by Louis Becke
BILGER, OF SYDNEY
A death in the family brought about my fatal acquaintance with Bilger.A few days after the funeral, as my sister and I sat talking on theverandah of our cottage (which overlooked the waters of Sydney Harbour)and listened to the pouring rain upon the shingled roof, we saw a manopen the garden gate and come slowly up to the house. He carried anancient umbrella, the tack lashings of which on one side had given wayentirely, showing six bare ribs. As he walked up the path, his large,sodden boots made a nasty, squelching sound, and my sister, who has alarge heart, at once said, 'Poor creature; I wonder who he is. I hope itisn't the coal man come for his money.'
He went round to the back door and, after letting himself drain off abit, knocked gently and with exceeding diffidence.
I asked him his business. He said he wanted to see my wife.
'Not here. Gone away for a month.'
'Dear, dear, how sad! Broken down, no doubt, with a mother's grief. Isthere any other lady in the family whom I could see?'
'What the deuce do you want?' I began angrily; then, as he raised hisweak, watery eyes to mine, and I saw that his grey hairs were as wet ashis boots, I relented. Perhaps he was someone who knew my wife or herpeople, and wanted to condole with her over the death of her baby. Helooked sober enough, so, as he seemed much agitated, I asked him to sitdown, and said I would send my sister to him. Then I went back to mypipe and chair. Ten minutes later my sister Kate came to me with herhandkerchief to her eyes.
'_Do_ go and see the old fellow. He has _such_ a sympathetic nature.I'm sure I should have cried aloud had I stayed any longer. Anyone wouldthink he had known poor little Teddie ever since he was born. I've askedMary to make him a cup of tea.'
'Who is he?'
'I don't know his name, but he seems so sympathetic. And he says heshould be so pleased if he might see you again for a few minutes. Hesays, too, that you have a good and kind face. I told him that you wouldbe sure to take at least a dozen of those in cream and gold. There'snothing at all vulgar; quite the reverse.'
'What _are_ you talking about, Kate? Who is this sodden old lunatic, andwhat on earth are you crying for?'
My sister nearly sobbed. 'I always thought that what you derisivelytermed "mortuary bards" were horrid people, but this old man has abeautiful nature. And he's very wet--and hungry too, I'm sure; and Marylooks at him as if he were a dog. Do try and help him. I think we mightget one or two dozen cream and gold cards, and two dozen black-edged.
And then he's a journalist, too. He's told me quite a sad little storyof his life struggle, and the moment I told him you were on the _EveningNews_ he quite brightened up, and said he knew your name quite well.'
'Kate,' I said, 'I don't want to see the man. What the deuce does hewant? If he is one of those loafing scoundrels of undertakers' andmortuary masons' touts, just send him about his business; give him aglass of whisky and tell Mary to clear him out.'
My sister said that to send an old man out in such weather was not like_me_. Surely I would at least speak a kind word to him.
In sheer desperation I went out to the man. He addressed me in huskytones, and said that he desired to express his deep sympathy with me inmy affliction, also that he was 'a member of the Fourth Estate.' Sevenyears before he had edited the _Barangoora News_, but his determinedopposition to a dishonest Government led to his ruin, and now--
'All right, old man; stow all that. What do you want?'
He looked at me reproachfully, and taking up a small leather bag, saidthat he represented Messrs ------, 'Monumental Masons and Memorial CardDesigners and Printers,' and should feel pleased if I would look at hissamples.
He was such a wretched, hungry-looking, down-upon-his-beam-ends oldfellow, that I could not refuse to inspect his wares. And then his bootsfilled me with pity. For such a little man he had the biggest boots Iever saw--baggy, elastic sides, and toes turned up, with the after partof the uppers sticking out some inches beyond the frayed edges of histrousers. As he sat down and drew these garments up, and his bare,skinny legs showed above his wrecked boots, his feet looked like twowater-logged cutters under bare poles, with the water running out of thescuppers.
Mary brought the whisky. I poured him out a good, stiff second mate'snip. It did my heart good to see him drink it, and hear the softecstatic 'Ah, ah, ah,' which broke from him when he put the glass down;it was a _Te Deum Laudamus_.
Having briefly intimated to him that I had no intention of buying 'ahandsome granite monument, with suitable inscription, or twelve linesof verse, for L4, 17s. 6d.,' I took up his packet of _In Memoriam_ cardsand went through them. The first one was a hand-drawn design in creamand gold--Kate's fancy. It represented in the centre an enormouslybloated infant with an idiotic leer, lying upon its back on a blue cloudwith scalloped edges, whilst two male angels, each with an extremelyvicious expression, were pulling the cloud along by means of tow-linesattached to their wings. Underneath were these words in MS.: 'Moreangels can be added, if desired, at an extra charge of 6d. each.'
No. 2 represented a disorderly flight of cherubims, savagely attacking asleeping infant in its cradle, which was supported on either hand bytwo vulgar-looking female angels blowing bullock horns in an apatheticmanner.
