his son - "The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin, Volume I"

Charles A. Ellwood - "Sociology and Modern Social Problems"

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Kathleen Norris - "The Treasure"

Thyrza

G >> George Gissing >> Thyrza




Grail gazed at the fire; the earnest words wrought in him.

'If that were possible!' he murmured.

'Tell me,' the other resumed, quickly, 'how many of the serious
people whom you know in Lambeth ever go to a place of worship?'

Gilbert turned his eyes inquiringly, suspiciously. Was Egremont
about to preach a pietistic revival?

'I have very few acquaintances,' he answered, 'but I know that
religion has no hold upon intelligent working men in London.'

'That is the admission I wanted. For good or for evil, it has
passed; no one will ever restore it. And yet it is a religious
spirit that we must seek to revive. Dogma will no longer help us.
Pure love of moral and intellectual beauty must take its place.'

Gilbert smiled at a thought which came to him.

'The working man's Bible,' he said, 'is his Sunday newspaper.'

'And what does he get out of it? The newspaper is the very voice of
all that is worst in our civilisation. If ever there is in one
column a pretence of higher teaching, it is made laughable by the
base tendency of all the rest. The newspaper has supplanted the
book; every gross-minded scribbler who gets a square inch of space
in the morning journal has a more respectful hearing than
Shakespeare. These writers are tradesmen, and with all their power
they cry up the spirit of trade. Till the influence of the newspaper
declines--the newspaper as we now know it--our state will grow
worse.

Grail was silent. Egremont had worked himself to a fervour which
showed itself in his unsteady hands and tremulous lips.

'I had not meant to speak of this yet,' he continued. 'I hoped to
surround myself with a few friends who would gradually get to know
my views, and perhaps think they were worth something. I have obeyed
an impulse in opening my mind to you; I feel that you think with me.
Will you join me as a friend, and work on with me for the founding
of such a society as I have described?'

'I will, Mr. Egremont,' was the clear-voiced answer.

Walter put forth his hand, and it was grasped firmly. In this moment
he was equal to his ambition, unwavering, exalted, the pure
idealist. Grail, too, forgot his private troubles, and tasted the
strong air of the heights which it is granted us so seldom and for
so brief a season to tread. There was almost colour in his cheeks,
and his deep-set eyes had a light as of dawn.

'We have much yet to talk of,' said Egremont, as he rose, 'but it
gets late and I mustn't keep you longer. Will you come here some
evening when there is no lecture and let us turn over our ideas
together? I shall begin at once to think of the library. It will
make a centre for us, won't it? And remember Ackroyd. You are
intimate with him?'

'We think very differently of many things,' said Grail, 'but I like
him. We work together.'

'We mustn't lose him. He has the bright look of a man who could do
much if he were really moved. Persuade him to come and see me on
Sunday night.'

They shook hands again, and Grail took his departure. Egremont still
stood for a few minutes before the fire; then he extinguished the
gas, locked the door behind him, and went forth into the street
singing to himself.

Gilbert turned into Paradise Street, which was close at hand. He had
decided to call and ask for Ackroyd on his way home. The latter had
not been at work that day, and was perhaps ailing; for some time he
had seemed out of sorts. Intercourse between them was not as
constant as formerly. Grail explained this as due to Ackroyd's
disturbed mood, another result of which was seen in his ceasing to
attend the lecture; yet in Gilbert also there was something which
tended to weaken the intimacy. He knew well enough what this was,
and strove against it, but not with great success.

Ackroyd lived with his married sister, who let half her house to
lodgers. When Gilbert knocked at the door, it was she who opened.
Mrs. Poole was a buxom young woman with a complexion which suggested
continual activity within range of the kitchen fire; her sleeves
were always rolled up to her elbow, and at whatever moment surprised
she wore an apron which seemed just washed and ironed. She knew not
weariness, nor discomfort, nor discontent, and her flow of words
suggested a safety valve letting off superfluous energy.

