Original Penny Readings: A Series of Short Sketches

“Right! yes,” he says, jumping up. “But it ain’t that,” he says; “it’s meeting a friend where I didn’t expect one;” and then he was gone.

I was sitting at breakfast next morning (Sunday) when the garden gate rattles, and there was the guv’nor coming in such a hurry. Never stops to knock, but in he comes and shakes hands hearty; and then, without speaking, stuffs a letter into my hand. “Head it,” he says, “last post, last night,” and I did; but what I took most notice of was a long strip of paper with “197 pounds 10 shillings 6 pence” written on it, just under the name of one of the London bankers.

Yes, we had a pleasant dinner, a comfortable cup of tea, and a cosy supper with the guv’nor that day; and uncommon good friends we’ve been ever since. I do all sorts at the shop, so that there’s always a job, and though people say “Jack of all trades – master of none,” I think a man might follow French suit and know two trades and master them both, so as when work falls one way he has a chance the other. Poor folks often get hunted by the wolf Poverty, and it would not be amiss to take a lesson from the burrowing animals, and have two holes – to get out of one when t’other happened to be stopped.

Chapter Six.

A Cabman’s Story

“Hope I see you well, sir. Thanky, sir, I ain’t had such a cigar since as you give me that day. You’ll often find me on this stand, sir, and happy to drive yer at any time, either on the box or inside. But I say, you know, sir, how about putting a feller in print? Fine game some of our chaps made on it, because they said as they knew it all by heart. You see I don’t like to wherrit people with my old stories; but when I can get any one to listen I du like to talk a bit. You can’t form no idea of the things as we hears and sees; and I believe it would do any man good to drive a keb for a twelvemonth; it’s both wonderful what you’d pick up, and how you’d git picked up. Here’s your poets writing about green banks and flowers, and shepherds and shepherdesses, and love and stuff; why I’ve had no end of love-making in my keb here. Young ladies and young swells, whose pars and mars ain’t agreeable like, makes assignations and hires a keb by the hour, to be drove up and down, and the driver often looking as innocent as you please. I don’t dislike them sorter jobs, for you see, when he says ‘How much, kebby?’ one can lay it on a bit, for he won’t look shabby by disputing the fare before the young lady. But, Lor’ bless you, they’d pay anything just at them times, for money seems no object – everythink’s sweet, and when it rains I think they fancies as it’s all sugar and water.

“There was one old chap as I drove regular; he used to come to my stand twice a week, and after the first time I always knew what to do. Ah! he was a fine old chap, and had been a orficer or somethin’ of that sort. Big mustarsh, yer know, and whiskers white as snow, and a hye! Ah, his was a hye, his were! Talk about tellin’ soldiers to charge! why, they couldn’t do no other with him a lookin’ at ’em; though if he hadn’t been a good sort I don’t think as I could have done much in charging my fashion, you know. It was a pleasure to see him walk – as upright as his old gold-headed cane. Seven bob a week he was to me reg’lar, and I used to look out for his old white head a-coming round the corner about three o’clock in the arternoon, and then I used to drive him right off to Kensal-green Cemetery, where he’d get down, and I always waited for him half an hour, when out he’d come, looking as fierce and stiff as ever, get into the keb, ‘Home,’ he’d say, giving his stick a bit of a flourish, just as if it were a sword; and home it was.

“About the seccun time we went, I walks permiscus up to the gatekeeper – stiff-looking chap, too, with only one eye, and a touch o’ the k’mishionaire about him, only he hadn’t got no empty sleeve hanging to his button and didn’t wear no mustarchers; but all the same, I sets him down as having handled the musket some time, and so he had. Well, I walks up to him slowly and ’spectfully, showin’ him all the time as I know’d as I was only a kebman, and had learned to order myself lowly and reverently to all my betters, you know; and this iled him a bit, so as he went easy, and we got into conversation. I draws him on by degrees; for these gatekeepers is werry great swells in their way, as any one may see for hisself by getting a haporth o’ curds and whey at one of the parks, and studying the inflooence of a gold band round a man’s hat. ’Taint everybody as notices it, but it’s wonderful how that ere yaller metal stiffens a feller’s neck. Look at flunkeys, for instance – decent chaps enough, some on ’em, till they gets a bit o’ lace on their hats, and then they’re as proud on it as a fresh-moulted cockatoo. Never wore no lace on my hat; but shouldn’t mind wearing a little more nap.

