Tales of Mean Streets

VII

Old Jack felt unhappy, for a landlord. He and the missis reproached themselves for not asking the little stranger certain questions; but he had gone. Next Monday morning old Jack took another half-day, and went to Mulberry Street himself. From appearances, he assured himself that a belief, entertained by his missis, that the upper part of his house was being sublet, was well founded. He watched awhile from a corner, until a dirty child kicked at the door, and it was opened. Then he went across and found the draggle-tailed woman who had answered Mrs. Randall before, in every respect the same to look at, except that not one eye was black but two. Old Jack, with some abruptness, demanded his rent of her, addressing her as Mrs. Parsons. Without disclaiming the name, she pleaded with meek uneasiness that Mr. Parsons really wasn't at home, and she didn't know when to expect him. At last, finding this ineffectual, she produced four and sixpence: begging him with increasing agitation to take that on account and call again.

Old Jack took the money, and called again at seven. Custom or law or what-not, he would wait for no Monday morning now. The door was open, and a group of listening children stood about it. From within came a noise of knocks and thuds and curses – sometimes a gurgle. Old Jack asked a small boy, whose position in the passage betokened residence, what was going forward. "It's the man downstairs," said the boy, "a-givin' of it to 'is wife for payin' awy the lodgers' rent."

At this moment Mr. Joe Parsons appeared in the passage. The children, who had once or twice commented in shouts, dispersed. "I've come for my rent," said old Jack.

Mr. Joe Parsons saw no retreat. So he said, "Rent? Ain't you 'ad it? I don't bother about things in the 'ouse. Come again when my wife's in."

"She is in," rejoined old Jack, "an' you've been a-landin' of 'er for payin' me what little she 'as. Come, you pay me what you owe me, and take a week's notice now. I want my house kep' respectable."

Mr. Joe Parsons had no other shift. "You be damned," he said. "Git out."

"What?" gasped old Jack – for to tell a landlord to get out of his own house!.. "What?"

"Why git out? Y' ought to know better than comin' 'ere askin' for money you ain't earnt."

"Ain't earnt? What d'ye mean?"

"What I say. Y' ain't earnt it. It's you blasted lan'lords as sucks the blood o' the workers. You go an' work for your money."

Old Jack was confounded. "Why – what – how d'ye think I can pay the rates, an' everythink?"

"I don't care. You'll 'ave to pay 'em, an' I wish they was 'igher. They ought to be the same as the rent, an' that 'ud do away with fellers like you. Go on: you do your damdest an' get your rent best way you can."

"But what about upstairs? You're lettin' it out an' takin' the rent there. I – "

"That's none o' your business. Git out, will ye?" They had gradually worked over the doorstep, and Randall was on the pavement. "I sha'n't pay, an' I sha'n't go, an' ye can do what ye like; so it's no good your stoppin' – unless you want to fight. Eh – do ye?" And Mr. Parsons put a foot over the threshold.

Old Jack had not fought for many years. It was low. For a landlord outside his own house it was, indeed, disgraceful. But it was quite dark now, and there was scarcely a soul in the street. Perhaps nobody would know, and this man deserved something for himself. He looked up the street again, and then, "Well, I ain't so young as I was," he said, "but I won't disappoint ye. Come on."

Mr. Joe Parsons stepped within and slammed the door.

VIII

Old Jack went home less happy than ever. He had no notion what to do. Difficulties of private life were often discussed and argued out in the workshop, but there he had become too unpopular to ask for anything in the nature of sympathy or advice. Not only would he lend no money, but he refused to stand treat on rent days. Also, there was a collection on behalf of men on strike at another factory, to which he gave nothing; and he had expressed the strongest disapproval of an extension of that strike, and his own intention to continue working if it happened. For what would become of all his plans and his savings if his wages ceased? Wherefore there was no other man in the shop so unpopular as old Jack, and in a workshop unpopularity is a bad thing.

He called on a professional rent-receiver and seller-up. This man knew Mr. Joe Parsons very well. He never had furniture upon which a profitable distress might be levied. But if he took lodgers, and they were quiet people, something might be got out of them – if the job were made worth while. But this was not at all what old Jack wanted.

Soon after it occurred to him to ask advice of the secretary of the building society. This was a superficial young man, an auctioneer's clerk until evening, who had no disposition to trouble himself about matters outside his duties. Still, he went so far as to assure old Jack that turning out a tenant who meant to stay was not a simple job. If you didn't mind losing the rent it might be done by watching until the house was left ungarrisoned, getting in, putting the furniture into the street, and keeping the tenant out. With this forlorn hope old Jack began to spend his leisure about Mulberry Street: ineffectually, for Mrs. Parsons never came out while he was there. Once he saw the man, and offered to forgive him the rent if he would leave: a proposal which Mr. Parsons received with ostentatious merriment. At this old Jack's patience gave out, and he punched his tenant on the ear. Whereat the latter, suddenly whitening in the face, said something about the police, and walked away at a good pace.