'That Mr. Grail?' she said, peering out into the darkness. 'You've
come to look after that great good-for-nothing of a brother of mine,
I'll be bound! Come downstairs, and I'll tell him you're here. You
may well wonder what's become of him. Ill! Not he, indeed! No more
ill than I am. It's only his laziness. He wants a good shaking,
that's about the truth of it, Mr. Grail.'

She led him down into the kitchen. A low clothes-horse, covered with
fresh-smelling, gently-steaming linen, stood before a great glowing
fire. A baby lay awake in a swinging cot just under the protruding
leaf of the table, and a little girl of three was sitting in
night-dress and shawl on a stool in a warm corner.

'Yes, you may well stare,' resumed Mrs. Poole, noticing Grail's
glance at the children. 'A quarter past ten and neither one of 'em
shut an eye yet, nor won't do till their father comes home, not if
it's twelve o'clock. You dare to laugh, Miss!' she cried to the
little one on the stool, with mock wrath. 'The idea of having to
fetch you out o' bed just for peace and quietness. And that young
man there'--she pointed to the cradle; 'there's about as much sleep
ill him as there is in that eight-day clock! You rascal, you!'

Like her brother, she had the northern accent still lingering in her
speech; it suited with her brisk, hearty ways. Whilst speaking, she
had partly moved the horse from the fire and placed a round-backed
chair for the visitor in a position which would have answered
tolerably had she meant to roast him.

'He's in the sulks, that's what he is,' she continued, returning to
the subject of Luke. 'I suppose you know all about it, Mr. Grail?'

Gilbert seated himself, and Mrs. Poole, pretending to arrange the
linen, stood just before him, with a sly smile.

'I'm not sure that I do,' he replied, avoiding her look.

She lowered her voice.

'The idea of a great lad going on like he does! Why, it's the young
lady that lives in your house--Miss Trent, you know, I don't know
her myself; no doubt she's wonderful pretty and all the rest of it,
but I'm that sick and tired of hearing about her! My husband's out a
great deal at night, of course, and Luke comes and sits here hours
by the clock, just where you are, right in my way. I don't mean
_you're_ in my way; I'm talking of times when I'm busy. Well, there
he sits; and sometimes he'll be that low it's enough to make a body
strangle herself with her apron-string. Other times he'll talk,
talk, talk and it's all Thyrza Trent, Thyrza Trent, till the name
makes my ears jingle. This afternoon I couldn't put up with it, so I
told him he was a great big baby to go on as he does. Then we had
some snappy words, and he went off to his bedroom and wouldn't have
any tea. But really and truly, I don't know what'll come to him. He
says he'll take to drinking, and he does a deal too much o' that as
it is. And to think of him losing days from his work! Now do just
tell him not to be a fool, Mr. Grail.'

With difficulty Gilbert found an opportunity to put in a word.

'But is there something wrong between them?' he asked with a forced
smile.

'Wrong? Why, doesn't he talk about it to you?'

'No. I used to hear just a word or two, but there's been no mention
of her for a long time.'

'You may think yourself lucky then, that's all _I_ can say. Why, she
wouldn't have anything to say to him. And I don't see what he's got
to complain of; he admits she told him from the first she didn't
care a bit for him. As if there wasn't plenty of other lasses! Luke
was always such a softy about 'em; but I never knew him have such a
turn as this. I'll just go and tell him you're here.'

'Perhaps he's gone to bed.'

'Not he. He sits in the cold half the night, just to make people
sorry for him. He doesn't get much pity from me, the silly fellow.'

She ran up the stairs. Grail, as soon as she was gone, fell into a
reverie. It did not seem a pleasant one.

In a few minutes Mrs. Poole was heard returning; behind her came a
heavier foot. Ackroyd certainly looked far from well, but had
assumed a gay air, which he exaggerated.

'Come to see if I've hanged myself, old man? Not quite so bad as
that yet. I've had the toothache and the headache and Lord knows
what. Now I feel hungry; we'll have some supper together. Give me a
jug, Maggie, and I'll get some beer.'

