CHAPTER EIGHT
Time is a flowing river. Happy those who allow themselves to be carried,unresisting, with the current. They float through easy days. They live,unquestioning, in the moment.
But Gissing was acutely conscious of Time. Though not subtle enough toanalyze the matter acutely, he had a troublesome feeling about it. Hekept checking off a series of Nows. "Now I am having my bath," he wouldsay to himself in the morning. "Now I am dressing. Now I am on theway to the store. Now I am in the jewellery aisle, being polite tocustomers. Now I am having lunch." After a period in which time ran byunnoticed, he would suddenly realize a fresh Now, and feel uneasy atthe knowledge that it would shortly dissolve into another one. He tried,vainly, to swim up-stream against the smooth impalpable fatal current.He tried to dam up Time, to deepen the stream so that he could bathe init carelessly. Time, he said, is life; and life is God; time, then, islittle bits of God. Those who waste their time in vulgarity or folly arethe true atheists.
One of the things that struck him about the city was its heedlessness ofTime. On every side he saw people spending it without adequate return.Perhaps he was young and doctrinaire: but he devised this theory forhimself--all time is wasted that does not give you some awareness ofbeauty or wonder. In other words, "the days that make us happy make uswise," he said to himself, quoting Masefield's line. On that principle,he asked, how much time is wasted in this city? Well, here are some sixmillion people. To simplify the problem (which is permitted to everyphilosopher) let us (he said) assume that 2,350,000 of those people havespent a day that could be called, on the whole, happy: a day inwhich they have had glimpses of reality; a day in which they feelsatisfaction. (That was, he felt, a generous allowance. ) Very well,then, that leaves 3,650,000 people whose day has been unfruitful: spentin uncongenial work, or in sorrow, suffering, and talking nonsense. Thiscity, then, in one day, has wasted 10,000 years, or 100 centuries. Onehundred centuries squandered in a day! It made him feel quite ill, andhe tore up the scrap of paper on which he had been figuring.
This was a new, disconcerting way to think of the subject. We areaccustomed to consider Time only as it applies to ourselves, forgettingthat it is working upon everyone else simultaneously. Why, he thoughtwith a sudden shock, if only 36,500 people in this city have had athoroughly spendthrift and useless day, that means a net loss of acentury! If the War, he said to himself, lasted over 1,500 days andinvolved more than 10,000,000 men, how many aeons--He used to thinkabout these things during quiet evenings in the top-floor room at Mrs.Purp's. Occasionally he went home at night still wearing his storeclothes, because it pleased good Mrs. Purp so much. She felt that itadded glamour to her house to have him do so, and always called herhusband, a frightened silent creature with no collar and a humble air,up from the basement to admire. Mr. Purp's time, Gissing suspected,was irretrievably wasted--a good deal of it, to judge by his dustyappearance, in rolling around in ashcans or in the company of theneighbourhood bootlegger; but then, he reflected, in a charitableseizure, you must not judge other people's time-spendings by a calculusof your own.
Perhaps he himself was growing a little miserly in this matter.Indulging in the rare, the sovereign luxury of thinking, he had suddenlybecome aware of time's precious fluency, and wondered why everyone elsedidn't think about it as passionately as he did. In the privacy ofhis room, weary after the day afoot, he took off his cutaway coat andtrousers and enjoyed his old habit of stretching out on the floor fora good rest. There he would lie, not asleep, but in a bliss of passivemeditation. He even grudged Mrs. Purp the little chats she loved--shemade a point of coming up with clean towels when she knew he was in hisroom, because she cherished hearing him talk. When he heard her knock,he had to scramble hastily to his feet, get on his clothes, and pretendhe had been sitting calmly in the rocking chair. It would never doto let her find him sprawled on the floor. She had an almost painfulrespect for him. Once, when prospective lodgers were bargaining forrooms, and he happened to be wearing his Beagle and Company attire, shehad asked him to do her the favour of walking down the stairs, so thatthe visitors might be impressed by the gentility of the establishment.