No. 3 rather took my fancy--there was so much in it--four large fowlsflying across the empyrean; each bird carried a rose as large as acabbage in its beak, and apparently intended to let them drop upona group of family mourners beneath. The MS. inscribed said, 'Ifphotographs are supplied of members of the Mourning Family, our artistwill reproduce same in group gathered round the deceased. If doves arenot approved, cherubims, angels, or floral designs may be used instead,for small extra charge.'
Whilst I was going through these horrors the old man kept up a babblingcommentary on their particular and collective beauties; then he wantedme to look at his specimens of verse, much of which, he added, withfatuous vanity, was his own composition.
I did read some of it, and felt a profound pity for the corpse that hadto submit to such degradation. Here are four specimens, the first ofwhich was marked, 'Especially suitable for a numerous family, who havelost an aged parent, gold lettering is. 6d. extra,'--
'Mary and May and Peter and John [or other names] Loved and honoured him [or her] who has gone; White was his [or her] hair and kind was his [or her] heart, Oh why, we all sigh, were we made thus to part?'
_For an Aunt, (Suitable verses for Uncles at same rates.)_
'Even our own sweet mother, who is so kind, Could not wring our hearts more if she went and left us behind; A halo of glory is now on thy head, Ah, sad, sad thought that good auntie is dead.'
_For a Father or Mother,_
'Oh children, dear, when I was alive, To get you bread I hard did strive; I now am where I need no bread, And wear a halo round my head. Weep not upon my tomb, I pray, But do your duty day by day.'
The last but one was still more beautiful,--
_For a Child who suffered a Long Illness before Decease_.
[I remarked casually that a child could not suffer even a short illness_after_ decease. Bilger smiled a watery smile and said 'No.']
'For many long months did we fondly sit, And watch our darling fade bit by bit; Till an angel called from out the sky, "Come home, dear child, to the Sweet By-and-By. Hard was your lot on earth's sad plain, But now you shall never suffer again, For cherubims and seraphims will welcome you here. Fond parents, lament not for the loss of one so dear."' [N.B.--"_These are very beautiful lines_."]
The gem of the collection, however, was this:--
_Suitable for a child of any age. The beautiful simplicity of the wordshave brought us an enormous amount of orders from bereaved parents_.
'Our [Emily] was so fair, That the angels envied her, And whispered in her ear, "We will take you away on [Tuesday] night."'
["_Drawing of angels carrying away deceased child, is. 6d.
extra_."]
The old imbecile put his damp finger upon this, and asked me what Ithought of it. I said it was very simple but touching, and then, beinganxious to get rid of him, ordered two dozen of Kate's fancy. He thankedme most fervently, and said he would bring them to me in a few days. Ihurriedly remarked he could post them instead, paid him in advance, andtold him to help himself to some more whisky. He did so, and I observed,with some regret, that he took nearly half a tumblerful.
'Dear, dear me,' he said, with an apologetic smile, 'I'm afraid I havetaken too much; would you kindly pour some back. My hand is somewhatshaky. Old age, sir, if I may indulge in a platitude, is--'
'Oh, never mind putting any back. It's a long walk to the ferry, and awet day beside.'
'True, true,' he said meditatively, looking at Mary carrying in thedinner, and drinking the whisky in an abstracted manner.
Just then my sister beckoned me out. She said it was very thoughtless ofme to pour gallons of whisky down the poor old fellow's throat, upon anempty stomach.
'Perhaps you would like me to ask him to have dinner with us?' I saidwith dignified sarcasm.
'I think we might at least let Mary give him something to eat.'
Of course I yielded, and my sister bade Mary give our visitor a gooddinner. For such a small man he had an appetite that would have donecredit to a long-fasting tiger shark tackling a dead whale; and everytime I glanced at Mary's face as she waited on my sister and myself Isaw that she was verging upon frenzy. At last, however, we heard himshuffling about on the verandah, and thought he was going without saying'thank you.' We wronged him, for presently he called to Mary and askedher if I would kindly grant him a few words after I had finished dinner.
'Confound him! What the deuce--'
My sister said, 'Don't be cruel to the poor old fellow. _You may be likehim yourself some day._'
I said I didn't doubt it, if my womenfolk encouraged every infernal olddead-beat in the colony to come and loaf upon me. Two large tears atonce ran down Kate's nose, and dropped into the custard on her plate. Isoftened at once and went out.
'Permit me, sir,' he said, in a wobbly kind of voice, as he lurched toand fro in the doorway, and tried to jab the point of his umbrella intoa knot-hole in the verandah boards in order to steady himself, 'permitme, sir, to thank you for your kindness and to tender you my privatecard. Perhaps I may be able to serve you in some humble way'--here theumbrella point stuck in the hole, and he clung to the handle with bothhands--'some humble way, sir. Like yourself, I am a literary man, asthis will show you.' He fumbled in his breast pocket with his left hand,and would have fallen over on his back but for the umbrella handle, towhich he clung with his right. Presently he extracted a dirty card andhanded it to me, with a bow, which he effected by doubling himselfon his stomach over the friendly gamp, and remained in that position,swaying to and fro, for quite ten seconds. I read the card:--
MR HORATIO BILGER Journalist and Litterateur
Formerly Editor of the 'Barangoora News'
Real Aylesbury Ducks for Sale Book-keeping Taught in Four Lessons
4a Kellet Street, Darlinghurst, Sydney
I said I should bear him in mind, and, after helping him to release hisumbrella, saw him down the steps and watched him disappear.