'You sit down,' she replied. 'I'll run out and fetch it.'

'Why, what's the good of a jug like that!' he roared, watching her.
'A gallon or so won't be a drop too much for me.'

He flung himself into a chair and stretched his legs.

'Been to the lecture?' he asked, as his sister left the room.

'Yes,' Gilbert replied, his wonted quietness contrasting with the
other's noise. 'Mr. Egremont's been asking me about you. He's
disappointed that you've left him.'

'Can't help it. I held out as long as I could. It isn't my line.
Besides, nothing's my line just now. So you had a talk with him,
eh?'

'Yes, a talk I shan't forget. There are not many men like Mr.
Egremont.'

Gilbert had it on his lips to speak of the library project, but a
doubt as to whether he might not be betraying confidence checked
him.

'He wants you to go and see him at the lecture-room,' he continued,
'either on Sunday after the lecture, or any evening that suits you.
Will you go?'

Luke shook his head.

'No. What's the good?'

'I wish you would, Ackroyd,' said Gilbert, bending forward and
speaking with earnestness. 'You'd be glad of it afterwards. He said
I was to ask you to go and have a smoke with him by the fire; you
needn't be afraid of a sermon, you see. Besides, you know he isn't
that kind of man.'

'No, I shan't go, old man,' returned the other, with resolution. 'I
liked his lectures well enough, as far as they went, but they're not
the kind of thing to suit me nowadays. If I go and talk to him, I'm
bound to go to the lectures. What's the good? What's the good of
anything?'

Gilbert became silent. The little girl on the stool, who had been
moving restlessly, suddenly said:

'Uncle, take me on your lap.'

'Why, of course I will, little un!' Luke replied with a sudden
affectionateness one would not have expected of him. 'Give me a
kiss. Who's that sitting there, eh?'

'Dono.'

'Nonsense! Say: Mr. Grail.'

In the midst of this, Mrs. Poole reappeared with the jug foaming.

'Oh, indeed! So _that's_ where you are!' she exclaimed with her
vivacious emphasis, looking at the child. 'A nice thing for you to
be nursed at this hour o' night!--Now just one glass, Mr. Grail.
It's a bitter night; just a glass to walk on.'

Gilbert pleased her by drinking what she offered. Ackroyd had
recommenced his uproarious mirthfulness.

'I wish you could persuade your brother to go to the lectures again,
Mrs. Poole,' said Gilbert. 'He misses a great deal.'

'And he'll miss a good deal more,' she replied, 'if he doesn't soon
come to his senses. Nay, it's no good o' me talking! He used to be a
sensible lad--that is, he could be if he liked.'

Gilbert gave his hand for leave-taking.

'I still hope you'll go on Sunday night,' he said seriously.

Ackroyd shook his head again, then tossed the child into the air and
began singing. He did not offer to accompany Grail up to the door.





CHAPTER IX

A GOLDEN PROSPECT




It wanted a week to Christmas. For many days the weather had been as
bad as it can be even in London. Windows glimmered at noon with the
sickly ray of gas or lamp; the roads were trodden into viscid
foulness; all night the droppings of a pestilent rain were doleful
upon the roof, and only the change from a black to a yellow sky told
that the sun was risen. No wonder Thyrza was ailing.

It was nothing serious. The inevitable cold had clung to her and
become feverish; it was necessary for her to stay at home for a day
or two. Lydia made her hours of work as short as possible, hastening
to get back to her sister. But fortunately there was a friend always
at hand; Mrs. Grail could not have been more anxious about a child
of her own. Her attendance was of the kind which inspires trust;
Lydia, always fretting herself into the extreme of nervousness if
her dear one lost for a day the wonted health, was thankful she had
not to depend on Mrs. Jarmey's offices.

Thyrza had spent a day in bed, but could now sit by the fire; her
chair came from the Grails' parlour, and was the very one which had
always seemed to her so comfortable. Her wish that Lyddy should sit
in it had at length been gratified.