“Let’s see where had I got to? Ah, I know. Most extinguished myself with them gold-band hats. You see, I was a saying as them gatekeepers is big swells, and wants careful handling. They’re the sort of chaps that wun would like to buy at wun’s own wallyation and sell at theirs. Payin’ spec that to anybody; only I’m ’fraid as the market would soon get choked. Well, fust thing I does is to fall werry much in love with the flowers in his windy, and quite ’spectfully arsts the name of ’em; when, bein’ a bit of a gardener, he comes out with some thunderin’ great furrin word, as I knows jolly well he didn’t know the meanin’ on; and I says, ‘Oh!’ as if I was werry much obliged, and takes hold o’ one werry gently, and has a smell, and then thinks a great deal o’ the size of the blossoms, and so on; till, as if it was takin’ a great liberty, I arsts if he couldn’t cut me just one. Jest what he wanted, yer know; and making a terrible fuss over it, and explaining the wally of the plant, he snips me off a bit, and I sticks it in my button-hole, while he looked as pleased as some o’ those old buffers in white weskets as puts shillings in plates when there’s a k’lection, and then thinks as they’ve been patrons: for some folks do love to be arskt favours, and then comes the grandee as they grants ’em.

“So then I goes on a fishin’ and a fishin’, and calls him ‘sir,’ and arsts his opinion of Common Garden, and so on, till at last I hooks him, and —

“Coo-o-ome orn! What are yer up to, Nosey? Never was such a ’oss as you for lookin’ arter the main chance. That wasn’t a sixpence, stoopid, and if it was I’d a got off and picked it up without yer going down on yer knees. Never was such a ’oss as this here, sir. He’s a Paddy – come out of a Roman Catholic country, yer know; and blest if he ain’t allus a tryin’ to go down on his knees. Fancies every crossin’-sweeper he sees is a holy father, and wants to confess, I suppose. It’s a natteral weakness of his, and it’s taken all the hair off his knees. I paints ’em up a bit so as to hide the worst of it, but he’s allus a tryin’ it on. Get along, do.

“Well, I hooks him, you know – the gatekeeper, I means – and arter playin’ him a bit he was as civil as you please; gets down off his stilts, and was ready to tell me anything. So then I gets to know as my gentleman was an old colonel as had buried a daughter there two months afore, and had allus come twice a week ever since to have a look at the place. ‘An’,’ says Mr Crusp – that was the gatekeeper’s name – ‘an’, as you may find out yourself if you go, I’ve got geranums an’ stocks, an’ werbenas, quite a show on ’em, for the old gentleman said he should like to see some flowers there.’ And just then out comes the old orficer, and I drives off.

“Well, sir, things goes on like this here for a matter o’ months, and —

“Just look at that, now. Coome orn, stoopid. Blest if ever there was sich a ’oss. It’s pounds outer my pocket; but the guv’nor don’t care, bless yer, as long as I take in my reg’lar dose every day. Jest look at that, now; pulling up short right in the middle of the road, cos them Jarmans was blowin’ up a row. Likes music, I spose; so do I, when I can get it good, and so does everybody, it seems to me. I was a talking to a gentleman only t’other day, jest as I may be to you, and he says, says he, ‘It’s my opinion that if you give the working classes good music, joined to good words, they wouldn’t notice them rubbishing music-hall things, as only goes down because they’re tacked on to a pretty tune.’ And he’s right, yer know, and he’s a man as has done a good deal towards improving the working people. Why, only see if a pretty tune comes up if it isn’t whistled and sung all over the town – ah, and the country too – in no time; and what’s more, it ain’t forgotten neither. Yer see, to like yer fine books and poetry a man wants eddication; but it comes nateral to him to love a pretty tune. I ain’t up to much, yer know, but I can’t stand the rubbish as folks goes and wags their heads to – and what for? only because they can’t get anything better. Who says common folks don’t love music! Just take ’em and show ’em the crowds arter the soldiers’ and volunteer bands, and in the parks, and then, perhaps, they’ll alter their tune; and – look at that, now, if I ain’t gone right away from the story. Shouldn’t do for a speaker, I shouldn’t, for it seems to me as I’m like my old ’oss, Nosey – allus wants to turn down the fust turning as comes. There he goes. Coo-o-me orn.

“Well, things goes on for a matter o’ months, and twiste a week I pockets my three-and-six; but I keeps thinking as it couldn’t last much longer. ‘So the old gentleman got tired,’ says you. Right you are! He did get tired at last, but not as you might think. He allus came same time, and stopped same time, and then I drove him back to his own door. Summer went by. The gals had cried the lavendy up and down the streets, and the swells had all gone outer town to the sea-side and the furrin waterin’ places; and for long enough, whenever a decent job had come, it had been luggage on the roof, and a bundle of sticks and umbrellys inside, and then off to some railway station or another. Kensington Gardings was a rainin’ yaller leaves all day long, while the robins was tunin’ up their melancholy little pipes, just as if there was no one else left to sing, and they was werry miserable becos the cold weather was a-comin’; while there was no sing left in me, for my asthmy was a beginning to tickle me up a bit, as it allus does in autumn time; but still my old gentleman comes as reg’lar as clockwork.