'Thank Heaven!' I said to Kate, 'we have seen the last of him.'
I was bitterly mistaken, for next morning when I entered the office,Bilger was there awaiting me, outside the sub-editor's room. He waswearing a new pair of boots, much larger than the old ones, and smiledpleasantly at me, and said he had brought his son Edward to see me,feeling sure that I would use my influence with the editor and managerto get him put on as a canvasser.
I refused point blank to see 'Edward' then or at any other time, andsaid that even if there was a vacancy I should not recommend a stranger.He sighed, and said that I should like Edward, once I knew him. He was'a noble lad, but misfortune had dogged his footsteps--a brave, heroicnature, fighting hard against unmerited adversity.' I went in and shutthe door.
* * * * *
Two days later Kate asked me at supper if I _couldn't do something forold Bilger's son_.
'Has that infernal old nuisance been writing to you about his confoundedson?'
'How ill-tempered you are! The "old nuisance," as you call him, hasbehaved very nicely. He sent his son over here to thank us for ourkindness, and to ask me to accept a dozen extra cards from himself. Theson is a very respectable-looking man, but rather shabby. He is comingagain to-morrow to help Mary to put up the new wire clothes line.'
'Is he? Well, then, Mary can pay him.'
'Don't be so horrid. He doesn't want payment for it. But, of course, Ishall pay his fare each way. Mary says he's such a willing young man.'
In the morning I saw Mr Edward Bilger, helping Mary. He was a fat-faced,greasy-looking youth, with an attempted air of hang-dog respectability,and with 'loafer' writ large on his forehead. I stepped over to him andsaid,--
'Now, look here. I don't want you fooling about the premises. Here's twoshillings for you. Clear out, and if you come back again on any pretencewhatever I'll give you in charge.'
He accepted the two shillings with thanks, said that he meant nooffence, but he thought Mary was not strong enough to put up a wireclothes line.
Mary (who was standing by, looking very sulky) was a cow-like creatureof eleven stone, and I laughed. She at once sniffed and marched away.Mr Bilger, junior, presently followed her into the kitchen. I went afterhim and ordered him out. Mary was leaning against the dresser, bitingher nails and looking at me viciously.
Half an hour later, as I walked to the ferry, I saw Mr Bilger, junior,sitting by the roadside, eating bread and meat (my property). He stoodup as I passed, and said politely that it looked like rain. I requestedhim to make a visit to Sheol, and passed on.
In the afternoon my sister called upon me at the _Evening News_ office.She wore that look of resigned martyrdom peculiar to women who havesomething unpleasant to say.
'Mary has given me notice--of course.'
'Why "of course!"'
Kate rose with an air of outraged dignity. 'Servants don't like to bebullied and sworn at--not white servants, anyway. You can't expect thegirl to stay. She's a very good girl, and I'm sure that that youngman Bilger was doing no harm. As it is, you have placed me in a mostunpleasant position; I had told him that he could let his youngerbrothers and sisters come and weed the paddock, and--'
'Why not invite the whole Bilger family to come and live on thepremises?' I began, when Kate interrupted me by saying that if I wasgoing to be violent she would leave me. Then she sailed out with aninjured expression of countenance.
When I returned home to dinner at 7.30, Mary waited upon us in sullensilence. After dinner I called her in, gave her a week's wages in lieuof notice, and told her to get out of the house as a nuisance. Kate wentoutside and wept.
* * * * *
From that day the Bilger family proved a curse to me. Old Bilger wroteme a note expressing his sorrow that his son--quite innocently--hadgiven me offence; also he regretted to hear that my servant had left me.Mrs Bilger, he added, was quite grieved, and would do her best to sendsome 'likely girls' over. 'If none of them suited, Mrs Bilger wouldbe delighted to come and assist my sister in the mornings. She was anexcellent, worthy woman.' And he ventured, with all due respect, tosuggest to me that my sister looked very delicate. His poor lad Edwardwas very sad at heart _over the turn matters had taken_. The youngerchildren, too, were sadly grieved--to be in a garden, even to toil,would be a revelation to them.
That evening I went home in a bad temper. Kate, instead of meeting me asusual at the gate, was cooking dinner, looking hot and resigned, I dinedalone, Kate saying coldly that she did not care about eating anything.The only other remark she made that evening was that 'Mary had criedvery bitterly when she left.'
I said, 'T
he useless, fat beast!'
* * * * *
The Curse of Bilger rested upon me for quite three months. He calledtwice a week, regularly, and borrowed two shillings 'until next Monday.'Then one day that greasy ruffian, Bilger, junior, came into the _EveningNews_ office, full of tears and colonial beer, and said that his poorfather was dead, and that his mother thought I might perhaps lend her apound to help bury him.
The sub-editor (who was overjoyed at Bilger's demise) lent me tenshillings, which I gave to Edward, and told him I was sorry to hear theold man was dead. I am afraid my face belied my words.