It was seven o'clock on Friday evening. The table was drawn near to
Thyrza's chair, and Thyrza was engaged in counting out silver coins,
which she took from a capacious old purse. Lydia leaned on the table
opposite.

'Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six! I'm sure I saw a very nice
overcoat marked twenty-five shillings, not long ago; but we can't
buy one without knowing grandad's measure.'

'Oh, but you know it near enough, I think.'

'Near enough! But I want it to look nice. I wonder whether I could
take a measure without him knowing it? If I could manage to get
behind him and just measure across the shoulders, I think that 'ud
do.'

Thyrza laughed.

'Go now. He's sure to be sitting with the Bowers. Take the tape and
try.'

'No, I'll take a bit of string; then he wouldn't think anything if
he saw it.'

Lydia put on her hat and jacket.

'I'll be back as soon as ever I can. Play with the money like a good
baby. You're sure you're quite warm?'

Thyrza was wrapped in a large shawl, which hooded over her head.
Lydia had taken incredible pains to stop every possible draught at
door and window. A cheerful fire threw its glow upon the invalid's
face.

'I'm like a toast. Just look up at the shop next to Mrs. Isaac's,
Lyddy. There was a sort of brownish coat, with laps over the
pockets; it was hanging just by the door. We must get a few more
shillings if it makes all the difference, mustn't we?'

'We'll see. Good-bye, Blue-eyes.'

Lydia went her way. For a wonder, there was no fog tonight, but the
street lamps glistened on wet pavements, and vehicles as they
rattled along sent mud-volleys to either side. In passing through
Lambeth Walk, Lydia stopped at the clothing shop of which Thyrza had
spoken. The particular brownish coat had seemingly been carried off
by a purchaser, but she was glad to notice one or two second-hand
garments of very respectable appearance which came within the sum at
her command. She passed on into Paradise Street and entered Mrs.
Bower's shop.

In the parlour the portly Mr. Bower stood with his back to the fire;
he was speaking oracularly, and, at Lydia's entrance, looked up with
some annoyance at being interrupted. Mr. Boddy sat in his accustomed
corner. Mrs. Bower, arrayed in the grandeur suitable to a winter
evening, was condescending to sew.

'Mary out?' Lydia asked, as she looked round.

'Yes, my dear,' replied Mrs. Bower, with a sigh of resignation.
'She's at a prayer meetin', as per us'l. That's the third night this
blessed week. I 'old with goin' to chapel, but like everything else
it ought to be done in moderation. Mary's gettin' beyond everything.
I don't believe in makin' such a fuss o' religion; you can be
religious in your mind without sayin' prayers an' singin' 'ymns all
the week long. There's the Sunday for that, an' I can't see as it's
pleasin' to God neither to do so much of it at other times. Now
suppose I give somebody credit in the shop, on the understandin' as
they come an' pay their bill once a week reg'lar; do you think I
should like to have 'em lookin' in two or three times every day an'
cryin' out: "Oh, Mrs. Bower, ma'am, I don't forget as I owe you so
and so much; be sure I shall come an' pay on Saturday!" If they did
that, I should precious soon begin to think there was something
wrong, else they'd 'old their tongues an' leave it to be understood
as they was honest. Why, an' it's every bit the same with religion!'

Mr. Boddy listened gravely to this, and had the air of probing the
suggested analogy. He had a bad cold, poor old man, and for the
moment it made him look as if he indulged too freely in ardent
beverages; his nose was red and his eyes were watery.

'How's the little un, my dear?' he asked, as Lydia took a seat by
him.

'Oh, she's much better, grandad. Mrs. Grail is so kind to her, you
wouldn't believe. She'll be all right again by Monday, I think.'

'Mrs. Grail's kind to her, is she?' remarked Mr. Bower. Why, you're
getting great friends with the Grails, Miss Lydia.'

'Yes, we really are.'

'And do you see much of Grail himself?'

'No, not much. We sometimes have tea with them both.'