“One afternoon, as I was sitting on my box, rather cold and chilly, for the fog was a-comin’ creepin’ on earlier nor usual, I was amusin’ myself a pickin’ ov a few walnuts – eight a penny, you know, without the port wine and salt. It was a dull sort of time, when you could hear the muffin bell a-going down the side streets; and the fires shining through the window-blinds looked warm and cosy. I was a pickin’ and growlin’ away at my nuts – for they didn’t skin easy, besides being werry dry, when who should I see a-comin’ but my reg’lar fare. Up he comes along the street, straight and stiff as a drill-sergeant, and though half a dozen whips runs up touting for the job, he never takes no notice of ’em, and I draws up to the kerb, jumps down to let him in, and opens the door, when he stops with one leg in the keb.

“Yer see, this wasn’t a reg’lar thing, for arter the first time I allus knew what he wanted, and we understood one another, so that it was all done this way: jump in – set down – take up agin – set down agin – pay up – touch yer ’at – jump on the box – and nary word spoken. Sooted him, yer know; and it sooted me; so what more did you want? But now on this day it was diffurnt, for, as I said afore, he stops with one leg in the keb, and begins to speak, quite pleasant, and quiet, and civil, as a gentleman could speak, and he says, ‘Kebman, I thank you for your attention. Here’s a suffrin for you. Drive on.’

“In course, I thanked him; but he didn’t seem to want to be talked to, and I drives on, thinking it was a rum start paying aforehand. Not as I’d got anything to grumble about, for a suffrin warn’t to be sneezed at, as the sayin’ is. So I drives up to the cemetery gates; sets him down; puts the nose-bag on the mare I drove then; an’ lights my pipe.

“One pipe allus used to do for me while he went in and came out; so I used to smoke it, and then put it away. But this time he didn’t come back so soon as usual, or else, being a bit outer sorts in stummick and pocket, I’d smoked faster; so I pulls it out and lights up agen, and a good deal o’ bother I had, I remember, for the matches was damp, and there was I a-rubbin’ one arter the other again the pipe bowl for long enough, inside my hat.

“Well, I finished that pipe, and then another, for it seemed to me as he was having a long stay on the strength of the suffrin. ‘And welcome,’ I says; for, of course, being a good sort, I wasn’t going to grudge him an hour. But it got to be more than an hour, and dusky, and foggy, and damp; and that blessed rheumatic shoulder o’ mine began a-going it orful. It was just for all the world as though some one had made a hole right through the blade-bone, and then, shovin’ a piece of clothes-line through, was a sawin’ of it backards and furards. Then it began to rain a little – mizzly, yer know – and the mare havin’ tossed her old nose-bag about till she couldn’t get not anuther taste o’ chaff, let alone a hoat or a bean, stands hanging all together like, same as those fiery steeds as they used to send up under a balloon, Cremorne way, years ago, and lookin’ for all the world like a hannimal cut out for the knackers.

“Last of all out comes Mr Crusp, all hot tea and buttered toast, shining beautiful, and looking as though he’d been going on to the tune o’ four cups and three rounds. Then he begins to fasten up; and ‘Ulloa!’ says he, ‘what are you a-waitin’ for?’ ‘Colonel,’ says I. ‘Out long ago,’ says he. ‘No,’ says I; ‘he’s been in more’n two hours.’ Well, he looks gallus hard at me, and then he says, ‘He must ha’ gone out without you seein’ of him. He’s give you the slip.’ ‘Then he must ha’ come away inside that there black omblibus with plumes on it, then,’ I says, for I knowed as I must ha’ seen him if he had come out; and then I tells him about the suffrin.

“‘Why didn’t you say that afore,’ says Crusp. ‘You see if he ain’t been and committed hisself, or fell a wictim to his sorrow.’ And then he turns short round, and goes puffin’ along one o’ the side walks; while, knowin’ as my old mare wouldn’t run away to save her life, I follered.

