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You're young an' strong。〃
〃What I don't like；〃 grumbled the Carter； 〃is to be locked up in a cell to
pick oakum。 It's too much like prison。〃
〃But suppose； after you've had your night's sleep； you refuse to pick
oakum； or break stones； or do any work at all？〃 I asked。
〃No fear you'll refuse the second time； they'll run you in；〃 answered
the Carpenter。 〃Wouldn't advise you to try it on； my lad。〃
〃Then comes dinner；〃 he went on。 〃Eight ounces of bread； one and a
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arf ounces of cheese； an' cold water。 Then you finish your task an' 'ave
supper； same as before； three parts o' skilly any six ounces o' bread。 Then
to bed； six o'clock； an' next mornin' you're turned loose； provided you've
finished your task。〃
We had long since left Mile End Road； and after traversing a gloomy
maze of narrow； winding streets； we came to Poplar Workhouse。 On a
low stone wall we spread our handkerchiefs； and each in his handkerchief
put all his worldly possessions； with the exception of the 〃bit o' baccy〃
down his sock。 And then； as the last light was fading from the drab…
coloured sky； the wind blowing cheerless and cold； we stood； with our
pitiful little bundles in our hands； a forlorn group at the workhouse door。
Three working girls came along； and one looked pityingly at me； as
she passed I followed her with my eyes； and she still looked pityingly back
at me。 The old men she did not notice。 Dear Christ； she pitied me；
young and vigorous and strong； but she had no pity for the two old men
who stood by my side！ She was a young woman； and I was a young man；
and what vague sex promptings impelled her to pity me put her sentiment
on the lowest plane。 Pity for old men is an altruistic feeling； and besides；
the workhouse door is the accustomed place for old men。 So she showed
no pity for them； only for me； who deserved it least or not at all。 Not in
honour do grey hairs go down to the grave in London Town。
On one side the door was a bell handle； on the other side a press
button。
〃Ring the bell；〃 said the Carter to me。
And just as I ordinarily would at anybody's door； I pulled out the
handle and rang a peal。
〃Oh！ Oh！〃 they cried in one terrified voice。 〃Not so 'ard！〃
I let go； and they looked reproachfully at me； as though I had
imperilled their chance for a bed and three parts of skilly。 Nobody came。
Luckily it was the wrong bell； and I felt better。
〃Press the button；〃 I said to the Carpenter。
〃No； no； wait a bit；〃 the Carter hurriedly interposed。
From all of which I drew the conclusion that a poorhouse porter； who
commonly draws a yearly salary of from seven to nine pounds； is a very
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finicky and important personage； and cannot be treated too fastidiously
bypaupers。
So we waited； ten times a decent interval； when the Carter stealthily
advanced a timid forefinger to the button； and gave it the faintest； shortest
possible push。 I have looked at waiting men where life or death was in
the issue； but anxious suspense showed less plainly on their faces than it
showed on the faces of these two men as they waited on the coming of the
porter。
He came。 He barely looked at us。 〃Full up；〃 he said and shut the
door。
〃Another night of it；〃 groaned the Carpenter。 In the dim light the
Carter looked wan and grey。
Indiscriminate charity is vicious； say the professional philanthropists。
Well； I resolved to be vicious。
〃Come on； get your knife out and come here；〃 I said to the Carter；
drawing him into a dark alley。
He glared at me in a frightened manner； and tried to draw back。
Possibly he took me for a latter…day Jack…the…Ripper； with a penchant for
elderly male paupers。 Or he may have thought I was inveigling him into
the commission of some desperate crime。 Anyway； he was frightened。
It will be remembered； at the outset； that I sewed a pound inside my
stoker's singlet under the armpit。 This was my emergency fund； and I
was now called upon to use it for the first time。
Not until I had gone through the acts of a contortionist； and shown the
round coin sewed in； did I succeed in getting the Carter's help。 Even then
his hand was trembling so that I was afraid he would cut me instead of the
stitches； and I was forced to take the knife away and do it myself。 Out
rolled the gold piece； a fortune in their hungry eyes； and away we
stampeded for the nearest coffee…house。
Of course I had to explain to them that I was merely an investigator； a
social student； seeking to find out how the other half lived。 And at once
they shut up like clams。 I was not of their kind； my speech had changed；
the tones of my voice were different； in short； I was a superior； and they
were superbly class conscious。
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〃What will you have？〃 I asked； as the waiter came for the order。
〃Two slices an' a cup of tea；〃 meekly said the Carter。
〃Two slices an' a cup of tea；〃 meekly said the Carpenter。
Stop a moment； and consider the situation。 Here were two men；
invited by me into the coffee…house。 They had seen my gold piece； and
they could understand that I was no pauper。 One had eaten a ha'penny
roll that day； the other had eaten nothing。 And they called for 〃two slices
an' a cup of tea！〃 Each man had given a tu'penny order。 〃Two slices；〃
by the way； means two slices of bread and butter。
This was the same degraded humility that had characterised their
attitude toward the poorhouse porter。 But I wouldn't have it。 Step by
step I increased their ordereggs； rashers of bacon； more eggs； more
bacon； more tea； more slices and so forththey denying wistfully all the
while that they cared for anything more； and devouring it ravenously as
fast as it arrived。
〃First cup o' tea I've 'ad in a fortnight；〃 said the Carter。
〃Wonderful tea； that；〃 said the Carpenter。
They each drank two pints of it； and I assure you that it was slops。 It
resembled tea less than lager beer resembles champagne。 Nay； it was
〃water…bewitched；〃 and did not resemble tea at all。
It was curious； after the first shock； to notice the effect the food had on
them。 At first they were melancholy； and talked of the divers times they
had contemplated suicide。 The Carter； not a week before； had stood on
the bridge and looked at the water； and pondered the question。 Water； the
Carpenter insisted with heat； was a bad route。 He； for one； he knew；
would struggle。 A bullet was 〃'andier；〃 but how under the sun was he to
get hold of a revolver？ That was the rub。
They grew more cheerful as the hot 〃tea〃 soaked in； and talked more
about themselves。 The Carter had buried his wife and children； with the
exception of one son； who grew to manhood and helped him in his little
business。 Then the thing happened。 The son； a man of thirty…one； died
of the smallpox。 No sooner was this over than the father came down
with fever and went to the hospital for three months。 Then he was done
for。 He came out weak； debilitated； no strong young son to stand by him；
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his little business gone glimmering； and not a farthing。 The thing had
happened； and the game was up。 No chance for an old man to start again。
Friends all poor and unable to help。 He had tried for work when they
were putting up the stands for the first Coronation parade。 〃An' I got fair
sick of the answer： 'No！ no！ no！' It rang