“Poor wee lad!” said the gentleman, with the kindest Scottish emphasis and accentuation— “He’s worn out, and fretting for his mother.”
“That’s it, sir,” said the “Duke,” grateful for the homely simplicity of this explanation, and knuckling his forehead again, while Ikey, his terrors somewhat subsiding, choked back a sob, and tried not to “turn on the main” any more. The “toff” paced up and down for a minute, apparently thinking, — then suddenly taking the only chair in the room, sat down upon it.
“Come here, Mr the ‘Duke’!” he commanded. The “Duke” obeyed, and approached, with Ikey still clinging to him.
“Look me straight in the face!”
Unhesitatingly the “Duke” raised a pair of honest eyes, faithful as the eyes of a dog, and fixed them upon his interlocutor. But the ordeal was a more trying one than he had imagined — for the eyes of the “toff” were like search-lights, plunging into all the holes and corners of his poor uncertain soul, and shedding a fire of examination into the darkest recesses of his conscience. Yet he never flinched — he bore the silent examination without a start or a fidget, though he was often wont to say afterwards—” the cold drops went a’ tricklin’ down my spine, as though someone ‘ad got ’is umbreller drippin’ over me. An’ if I’d bin like the chap in the penny track readin’ wot fell dead an’ was carried out by the feet for tellin’ of a lie, dead I’d a’ bin, as dead as a door nail.”
Presently the “toff’s” glance relaxed, and he smiled quite genially, giving one or two almost facetious twirls to his moustache.
“Now Mr the ‘Duke,’” he said— “How does your Grace make a living?”
“Sellin’ the papers, sir,” replied the “Duke,” “It’s ‘ard work an’ little pay, but it’s better than nothin’.”
“Where do you live?”
“Nowheres pertikler. I’m not takin’ any on ‘Ome sweet ‘Ome yet,” — and the “Duke,” relieved by the fact that his questioner had taken off his glasses and was polishing them, and that the searching blue eyes had for the moment released him from their spell, smiled broadly— “I lives in the streets all day an’ sleeps in a hattic at night, an’ that’s wot this youngster’ll ‘ave to do ef ’e comes along wi’ me.”
“You are going to adopt this child, and teach him to earn his bread?” proceeded the gentleman, resuming his steadfast search-light gaze. “You don’t mind the responsibility?”
“No, sir, I don’t mind. We’ll rub along somehow.”
“You’re not an Unemployed, then?” and the “toff” laughed.
“Not I, sir! There’s alius somethin’ wantin’ doin’, an’ I’m alius ready an’ willin’ to do it.”
“I see. Now, suppose,” — and here his questioner looked at him very hard— “Suppose I were to give you employment?”
The “Duke” uttered a curious sound — something between a laugh and a cry.
“I’d do my best, sir!” he faltered— “But I ain’t got no one to speak for me—”
“You’ve no father or mother?”
“Never know’d ’em, sir. I’m what they calls a fondling.”
And he lowered his eyes and pulled at his tattered vest nervously. There was a silence. Then the “toff” rose and put his hand on the “Duke’s” shoulder.
“That’s not your fault, my lad,” he said, kindly. “That won’t prevent my giving you a chance.”
The “Duke” stared, tried to speak, but no words would come.
“Wot are ye goin’ to do with ’im?” demanded Ikey, suddenly and querulously— “Ef ye takes ’im awy I’ll git left!”
The “Duke” laughed, but brushed his hand across his eyes.
“No, ye won’t, Ikey,” he said— “I’ll see t’ye—”
His voice broke and he turned his head away. The “toff” feigned not to notice him, and took a saunter up and down the room.
“‘E’s cryin’!” shrilled Ikey, with piercing vehemence — M You’ve bin an’ made ’im turn on the tear-taps!”
At this shrieking declaration the “toff’s” gravity broke down altogether. He gave vent to a hearty laugh, his blue eyes twinkled with dancing sparkles of fun. The “Duke,” shamefacedly wiping his eyes, laughed too.
“‘E’s an orful nipper, sir!” he explained, in somewhat tremulous accents— “Orful, but meanin’ no ‘arm, please to ‘xcuse ’im. ’E picks up jes’ wot’s said to ’im an’ raps it out anyhow, but ’e ain’t gone sivin yet, an’ ‘ope ’e aint offendin’.”