Of course he loved to waste time--but in his own way. He gloated on theirresponsible vacancy of those evening hours, when there was nothing tobe done. He lay very still, hardly even thinking, just feeling life goby. Through the open window came the lights and noises of the street.Already his domestic life seemed dim and far away. The shrill appealsof the puppies, their appalling innocent comments on existence, camebut faintly to memory. Here, where life beat so much more thickly andclosely, was the place to be. Though he had solved nothing, yet heseemed closer to the heart of the mystery. Entranced, he felt timeflowing on toward him, endless in sweep and fulness. There is only onesuccess, he said to himself--to be able to spend your life in your ownway, and not to give others absurd maddening claims upon it. Youth,youth is the only wealth, for youth has Time in its purse!
In the store, however, philosophy was laid aside. A kind of intoxicationpossessed him. Never before had old Mr. Beagle (watching delightedlyfrom the mezzanine balcony) seen such a floorwalker. Gissing moved toand fro exulting in the great tide of shopping. He knew all the bestcustomers by name and had learned their peculiarities. If a shower cameup and Mrs. Mastiff was just leaving, he hastened to give her his arm asfar as her limousine, boosting her in so expeditiously that not a dropof wetness fell upon her. He took care to find out the special plat dujour of the store's lunch room, and seized occasion to whisper to Mrs.Dachshund, whose weakness was food, that the filet of sole was very niceto-day. Mrs. Pomeranian learned that giving Gissing a hint about somenew Parisian importations was more effective than a half page ad. in theSunday papers. Within a few hours, by a judicious word here and there,he would have a score of ladies hastening to the millinery salon.A pearl necklace of great value, which Mr. Beagle had rebuked thejewellery buyer for getting, because it seemed more appropriate for adealer in precious stones than for a department store, was disposed ofalmost at once. Gissing casually told Mrs. Mastiff that he had heardMrs. Sealyham intended to buy it. As for Mrs. Dachshund, who had had ahabit of lunching at Delmonico's, she now was to be seen taking tiffinat Beagle's almost daily. There were many husbands who would have beenglad to shoot him at sight on the first of the month, had they known whowas the real cause of their woe.
Indeed, Gissing had raised floorwalking to a new level. He was moreprime minister than a mere patroller of aisles. With sparkling eye,with unending curiosity, tact, and attention, he moved quietly among thethrong. He realized that shopping is the female paradise; that spendingmoney she has not earned is the only real fun an elderly and wealthylady can have; and if to this primitive shopping passion can be addedthe delights of social amenity--flattery, courtesy, good-humouredflirtation--the snare is complete.
But all this is not accomplished without rousing the jealousy ofrivals. Among the other floorwalkers, and particularly in the gorgeouslyuniformed attendant at the front door (who was outraged by Gissing'shabit of escorting special customers to their motors) moved anger, envy,and sneers. Gissing, completely absorbed in the fascination of his work,was unaware of this hostility, as he was equally unaware of the amazedsatisfaction of his employer. He went his way with naive and unconsciouspleasure. It did not take long for his enemies to find a fulcrum fortheir chagrin. One evening, after closing, when he sat in the dressingroom, with his feet in the usual tub of hot water, placidly reviewingthe day's excitements and smoking his pipe, the superintendent burst in.
"Hey!" he exclaimed. "Don't you know smoking's forbidden? What do youwant to do, get our fire insurance cancelled? Get out of here! You'refired!"
It did not occur to Gissing to question or protest. He had knownperfectly well that smoking was not allowed. But he was like thestage hand behind the scenes who concluded it was all right to lighta cigarette because the sign only said SMOKING FORBIDDEN, instead ofSMOKING STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. He had not troubled his mind about it, oneway or about
it, one way or another.
He had drawn his salary that evening, and his first thought was, Well,at any rate I've earned enough to pay for the clothes. He had been thereexactly four weeks. Quite calmly, he lifted his feet out of the tub andbegan to towel them daintily. The meticulous way he dried between histoes was infuriating to the superintendent.