'Ah, you do? He's a very decent, quiet fellow, is Grail. I dare say
he tells you something about Egremont now and then?'

Mr. Bower put the question in a casual way; in truth, it was
designed to elicit information which he much desired. He knew that
for some time Grail had been on a new footing with the lecturer,
that the two often remained together after the class had dispersed;
it was a privilege which he regarded disapprovingly, because it
lessened his own dignity in the eyes of the other men. He wondered
what the subject of these private conversations might be; there had
seemed to him something of mystery in Grail's manner when he was
plied with a friendly inquiry or two.

'I've heard him speak of the lectures,' said Lydia. 'He says he
enjoys them very much.'

'To be sure. Yes, they're very fair lectures, very fair, in their
way. I don't know as I've cared quite so much for 'em lately as I
did at first. I've felt he was falling off a little. I gave him a
hint a few weeks ago; just told him in a quiet way as I thought he
was going too far into things that weren't very interesting, but he
didn't seem quite to see it. It's always the way with young men of
his kind; when you give them a bit of advice, it makes them
obstinate. Well, he'll see when he begins again after Christmas.
Thomas and Linwood are giving it up, and I shall be rather surprised
if Johnson holds out for another course'

'But I suppose you'll go, Mr. Bower?' said Lydia.

Bower stuck his forefingers into his waistcoat pockets, held his
head as one who muses, clicked with his tongue.

'I shall see,' he replied, with a judicial air. 'I don't like to
give the young feller up. You see, I may say as it was me put him on
the idea. We had a lot of talk about one thing and another one day
at the works, and a hint of mine set him off. I should like to make
the lectures successful; I believe they're a good thing, if they are
properly carried out. I'm a believer in education. It's the educated
men as get on in the world. Teach a man to use his brains and he'll
soon be worth double wages. But Egremont must keep up to the mark if
he's to have my support. I shall have to have a word or two with him
before he begins again. By-the-by, I passed him in Kennington Road
just now; I wonder what he's doing about here at this time. Been to
the works, perhaps.'

Whilst the portly man thus delivered himself, Lydia let her arm rest
on Mr. Boddy's shoulder. It was a caress which he sometimes received
from her; he looked round at her affectionately, then continued to
pay attention to the weighty words which fell from Mr. Bower. Mrs.
Bower, who was loss impressed by her husband's utterances, bent over
her sewing. In this way Lydia was able craftily to secure the
measurement she needed. And having got this, she was anxious to be
back with Thyrza.

'I suppose it's no use waiting for Mary,' she said, rising.

'I don't suppose she'll be back not before nine o'clock,' Mrs. Bower
replied. 'Did you want her partic'lar?'

'Oh no, it'll do any time.'

'Whilst I think of it,' said Mrs. Bower, letting her sewing fall
upon her lap and settling the upper part of her stout body in an
attitude of dignity; 'you and your sister 'll come an' eat your
Christmas dinner with us?'

Lydia east down her eyes.

'It's very kind of you, Mrs. Bower, but I'm sure I don't know
whether Thyrza 'll be well enough. I must be very careful of her for
a time.'

'Well, well, you'll see. It'll only be a quiet little fam'ly dinner
this year. You'll know there's places kep' for you.'

Lydia again expressed her thanks, then took leave. As she left the
shop, she heard Mr. Bower's voice again raised in impressive
oratory.

On entering the house in Walnut Tree Walk, she found Mrs. Grail just
descending the stairs. The old lady never spoke above her breath at
such casual meetings outside her own door.

'Come in for a minute,' she whispered.

Lydia followed her into the parlour. Gilbert was settled for the
evening at the table. A volume lent by Egremont lay before him, and
he was making notes from it. At Lydia's entrance he rose and spoke a
word, then resumed his reading.

'I've just taken Thyrza a little morsel of jelly I made this
afternoon,' Mrs. Grail said, apart to the girl. 'I'm sure she looks
better to-night.'

'How good you are, Mrs. Grail! Yes, she does look better, but I
couldn't have believed a day or two 'ud have made her so weak. I
shan't let her go out before Christmas.'