“Not at all — not at all!” And the “toff’s” face, lit up by humour and kindliness, was a very pleasant study— “He’s a quaint little chap — likely to make his way in the world. What’s his name?”
“Michael Grady, sir, which don’t want no placards to say ‘e’s Irish.’Is father wor a caution — drunk as a lord from first o’ Janewary to last o’ December, an’ was mussifully runn’d over by hacci-dent. They’d a pretty bit about it in the ‘Star’ as sed this pore man hexpired of ’is injuries quarter past four bein’ runn’d over at three, but niver a word as to ‘ow ’e was that blind drunk ’e couldn’t see whether St. Paul’s was a cathedral or a furniture van.’ Is mother took in City waiters’ washin’ an’ now bein’ gone parst, ‘er shutters is up for good. An’ ’e bein’ an orfing they calls ’im Ikey for short.”
“As they call you the ‘Duke’ for common!” said the “toff,” facetiously— “Well! You, Mr the ‘Duke,’ and you, Master Grady, may consider yourselves in my service. And if you are steady, — if you behave well, and do the work you are told to do and stick to it, you will rise. Do you know what a ‘rise’ means?”
“Yes, sir! — an’ ever grateful an’ ever obliged!” murmured the “Duke.”
“But I’m bound to give notice to ’im wot trusts me to sell ’is newspapers. It wouldn’t be fair to leave ’im in the lurch, like, would it, sir?”
“Of course not!” — and the “toff” smiled approval—’
‘This is Friday, — give your notice tonight — and if you can arrange it, come round to my offices on Monday morning. One of my men will meet you there, and show you what to do. But mind, I expect you to work your best, no matter what work it is. If you only get a floor to sweep, I want it swept thoroughly. You understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Work,” said the “toff,” swinging up and down the tiny room at an easy stride, and straightening his shoulders— “is the only thing that makes a man respected or respectable. Work” — and warming with his thoughts he now talked more to himself than to his youthful listeners— “is the only thing in earth or heaven that brings God’s blessing with it. Idlers are the curse of a nation, — the workers are its rescue and safety. I don’t care what the work is, so long as it is work, — real honest labour. I honour the man who digs the ground for a small wage quite as much as I honour the King who serves the people for a large one. What pride is there in being left heir to millions that one has not earned? What glory is there in a position that only comes by heritage? Every man should make his — own money and his own renown! The great thing is to begin at the very bottom of the ladder, and climb — climb — climb — to the very top!”
Unconsciously he raised his hand as he spoke, and the “Duke,” fascinated, gazed upon that uplifted hand as a kind of commander’s signal for him to begin in good earnest the battle of life. It was an unusually characteristic hand, — and the “Duke” suddenly bethought him of a great personage who had once been pointed out to him as an Earl, and to whom he had sold an evening paper at the entrance to the Carlton Hotel. The Earl had given him sixpence, and had held out his hand for the change, — and even so uninstructed a lad as the “Duke” had been struck by the common “thief’s hand” which distinguished that proud “descendant of a hundred kings.” The remembrance of its coarse flabby flesh and ugly shape now flashed through the “Duke’s” brain, as he contemplated the straight upraised palm of his new master, but he had no time to consider
the incident more than for the passing of a second, as Ikey here created a diversion by giving vent not to tears, but to song: “Right up — ever so far!” he crooned, cheerfully, to a baby tune of his own— “Climb to the top! Straight over all the world an’ through the sky — up to the top — up to the very tip-top! We’ll find God there!”
The “toff” looked at him attentively.
“We’ll find God there, will we?” he echoed— “Well! — We hope so, — we hope so!”
“Ef ‘e’s anywheres to be found up top you’ll find ’im, sir!” said the “Duke,” emphatically— “Or ef ser be you don’t, none of us will!”
“Now see here, my lad,” said the “toff,” waiving aside this compliment, and reverting to business— “Understand me clearly. On Monday morning you will start work in my offices — at anything you are put to do — that is if your present employer will part with you at short notice. If not, give him his full time, and report here as to what day you will be ready to begin. A lodging will be found for you close by, which you can share with your little friend Ikey, and which you will pay for out of your weekly earnings. Ikey must go to school for a bit — and you’ll have to see to that. All’s plain sailing, — but no favours shown. Do your duty and I’ll do mine. That’s all. By the way, is this the first time you’ve been to the ‘Trust’?”
