
"That is a most improper observation," said the superintendent
severely. "I will say no more to you now. But I hope you will take
what I have said as a warning. You must bustle along, Bennett, bustle
along."
Outside in the street, Police-constable Bennett was free to reflect
on his unpleasant interview. The superintendent was ambitious and
therefore pompous; he, himself, was unambitious and therefore modest.
Left to himself he might have been content to triumph in the
reflection that he had failed to say a number of foolish things, but
the welfare of his wife and children bound him, tiresomely enough for
a dreamer, tightly to the practical. It was clear that if he did not
forthwith produce signs of his efficiency as a promoter of the peace
that welfare would be imperilled. Yet he did not condemn the chance
that had made him a policeman or even the mischance that brought no
guilty persons to his hands. Rather he looked with a gentle curiosity
into the faces of the people who passed him, and wondered why he
could not detect traces of the generally assumed wickedness of the
neighbourhood. These unkempt men and women were thieves and even
murderers, it appeared; but to him they shone as happy youths and
maidens, joyous victims of love's tyranny.
As he drew near the street in which he lived this sense of universal
love quickened in his blood and stirred him strangely. It did not
escape his eyes that to the general his uniform was an unfriendly
thing. Men and women paused in their animated chattering till he had
passed, and even the children faltered in their games to watch him
with doubtful eyes. And yet his heart was warm for them; he knew that
he wished them well.
Nevertheless, when he saw his house shining in a row of similar
houses, he realised that their attitude was wiser than his. If he was
to be a success as a breadwinner he must wage a sterner war against
these happy, lovable people. It was easy, he had been long enough in
the force to know how easy, to get cases. An intolerant manner, a
little provocative harshness, and the thing was done. Yet with all
his heart he admired the poor for their resentful independence of
spirit. To him this had always been the supreme quality of the
English character; how could he make use of it to fill English gaols?
He opened the door of his house, with a sigh on his lips. There came
forth the merry shouting of his children.