'No, I don't think you ought, my dear.'

As Mrs. Grail spoke, the knocker of the house-door sounded an
unusual summons, a rat-tat, not loud indeed, but distinct from the
knocks wont to be heard here.

'Mr. and Mrs. Jarmey are both out,' said Lydia. 'They're gone to the
theatre. Perhaps it's for you, Mrs. Grail?'

'No, that's not at all likely.'

'I'll go.'

Lydia opened. A gentleman stood without; he inquired in a pleasant
voice if Mr. Grail was at home.

'I think so,' Lydia said. 'Will you please wait a minute?'

She hurried back to the parlour.

'It's a gentleman wants to see Mr. Grail,' she whispered, with the
momentary excitement which any little out-of-the-way occurrence
produces in those who live a life void of surprises. And she glanced
at Gilbert, who had heard what she said. He rose:

'I wonder whether it's Mr. Egremont! Thank you, Miss Trent; I'll go
to the door.'

Lydia escaped up the stairs. Gilbert went out into the passage, and
his surmise was confirmed. Egremont was there, sheltering himself
under an umbrella from rain which was once more beginning to fell.

'Could I have a word with you?' he said, with friendly freedom. 'I
should have written, but I had to pass so near--'

'I'm very glad. Will you come in?'

It was the first time that Egremont had been at the house. Gilbert
conducted him into the parlour, and took from him his hat and
umbrella.

'This is my mother,' he said. 'Mr. Egremont, mother; you'll be glad
to see him.'

The old lady regarded Walter with courteous curiosity, and bowed to
him. A few friendly words were exchanged, then Egremont said to
Grail:

'If you hadn't been in, I should have left a message, asking you to
meet me to-morrow afternoon.'

Mrs. Grail was about to leave the room; Egremont begged her to
remain.

'It's only a piece of news concerning our library scheme. I think
I've found a building that will suit us. Do you know a school in
Brook Street, connected with a Wesleyan Chapel somewhere about
here?'

Gilbert said that he knew it; his mother also murmured recognition.

'It'll be to let at the end of next quarter: they're building
themselves a larger place. I heard about it this afternoon, and as I
was told that evening classes are held there, I thought I'd come and
have a look at the place to-night. At last it is something like what
we want. Could you meet me there, say at three, to-morrow afternoon,
so that we could see it together in daylight--if daylight be
granted us?'

Grail expressed his readiness.

'You were reading,' Waiter went on, with a glance at the table. 'I
mustn't waste your time.'

He rose, but Gilbert said:

'I should be glad if you could stay a few minutes. Perhaps you
haven't time?'

'Oh yes. What are you busy with?'

Half an hour's talk followed, of course mainly of books. Egremont
looked over the volumes on the shelves; those who love such topics
will know how readily gossip spun itself from that centre. He was
pleased with Grail's home; it was very much as he had liked to
picture it since he had known that Gilbert lived with his mother.
Mrs. Grail sat and listened to all that was said, a placid smile on
her smooth face. At length Egremont declared that he was consuming
his friend's evening.

'Perhaps you'll let me come some other night?' he said, as he took
up his hat. 'I know very few people indeed who care to talk of these
things in the way I like.'

Gilbert came back from the door with a look of pleasure.

'Now, isn't he a fine fellow, mother? I'm so glad you've seen him.'

'He seems a very pleasant young man indeed,' Mrs. Grail replied.
'He's not quite the picture I'd made of him, but his way of speaking
makes you like him from the very first.'

'I never heard him say a word yet that didn't sound genuine,'
Gilbert added. 'He speaks what he thinks, and you won't find many
men who make you feel that. And he has a mind; I wish you could hear
one of his lectures; he speaks in just the same easy running way,
and constantly says things one would be glad to remember. They don't
understand him, Bower, and Bunce, and the others; they don't _feel_
his words as they ought to. I'm afraid he'll only have two or three
when he begins again.'

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