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Eyethorne。〃
〃What？〃 I asked。
〃Eyethorne； sir； Eyethorne。〃
〃Spell it。〃
〃H…a…y…t…h…o…r…n…e； Eyethorne。'
〃Oh；〃 I said； 〃Irish Cockney。〃
〃Yes； sir； London…born。〃
She had lived happily at home till her father died； killed in an accident；
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when she had found herself on the world。 One brother was in the army；
and the other brother； engaged in keeping a wife and eight children on
twenty shillings a week and unsteady employment； could do nothing for
her。 She had been out of London once in her life； to a place in Essex；
twelve miles away； where she had picked fruit for three weeks： 〃An' I
was as brown as a berry w'en I come back。 You won't b'lieve it； but I
was。〃
The last place in which she had worked was a coffee…house； hours
from seven in the morning till eleven at night； and for which she had
received five shillings a week and her food。 Then she had fallen sick；
and since emerging from the hospital had been unable to find anything to
do。 She wasn't feeling up to much； and the last two nights had been spent
in the street。
Between them they stowed away a prodigious amount of food； this
man and woman； and it was not till I had duplicated and triplicated their
original orders that they showed signs of easing down。
Once she reached across and felt the texture of my coat and shirt； and
remarked upon the good clothes the Yanks wore。 My rags good clothes！
It put me to the blush； but； on inspecting them more closely and on
examining the clothes worn by the man and woman； I began to feel quite
well dressed and respectable。
〃What do you expect to do in the end？〃 I asked them。 〃You know
you're growing older every day。〃
〃Work'ouse；〃 said he。
〃Gawd blimey if I do；〃 said she。 〃There's no 'ope for me； I know； but
I'll die on the streets。 No work'ouse for me； thank you。 No； indeed；〃
she sniffed in the silence that fell。
〃After you have been out all night in the streets；〃 I asked； 〃what do
you do in the morning for something to eat？〃
〃Try to get a penny； if you 'aven't one saved over；〃 the man explained。
〃Then go to a coffee…'ouse an' get a mug o' tea。〃
〃But I don't see how that is to feed you；〃 I objected。
The pair smiled knowingly。
〃You drink your tea in little sips；〃 he went on； 〃making it last its
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longest。 An' you look sharp； an' there's some as leaves a bit be'ind 'em。〃
〃It's s'prisin'； the food wot some people leaves；〃 the woman broke in。
〃The thing；〃 said the man judicially； as the trick dawned upon me； 〃is
to get 'old o' the penny。〃
As we started to leave； Miss Haythorne gathered up a couple of crusts
from the neighbouring tables and thrust them somewhere into her rags。
〃Cawn't wyste 'em； you know；〃 said she； to which the docker nodded；
tucking away a couple of crusts himself。
At three in the morning I strolled up the Embankment。 It was a gala
night for the homeless； for the police were elsewhere； and each bench was
jammed with sleeping occupants。 There were as many women as men；
and the great majority of them； male and female； were old。 Occasionally a
boy was to be seen。 On one bench I noticed a family； a man sitting
upright with a sleeping babe in his arms； his wife asleep； her head on his
shoulder； and in her lap the head of a sleeping youngster。 The man's eyes
were wide open。 He was staring out over the water and thinking； which
is not a good thing for a shelterless man with a family to do。 It would not
be a pleasant thing to speculate upon his thoughts； but this I know； and all
London knows； that the cases of out…of…works killing their wives and
babies is not an uncommon happening。
One cannot walk along the Thames Embankment； in the small hours of
morning； from the Houses of Parliament； past Cleopatra's Needle； to
Waterloo Bridge； without being reminded of the sufferings； seven and
twenty centuries old； recited by the author of 〃Job〃：…
There are that remove the landmarks； they violently take away flocks
and feed them。
They drive away the ass of the fatherless； they take the widow's ox for
a pledge。
They turn the needy out of the way； the poor of the earth hide
themselves together。
Behold； as wild asses in the desert they go forth to their work； seeking
diligently for meat； the wilderness yieldeth them food for their children。
They cut their provender in the field； and they glean the vintage of the
wicked。
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They lie all night naked without clothing； and have no covering in the
cold。
They are wet with the showers of the mountains； and embrace the rock
for want of a shelter。
There are that pluck the fatherless from the breast； and take a pledge of
the poor。
So that they go about naked without clothing； and being an hungered
they carry the sheaves。Job xxiv。 2…10。
Seven and twenty centuries agone！ And it is all as true and apposite
to…day in the innermost centre of this Christian civilisation whereof
Edward VII。 is king。
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CHAPTER XIIIDAN CULLEN；
DOCKER
I stood； yesterday； in a room in one of the 〃Municipal Dwellings；〃 not
far from Leman Street。 If I looked into a dreary future and saw that I
would have to live in such a room until I died； I should immediately go
down； plump into the Thames； and cut the tenancy short。
It was not a room。 Courtesy to the language will no more permit it to
be called a room than it will permit a hovel to be called a mansion。 It
was a den； a lair。 Seven feet by eight were its dimensions； and the ceiling
was so low as not to give the cubic air space required by a British soldier
in barracks。 A crazy couch； with ragged coverlets； occupied nearly half
the room。 A rickety table； a chair； and a couple of boxes left little space
in which to turn around。 Five dollars would have purchased everything
in sight。 The floor was bare； while the walls and ceiling were literally
covered with blood marks and splotches。 Each mark represented a
violent deathof an insect； for the place swarmed with vermin； a plague
with which no person could cope single…handed。
The man who had occupied this hole； one Dan Cullen； docker； was
dying in hospital。 Yet he had impressed his personality on his miserable
surroundings sufficiently to give an inkling as to what sort of man he was。
On the walls were cheap pictures of Garibaldi； Engels； Dan Burns； and
other labour leaders； while on the table lay one of Walter Besant's novels。
He knew his Shakespeare； I was told； and had read history； sociology； and
economics。 And he was self… educated。
On the table； amidst a wonderful disarray； lay a sheet of paper on
which was scrawled： Mr。 Cullen； please return the large white jug and
corkscrew I lent youarticles loaned； during the first stages of his sickness；
by a woman neighbour； and demanded back in anticipation of his death。
A large white jug and a corkscrew are far too valuable to a creature of the
Abyss to permit another creature to die in peace。 To the last； Dan
Cullen's soul must be harrowed by the sordidness out of which it strove
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vainly to rise。
It is a brief little story； the story of Dan Cullen； but there is much to
read between the lines。 He was born lowly； in a city and land where the
lines of caste are tightly drawn。 All his days he toiled hard with his body；
and because he had opened