by George Moore
At the word “policeman” the young man seemed to recover his wits somewhat, and he answered, “You’ll bring in no bloody policeman. Fetch a policeman! and what about your blooming betting — what will become of it?” William looked round to see if there was any in the bar whom he could not trust. He knew everyone present, and believed he could trust them all. There was but one thing to do, and that was to put on a bold face and trust to luck. “Now out you go,” he said, springing over the counter, “and never you set your face inside my bar again.” Charles followed the guv’nor over the counter like lightning, and the drunkard was forced into the street. “He don’t mean no ‘arm,” said one of the friends; “he’ll come round to-morrow and apologise for what he’s said.”
“I don’t want his apology,” said William. “No one shall call me a welsher in my bar…. Take your friend away, and never let me see him in my bar again.”
Suddenly William turned very pale. He was seized with a fit of coughing, and this great strong man leaned over the counter very weak indeed. Esther led him into the parlour, leaving Charles to attend to the customers. His hand trembled like a leaf, and she sat by his side holding it. Mr. Blamy came in to ask if he should lay one of the young gentlemen from the tutor’s thirty shillings to ten against the favourite. Esther said that William could attend to no more customers that day. Mr. Blamy returned ten minutes after to say that there was quite a number of people in the bar; should he refuse to take their money?
“Do you know them all?” said William.
“I think so, guv’nor.”
“Be careful to bet with no one you don’t know; but I’m so bad I can hardly speak.”
“Much better send them away,” said Esther.
“Then they’ll go somewhere else.”
“It won’t matter; they’ll come back to where they’re sure of their money.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” William answered, feebly. “I think it will be all right, Teddy; you’ll be very careful.”
“Yes, guv’nor, I’ll keep down the price.”
XXXVI
ONE AFTERNOON FRED Parsons came into the bar of the “King’s Head.” He wore the cap and jersey of the Salvation Army; he was now Captain Parsons. The bars were empty. It was a time when business was slackest. The morning’s betting was over; the crowd had dispersed, and would not collect again until the Evening Standard had come in. William had gone for a walk. Esther and the potboy were alone in the house. The potman was at work in the backyard, Esther was sewing in the parlour. Hearing steps, she went into the bar. Fred looked at her abashed, he was a little perplexed. He said —
“Is your husband in? I should like to speak to him.”
“No, my husband is out. I don’t expect him back for an hour or so. Can I give him any message?”
She was on the point of asking him how he was. But there was something so harsh and formal in his tone and manner that she refrained. But the idea in her mind must have expressed itself in her face, for suddenly his manner softened. He drew a deep breath, and passed his hand across his forehead. Then, putting aside the involuntary thought, he said —
“Perhaps it will come through you as well as any other way. I had intended to speak to him, but I can explain the matter better to you…. It is about the betting that is being carried on here. We mean to put a stop to it. That’s what I came to tell him. It must be put a stop to. No right-minded person — it cannot be allowed to go on.”
Esther said nothing; not a change of expression came upon her grave face. Fred was agitated. The words stuck in his throat, and his hands were restless. Esther raised her calm eyes, and looked at him. His eyes were pale, restless eyes.
“I’ve come to warn you,” he said, “that the law will be set in motion…. It is very painful for me, but something must be done. The whole neighbourhood is devoured by it.” Esther did not answer, and he said, “Why don’t you answer, Esther?”
“What is there for me to answer? You tell me that you are going to get up a prosecution against us. I can’t prevent you. I’ll tell my husband what you say.”
“This is a very serious matter, Esther.” He had come into command of his voice, and he spoke with earnest determination. “If we get a conviction against you for keeping a betting-house, you will not only be heavily fined, but you will also lose your licence. All we ask is that the betting shall cease. No,” he said, interrupting, “don’t deny anything; it is quite useless, we know everything. The whole neighbourhood is demoralized by this betting; nothing is thought of but tips; the day’s racing — that is all they think about — the evening papers, and the latest information. You do not know what harm you’re doing. Every day we hear of some new misfortune — a home broken up, the mother in the workhouse, the daughter on the streets, the father in prison, and all on account of this betting. Oh, Esther, it is horrible; think of the harm you’re doing.”
Fred Parsons’ high, round forehead, his weak eyes, his whole face, was expressive of fear and hatred of the evil which a falsetto voice denounced with much energy.
Suddenly he seemed to grow nervous and perplexed. Esther was looking at him, and he said, “You don’t answer, Esther?”
“What would you have me answer?”