“Lord love ye sir, no!” answered the “Duke” quickly—” It’s the fust time Ikey’s bin in, but meself, I dines an’ teas ’ere every day. Wouldn’t know ‘ow to feed myself else.”
“Good! You’ve trusted the ‘Trust.’”
“That’s it, sir, and got good vally for it!”
“Well! You trusted a ‘Trust’ — and perhaps a ‘Trust’ will trust you!” — and the keen blue eyes of the speaker darkened with a certain earnest gravity— “That rests entirely with yourself. Work there is for everyone — work always wanting to be done — and only those who do it well can hope to win reward. No ‘scamping’ — no short hours — no grumbling! Mr the ‘Duke,’ I have known what it is to be poor! — I have struggled, suffered and fought — but I have conquered! And how? By sticking to work, and keeping away from the drink! Two very simple rules, my lad! — but they are forces that when combined, make a lever to lift the world! Once I hadn’t a friend — now perhaps I have too many of the ‘time-serving’ sort —
‘friends’ who, if I were to do as they would like me to do, drink, bet and gamble the hours away, and so lose all I have ever made, would desert me, one and all, like rats deserting a falling house. I know this well enough! — I know it is only my own Self that saves me. Your Self must make Yourself! No other man can make you! Remember that!
You’ve now got a chance in life — take it, and keep on the square!”
Another few minutes and the two boys found themselves again outside the “Alexandra Trust,” in the fog, which had grown denser and more blinding than ever. But to them, it looked like woven sunshine. The ugly crawling vans and omnibuses seemed like glorified chariots going to Paradise. And the “Duke” before starting to run hard with Ikey to get their bundle of “Speshuls” for the evening’s sale, could not resist performing a dance with an elegant interlude of “double cut and shuffle” on the pavement, while he tossed his tattered cap in air.
“Hooray!” he cried— “Sing Hooray, Ikey!”
“Hooray!” shrieked Ikey, wildly.
“I’m goin’ to make a fortin’! Hooray!”
“Goin’ to make ’is fortin’! Hooray! An’ mine! Hooray!” said Ikey.
“God bless the ‘Trust’!”
“Hooray!”
“God bless the man as ‘elps to run it! Three cheers, Ikey!”
“Hip, ‘ip, ‘ip! — hooray!”
Taking each other by the hand they ran off together, and the fog enshrouded and swallowed them up. The twin lights of the “Alexandra Trust” winked after them almost knowingly, and shed a glare through the yellow haze as though desirous of following them whither they had gone. In a few seconds they had vanished. Where are they now? What is the end of the story? The end is not yet. It is only the beginning. And the way in which the rest of the tale might be told, is only known to one person, — one who is a friend to many of the poor and sick and sorrowful in London City, — one whom Ikey still affectionately calls “The Toff.”
THE DESPISED ANGEL
AN ALLEGORY
OUT among the far golden distances of light where God dwells, there is a place of stillness and soft shadow, known to immortals as the gateway of the Angels. Over its cloudy quietude the glowing radiance of the inner Paradise seldom or never beams, — and through its unechoing archways the sound of Heaven’s triumphal music seldom or never penetrates. A mystic silence reigns, — yet more than a million Angels are gathered there together, forever watching, forever waiting. With folded pinions and down-drooping heads they kneel — a snow-white glorious multitude, — upon the misty verge between earth’s time and Heaven’s eternity, — angels whose duty it is to listen to what seems dumb, — to evolve speech from inarticulate wailings, — to catch the far faint murmur of the world’s half-muttered, always broken prayers, and then convey these strange petitions, these wild complainings, these sorrowful discontents into the Holy of Holies, there to repeat them in angelic language before the Great White Throne, where true appeals of love and faith are always heard and answered.
Nevertheless, no evil wish can be so carried into Heaven, and no impure desire; and thus it happens that these listening angels often have long to wait before they hear the whisper of one prayer from earth which is so free from every selfish taint as to be worthy of their repetition. But their eternal patience never tires, — their long-suffering pity never falters, — their ungrudging tenderness never fails, — and one pure aspiration unto God from one pure soul, suffices to reward them for the longest term of their divine suspense.