"Have you any children?" Gissing asked, mildly.
"What's that to you?" snapped the other.
"I'll sell you this bathtub for a quarter. Take it home to them. Theyprobably need it."
"You get out of here!" cried the angry official.
"You'd be surprised," said Gissing, "how children thrive when they'rebathed regularly. Believe me, I know."
He packed his formal clothes in a neat bundle, left the bathtub behind,surrendered his locker key, and walked toward the employees' door,escorted by his bristling superior. As they passed through the emptyaisles, scene of his brief triumph, he could not help gazing a littlesadly. True merchant to the last, a thought struck him. He scribbled anote on the back of a sales slip and left it at Miss Whippet's post bythe stocking counter. It said:--
MISS WHIPPET: Show Mrs. Sealyham some of the bisque sports hose, Scotchwool, size 9. She's coming to-morrow. Don't let her get size 8 1/2. Theyshrink.
MR. GISSING.
At the door he paused, relit his pipe leisurely, raised his hat to thesuperintendent, and strolled away.
In spite of this nonchalance, the situation was serious. His money wasat a low ebb. All his regular income was diverted to the support ofthe large household in the country. He was too proud to appeal to hiswealthy uncle. He hated also to think of Mrs. Purp's mortification ifshe learned that her star boarder was out of work. By a curious irony,when he got home he found a letter from Mrs. Spaniel:--
MR. GISHING, dere friend, the pupeys are well, no insecks, and eat withnives and forx Groups is the fattest but Yelpers is the lowdest theysend wags and lix and glad to here Daddy is doing so well in buisnesswith respects from
MRS. SPANIEL.
He did not let Mrs. Purp know of the change in his condition, and everymorning left his lodging at the usual time. By some curious attractionhe felt drawn to that downtown region where his kinsman's office was.This part of the city he had not properly explored.
It was a world wholly different from Fifth Avenue. There was none ofthat sense of space and luxury he had known on the wide slopes of MurrayHill. He wandered under terrific buildings, in a breezy shadow wherejavelins of colourless sunlight pierced through thin slits, hotbrilliance fell in fans and cascades over the uneven terrace of roofs.Here was where husbands worked to keep Fifth Avenue going: he wonderedvaguely whether Mrs. Sealyham had bought those stockings? One day hesaw his uncle hurrying along Wall Street with an intent face. Gissingskipped into a doorway, fearing to be recognized. He knew that the oldfellow would insist on taking him to lunch at the Pedigree Club, wouldtalk endlessly, and ask family questions. But he was on the scent ofmatters that talk could not pursue.
He perceived a sense of pressure, of prodigious poetry and beauty andamazement. This was a strange jungle of life. Tall coasts of windowsstood up into the pure brilliant sky: against their feet beat a darksurf of slums. In one foreign street, too deeply trenched for sunlight,oranges were the only gold. The water, reaching round in two arms, cameclose: there was a note of husky summons in the whistles of passingcraft. Almost everywhere, sharp above many smells of oils and spices,the whiff of coffee tingled his busy nose. Above one huge precipicestood a gilded statue--a boy with wings, burning in the noon. Brillianceflamed between the vanes of his pinions: the intangible thrust of thatpouring light seemed about to hover him off into blue air.
The world of working husbands was more tender than that of shoppingwives: even in all their business, they had left space and quietness forthe dead. Sunken among the crags he found two graveyards. They were cupsof placid brightness. Here, looking upward, it was like being drownedon the floor of an ocean of light. Husbands had built their officeshalf-way to the sky rather than disturb these. Perhaps they appreciaterest all the more, Gissing thought, because they get so little of it?Somehow he could not quite imagine a graveyard left at peace in theshopping district. It would be bad for trade, perhaps? Even the churcheson the Avenue, he had noticed, were huddled up and hemmed in so tightlyby the other buildings that they had scarcely room to kneel. If I everbecome a parson, he said (this was a fantastic dream of his), I willinsist that all churches must have a girdle of green about them, to setthem apart from the world.