IX

The strike extended, as it was expected and designed to do. The men at old Jack's factory were ordered out, and came, excepting only old Jack himself. He was desperate. Since he had ventured on that cursed investment everything had gone wrong: but he would not lose his savings if mere personal risk would preserve them. Moreover, a man of fifty is not readily re-employed, once out; and as the firm was quite ready to keep one hand on to oil and see that things were in order, old Jack stayed: making his comings and goings late to dodge the pickets, and approaching subtly by a railway-arch stable and a lane thereunto. It was not as yet a very great strike, and with care these things could be done. Still, he was sighted and chased twice, and he knew that, if the strike lasted, and feeling grew hotter, he would be attacked in his own house. If only he could hold on through the strike, and by hook or crook keep the outgoings paid, he would attend to Mr. Parsons afterward.

X

One Saturday afternoon, as Mrs. Randall was buying greens and potatoes, old Jack, waiting without, strolled toward a crowd standing about a speaker. A near approach discovered the speaker to be Mr. Joe Parsons, who was saying: —

" – strike pay is little enough at the time, of course, but don't forget what it will lead to! An' strike pay does very well, my frien's, when the party knows 'ow to lay it out, an' don't go passin' it on to the lan'lord. Don't give it away. When the lan'lord comes o' Monday mornin', tell 'im (polite as you like) that there's nothink for 'im till there's more for you. Let the lan'lord earn 'is money, like me an' you. Let the lan'lords pay a bit towards this 'ere strike as well as the other blaggards, the imployers. Lan'lords gits quite enough out o' you, my feller workers, when – "

"They don't git much out o' you!" shouted old Jack in his wrath; and then felt sorry he had spoken. For everybody looked at him, and he knew some of the faces.

"Ho!" rejoined the speaker, mincingly. "There's a gent there as seems to want to address this 'ere meetin'. P'r'aps you'll 'ave the kindness to step up 'ere, my friend, an' say wot you got to say plain." And he looked full at old Jack, pointing with his finger.

Old Jack fidgeted, wishing himself out of it. "You pay me what you owe me," he growled sulkily.

"As this 'ere individual, after intruding 'isself on this peaceful meetin', ain't got anythink to say for 'isself," pursued Mr. Joe Parsons, "I'll explain things for 'im. That's my lan'lord, that is: look at 'im! 'E comes 'angin' round my door waitin' for a chance to turn my pore wife an' children out o' 'ouse and 'ome. 'E follers me in the street an' tries to intimidate me. 'E comes 'ere, my feller workers, as a spy, an' to try an' poison your minds agin me as devotes my 'ole life to your int'rests. That's the sort o' man, that's the sort o' lan'lord 'e is. But 'e's somethink more than a greedy, thievin', overfed lan'lord, my frien's, an' I'll tell you wot. 'E's a dirty, crawlin' blackleg; that's wot else 'e is. 'E's the on'y man as wouldn't come out o' Maidment's; an' 'e's workin' there now, skulkin' in an' out in the dark – a dirty rat! Now you all know very well I won't 'ave nothink to do with any violence or intimidation. It's agin my principles, although I know there's very often great temptation, an' it's impossible to identify in a crowd, an' safe to be very little evidence. But this I will say, that when a dirty low rat, not content with fattenin' on starvin' tenants, goes an' takes the bread out o' 'is feller men's mouths, like that bleedin' blackleg – blackleg! – blackleg! – "

Old Jack was down. A dozen heavy boots were at work about his head and belly. In from the edge of the crowd a woman tore her way, shedding potatoes as she ran, and screaming; threw herself upon the man on the ground; and shared the kicks. Over the shoulders of the kickers whirled the buckle-end of a belt. "One for the old cow," said a voice.

XI

When a man is lying helpless on his back, with nothing in hand, he pays nothing off a building society mortgage, because, as his wife pawns the goods of the house, the resulting money goes for necessaries. To such a man the society shows no useless grace: especially when the secretary has a friend always ready to take over a forfeited house at forced sale price. So the lease of Twenty-seven vanished, and old Jack's savings with it.

And one day, some months later, old Jack, supported by the missis and a stick, took his way across the workhouse forecourt. There was a door some twenty yards from that directly before them, and two men came out of it, carrying a laden coffin of plain deal.

"Look there, Jack," the missis said, as she checked her step; "what a common caufin!" And indeed there was a distinct bulge in the bottom.

THE END