Quite lately, in a wild time of the world, when doubt and despair were torturing anew the always self-tortured spirit of human things, a sudden breath of music floated upwards to the pinnacles of the silent Gateway, — music that was distant, yet sweet, — tremulous, yet clear. It was the echo of a prayer from a human soul in pain, — in pain not for itself but for others.
“Let me help the world!” it cried— “Let me lift the burden of sorrow ever so little from the lives of my fellow-mortals, — let my existence be of some benefit to those who are in need of sympathy and comfort, — for myself I care nothing! With all my strength I fain would work for truth and goodness, — but the place wherein I dwell is full of falsity and subterfuge, — I am as one blind, walking among snares and pitfalls, — there are hours of darkness in which I cannot distinguish the false from the true, — and think as I will, work as I will, hope as I will, I fall into strange errors, fatal perversions of judgment, and confusing cares, all of which impede my progress, and destroy the good I might accomplish. Oh that I could but truly know the way of perfect life! Oh that the dwellers in high Heaven would hear my prayer and send to me one Angel! — but one out of the thousands upon thousands of the shining host! One Angel of Truth, who should be ever by my side to show me where deceits and dangers are, — whose voice I could trust, — whose loving warning I could always obey! Surely, out of the countless glories of the world’s immortal, one of God’s messengers might be spared for me!” And the listening angels on the verge of Heaven heard the human soul’s appeal, and gazing with full radiant eyes upon each other, smiled. For was not this prayer unselfish? — pure in intention? — a holy desire to learn how best to serve and benefit others? — a wish that was free from every taint of egotism? In silent eloquence their flashing looks agreed; and one among them, fair and serene of aspect, with golden tresses more glorious of colour than the sun, arose from where she long had knelt, and spreading out her glistening wings, flew swiftly through the rose and jasper portals of paradise into the innermost Holy of Holies, and there, in accents sweeter than all sweet music, she, standing before God’s Throne, faith
fully repeated the soul’s petition. But when she ceased her soft melodious utterance, there was a deep silence in Heaven. No answer was vouchsafed from the Splendour of the Presence Invisible; and the Angel of the message was stricken with a pitying sorrow, lest the prayer she had brought should not be granted. Nevertheless, she lingered hopefully, with wistful eyes uplifted to the lightning-glory of the Throne where Love and Justice rule the universe, — and all the lustre of the Divine flashed on her face and hair and wings, giving her fresh and yet more perfect fairness. For even the loveliest angels, facing God, grow lovelier. Thus, while she stood, absorbing beauty and inhaling light, the great Voice spake at last from out the circling beams of life eternal: —
“Angel of mine who knowest not the sin of disobedience, and therefore art all ignorant of earth’s corruption, — the prayer which thou hast brought is the prayer of a man’s weak soul as yet untried by strong temptation. It is the cry of impulse, not of faith. Nevertheless, for thy sake, who art compassionate of this appeal, thou shalt thyself convey the answer, — thou shalt thyself descend to earth, and be unto this human seeker after good, his guiding angel, — an Angel of Truth in a world of lies, — a voice of certainty amidst the clamour of many contradictions. If he receives thee, welcomes thee, values and obeys thee, it shall be well with him, — but if he wrongs thee, even by a thought, then verily it shall be ill. For as a man deals with the Divine, even so shall the Divine deal with him, — and whosoever rejects a messenger of Truth shall be himself rejected. Go! — and may thy mission prosper!”
The golden fires of heaven grew dim, — the splendours of the Throne were veiled; and, bowing her fair head in meek submission, the Angel of the spheres eternal departed on her heaven-sent errand. Swiftly she flew to earth, her companions at the Gateway watching her as she fled downward like a bright falling star. And he who had prayed for the divine assistance, awoke one night to see the shining wonder of an Angel in his room, — a golden-haired and radiant Spirit whose dazzling presence was more glorious than the glittering of a summer dawn upon a southern sea. Thrilled with great gladness that was almost fear, he gazed upon her, — marvelling within himself whether her beauty were a vision evolved from his own brain in the watches of the night, or a reality surpassing in glory all his most glorious dreams. And while he silently absorbed the grace and pureness of her aspect, she spoke and said —
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 944