The two little brown churches among the cliffs had been gifted with adignity far beyond the dream of their builders. Their pointing spireswere relieved against the enormous facades of business. What otheraltars ever had such a reredos? Above the strepitant racket of thestreets, he heard the harsh chimes of Trinity at noonday--strong jags ofclangour hurled against the great sounding-boards of buildings; driftingand dying away down side alleys. There was no soft music of appeal inthe bronze volleying: it was the hoarse monitory voice of rebuke. Sospoke the church of old, he thought: not asking, not appealing, butimperatively, sternly, as one born to command. He thought with newrespect of Mr. Sealyham, Mr. Mastiff, Mr. Dachshund, all the otherswho were powers in these fantastic flumes of stone. They were more thanmerely husbands of charge accounts--they were poets. They sat at lunchon the tops of their amazing edifices, and looked off at the blue.
Day after day went by, but with a serene fatalism Gissing did nothingabout hunting a job. He was willing to wait until the last dollar wasbroken: in the meantime he was content. You never know the soul of acity, he said, until you are down on your luck. Now, he felt, he hadbeen here long enough to understand her. She did not give her secrets tothe world of Fifth Avenue. Down here, where the deep crevice of Broadwayopened out into greenness, what was the first thing he saw? Out acrossthe harbour, turned toward open sea--Liberty! Liberty Enlightening theWorld, he had heard, was her full name. Some had mocked her, he had alsoheard. Well, what was the gist of her enlightenment? Why this, surely:that Liberty could never be more than a statue: never a reality. Only afool would expect complete liberty. He himself, with all his latitude,was not free. If he were, he would cook his meals in his room, and savemoney--but Mrs. Purp was strict on that point. She had spoken scathinglyof two young females she ejected for just that reason. Nor was Mrs. Purpfree--she was ridden by the Gas Company. So it went.
It struck him, now he was down to about three dollars, that a generousgesture toward Fortune might be valuable. When you are nearly out ofmoney, he reasoned, to toss coins to the gods--i. e., to buy somethingquite unnecessary--may be propitiatory. It may start something movingin your direction. It is the touch of bravado that God relishes. In asudden mood of tenderness, he bought two dollars' worth of toys and hadthem sent to the children. He smiled to think how they would frolic overthe jumping rabbit. He sent Mrs. Spaniel a postcard of the Aquarium.
There is a good deal more to this business than I had realized, he said,as he walked uptown through the East Side slums that hot night. Theaudacity, the vitality, the magnificence, are plain enough. But I seemto see squalor too, horror and pitiful dearth. I believe God is fartheroff than I thought. Look here: if the more you know, the less you knowabout God, doesn't that mean that God is really enjoyed only by thecompletely simple--by faith, never by reason?
He gave twenty-five cents to a beggar, and said angrily: "I am notinterested in a God who is known only by faith."
When he got uptown he was very tired and hungry. In spite of all Mrs.Purp's rules, he smuggled in an egg, a box of biscuits, a small packetof tea and sugar, and a tin of condensed milk. He emptied the milk intohis shaving mug, and used the tin to boil water in, holding it over thegas jet. He was getting on finely when a sudden knock on the door madehim jump. He spilled the hot water on his leg, and uttered a wild yell.
Mrs. Purp burst in, but she was so excited that she did not notice theegg seeping into the clean counterpane.
/>
"Oh, Mr. Gissing," she exclaimed, "I've been waiting all evening foryou to come in. Purp and I wondered if you'd seen this in the paperto-night? Purp noticed it in the ads., but we couldn't understand whatit meant."
She held out a page of classified advertising, in which he read withamazement:
PERSONAL
If MR. GISSING, late floorwalker at Beagle and Company, will communicatewith Mr. Beagle Senior, he will hear matters greatly to his advantage.
Where the Blue Begins Page 8