“First we goes down a long gravel path where the ’santhemums was a hanging their heads, and seeming as if they was a crying; but then all the trees I could see in the dim light was covered with tears. Then Crusp leads off across a flower garding like, all covered with graves and stones; and somehow, stumbling along in a big old box coat, I manages to fall right over one of ’em; but when I pulled myself together agen, and gets up to the gatekeeper, I finds him standing aside my reg’lar fare, who was lying down there in the wet grass with his cheek agin a grave, and one arm stretched right over it: while in t’other was a long lock of dark hair. His hat had rolled off, and his own long white hair lay loose among the dead flowers and damp grass; and turning all of a tremble, I stoops down beside him, and Crusp whispers, so quiet and solemn, ‘He’s gone to her!’

“For a moment or two I couldn’t believe it, for there in the dusk it seemed as though he was only crying over the restin’-place of his poor child. I didn’t like to speak, for it all seemed so strange and solemn: there was the ‘drip – drip – drip’ from the trees, and now and then a sad mournful sort of sigh as the wind swept by; and I don’t know how it was, but sad times seemed to come up again and take hold of a fellow’s heart; so that dim as it all was before, it turned worse, till one could hardly see at all, and though the rain came slowly down, it seemed right and nateral to take off one’s hat; and we both did, and then stole away on tiptoe to fetch more help.

“That allus comes back in the autumn time, when the leaves are falling, and the rain drips slowly down; and then, feeling quite melancholy-like, I can see again as plain as can be that fine old man restin’ his head upon the grave, with his silver hair all spread out upon the grass, and him taking his rest from his troubles.

“Here we are, sir, – ’Tannic Gardings; and, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just give that old ’oss a feed and a rub down, while you and the ladies look through the green’ouses. Eases his jints a bit, yer see, and they runs werry stiff sometimes.”

Chapter Seven.

J. Weltus

Reformations, and improvements, and setrer, are all very well; but, mind yer, if your drink’s been four ale all your life you won’t take kindly to porter, “threepence a pot in your own jugs,” if some one tells you all at once as it’s better for you, and your ale’s pison. Rome warn’t built in a day, you know, and arter sitting for five-and-twenty year on my bench and using the lapstone and sterrup-leather, you ain’t a-going to make me take nat’rally to a hupright bench.

Here I am, yer see; allus at home – airy spot; good light, and never no sun; pleasant prospect o’ four foot in front, none to the right, and chock down into Fleet-street on the left. What more would you have? Every convenience for carrying on a large and lucrative trade without moving from yer seat. Here’s one’s stool, and, altogether, close to one’s hand, everything as a artis’ in leather work could want. Now see here: paste? there you are; stuffin’? there you are; tub for soakin’? there you are; and so on with every think – whether it’s lapstone, foot, hemp, ball, wax, bristles, dubbin, grease, or ink. There’s one’s knives and stone all in a row; there’s one’s divisions with all one’s nails and pegs – brass, iron, and wood; there’s one’s hammers; and – there, what more would you have for soleing and heeling a boot or a shoe right off without leaving yer seat? And all done in a regular business way, yer know; none o’ yer new-fangled rivet and clinch and sewing-machine rubbish; but straightforward laid-in stitches, put in with a sharp awl and a fine pair of ends, laid into and drawn tight with plenty of elbow grease, and the sole stoned and hammered as solid as a board, and more too.

Rivets indeed! Why, how can a boot be decent as is nailed together just as a chip would make a box? ’Tain’t natural, no more nor gutta-percha was, nor india-rubber was. Course I had to take to gutta-percha soles, as it was the fashun, else yer lose yer trade; but there you were, sticking the things on with a lot o’ grease tar stuff, and then as soon as they got warm, off they comes again, and serve ’em right too for not being sewed, and then touched round the wearing Darts with a few rows o’ sprigs neatly put in, or a facing o’ sparrables.

And here’s yer everlasting soles and yer machinery and clat! Don’t tell me: why, they can’t answer any more than indy-rubber goloshes can, as raises your corns, an’ draws yer feet, an’ makes a man miserable, as of course every one is as ain’t got a decent shoe to his foot. It’s all very fine having yer new fangles, and one introdoosing cork, and another iron, and another copper and copper toes. You may have yer grand warerusses over Southwark way; but my ’pinion is as it must come down to us at last, as only stands to reason.

Now here you are; you’ve bought yer pair o’ ready-mades and worn ’em a bit, and then where are you? why, a-looking out for “J. Weltus, shoemaker, repairs neatly executed” – as it says on the board over the stall, as cost me a soleing and heeling for a painter chap outer work as did it for me, and put no dryers in his colour, so as the boys give it that pitted-with-the-small-pox look by aimin’ at it with their popguns. Well, you looks for J. Weltus, and finds him sittin’ in his stall in the court, and shows him what’s up, and very naterally he laughs at yer, as he does at all as runs away from your fine old conservative wax-end and leather, for your improved, reform, upright bench, and machine-made understandings.

But J. Weltus takes pity on you, and soon has yer boots in hand; and, as the swell says, he “analyses” ’em. And then where are yer? Here’s your sole good for nought – the welt gone, heel sunk, and a whole regiment of pegs sticking up inside fit to rasp every bit o’ skin off yer foot.

Well, of course he grins; but you wants ’em to-morrow? Werry good; and he grins again to find that with all yer machine-making and sewing, yer obliged to come back to the old mender after all; so he takes off his glasses, gets Kidney Joe to cast a hye on his stall, and runs round to the grindery shop in Drury Lane, and comes back in ten minutes with a few real Archangel bristles, a ball of hemp, a set of first-class leather, some stuffin’; and of course, just as if to insult him, the counter’s chock full o’ ready-closed uppers, with all sorts o’ jigamaree, fiddle-faddle stitching about ’em, as ain’t no good only to let the water in. Then off he sets again – only he has to go back for his wax, which is, as one may say, the mainspring of a boot – the mortar of the edifice, as holds all together and as it should be.

Nex’ day you comes for the boots, and there they are. Well, they ain’t done; but J.W.’s a-ripping into ’em. One’s been touched over with a bit o’ glass, as has smoothed the new half-sole wonderful, and another’s being sprigged; then the edges’ll be waxed up a bit with the dubbin’, and then there’s yer boots – a tighter and a better pair than they was afore, and all for three shillings, or three-and-six, according to your customer.

I never puts any toe-pieces on, punched full o’ holes to make ’em look ’ansum; but does my work in the good old style, and if I was in Parliament every man as didn’t wear Wellingtons should be taxed.

But along o’ them cards in the winders. Well, a chap come to me one day, and wanted me to be agent, and I stares up at him at first to see as he wasn’t joking, “Loans of from 5 pounds to 100 pounds upon personal security,” says the card he showed me, just as you can see ’em in hundreds o’ back courts and slums – places where you may be sure people wants heaps o’ money.

“Do a wonderful stroke o’ business,” I says, looking at my chap. “Find plenty o’ customers down here; but p’raps they might object to the smell o’ the leather, and so keep away.”

“Bless yer, no,” says the chap – “not at all. Many of our agents is marine-store dealers and groshers. Good commission for you if you like to take it.”

But I wouldn’t; and there hung the card in the little red herring and sweet shop till last week, when they had to turn out because the place is all coming down to make way for the new law courts, and setrer.

Do! of course it’s a do; same as those ’wertisements in the papers is from distressed tradesmen who’ll give five pound for the loan of ten for a week, and deposit fifty pounds wally of stuff for security – pawn tickets, yer know – cards got from folks’ uncle when they’ve been on a wisit – “Frock-coat and satin wesket, fifteen and nine, John Smith, 999, Snooks-street” – and all on to that tune. Traps – traps – traps, every one on ’em, as the poor fellows know as has had any dealings with the moneylenders.

Now, just look here; about the only honest one there is, is your uncle. Fixed interest, certain time, and he wants security. Saturday night and a hard week, and rent due, and the chap as the boots was made for not come to fetch ’em; the pair as was mended not paid for – and all the stuff required cost money, you see – so off you goes to your uncle with two flat irons and the missus’s ring. Then you does your bit of negotiation, and the job’s done; and out you come from the little court where the door flaps to, and all’s right and square, and no odds to nobody; but just try same as Jinks did to get a loan from the Cosmypolitan and Jint-Stock Adwance and Discount Company, and see how you like it. So many stamps for application; so much for inquiry fee; so much for this, and so much for that, and so on.

Jinks comes in, as maybe you, and he says, “I shall be wantin’ a pair o’ boots nex’ week,” he says, “and you may as well take the measure now,” he says; “save time when I gives the order.”

“All right,” I says, getting hold o’ my rule and a strip o’ paper.

“But I dunno yet what sort I’ll have,” he says. “I’ve a sorter leaning towards ’lasticks; but I dunno,” he says, “but what I’d best stick to the old sort – laceups.”

“Say the word,” I says, and he said it – “’Lasticks!” and I took his measure, and brought out a pen, dips in my ink-bottle, and makes marks; and all the time he was precious busy rattling some printed paper about and pretending to be reading.

“Oh, Weltus,” he says all at once, just as if it struck him all at the moment, “I’m a-going to have an advance from the ’ciety.”

“Are you?” I says – “inches and a harf – ’lasticks – kid tops.”

“What?” he says.