“You used to be a good, religious woman. Do you remember how we used to speak when we used to go for walks together, when you were in service in the Avondale road? I remember you agreeing with me that much good could be done by those who were determined to do it. You seem to have changed very much since those days.”
For a moment Esther seemed affected by these remembrances. Then she said in a low, musical voice —
“No, I’ve not changed, Fred, but things has turned out different. One doesn’t do the good that one would like to in the world; one has to do the good that comes to one to do. I’ve my husband and my boy to look to. Them’s my good. At least, that’s how I sees things.”
Fred looked at Esther, and his eyes expressed all the admiration and love that he felt for her character. “One owes a great deal,” he said, “to those who are near to one, but not everything; even for their sakes one should not do wrong to others, and you must see that you are doing a great wrong to your fellow-creatures by keeping on this betting. Public-houses are bad enough, but when it comes to gambling as well as drink, there’s nothing for us to do but to put the law in motion. Look you, Esther, there isn’t a shop-boy earning eighteen shillings a week that hasn’t been round here to put his half-crown on some horse. This house is the immoral centre of the neighbourhood. No one’s money is refused. The boy that pawned his father’s watch to back a horse went to the ‘King’s Head’ to put his money on. His father forgave him again and again. Then the boy stole from the lodgers. There was an old woman of seventy-five who got nine shillings a week for looking after some offices; he had half-a-crown off her. Then the father told the magistrate that he could do nothing with him since he had taken to betting on horse-races. The boy is fourteen. Is it not shocking? It cannot be allowed to go on. We have determined to put a stop to it. That’s what I came to tell your husband.”
“Are you sure,” said Esther, and she bit her lips while she spoke, “that it is entirely for the neighbourhood that you want to get up the prosecution?”
“You don’t think there’s any other reason, Esther? You surely don’t think that I’m doing this because — because he took you away from me?”
Esther didn’t answer. And then Fred said, and there was pain and pathos in his voice, “I am sorry you think this of me; I’m not getting up the prosecution. I couldn’t prevent the law being put in motion against you even if I wanted to…. I only know that it is going to be put in motion, so for the sake of old times I would save you from harm if I could. I came round to tell you if you did not put a stop to the betting you’d get into trouble. I have no right to do what I have done, but I’d do anything to save you and yours from harm.”
“I am sorry for what I said. It was very good of you.”
> “We have not any proofs as yet; we know, of course, all about the betting, but we must have sworn testimony before the law can be set in motion, so you’ll be quite safe if you can persuade your husband to give it up.” Esther did not answer. “It is entirely on account of the friendship I feel for you that made me come to warn you of the danger. You don’t bear me any ill-will, Esther, I hope?”
“No, Fred, I don’t. I think I understand.” The conversation paused again. “I suppose we have said everything.” Esther turned her face from him. Fred looked at her, and though her eyes were averted from him she could see that he loved her. In another moment he was gone. In her plain and ignorant way she thought on the romance of destiny. For if she had married Fred her life would have been quite different. She would have led the life that she wished to lead, but she had married William and — well, she must do the best she could. If Fred, or Fred’s friends, got the police to prosecute them for betting, they would, as he said, not only have to pay a heavy fine, but would probably lose their licence. Then what would they do? William had not health to go about from race-course to race-course as he used to. He had lost a lot of money in the last six months; Jack was at school — they must think of Jack. The thought of their danger lay on her heart all that evening. But she had had no opportunity of speaking to William alone, she had to wait until they were in their room. Then, as she untied the strings of her petticoats, she said —
“I had a visit from Fred Parsons this afternoon.”
“That’s the fellow you were engaged to marry. Is he after you still?”
“No, he came to speak to me about the betting.”
“About the betting — what is it to do with him?”
“He says that if it isn’t stopped that we shall be prosecuted.”
“So he came here to tell you that, did he? I wish I had been in the bar.”
“I’m glad you wasn’t. What good could you have done? To have a row and make things worse!”
William lit his pipe and unlaced his boots. Esther slipped on her night-dress and got into a large brass bedstead, without curtains. On the chest of drawers Esther had placed the books her mother had given her, and William had hung some sporting prints on the walls. He took his night-shirt from the pillow and put it on without removing his pipe from his mouth. He always finished his pipe in bed.
“It is revenge,” he said, pulling the bed-clothes up to his chin, “because I got you away from him.”
“I don’t think it is that; I did think so at first, and I said so.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he was sorry I thought so badly of him; that he came to warn us of our danger. If he had wanted to do us an injury he wouldn’t have said nothing about it. Don’t you think so?”
“It seems reasonable. Then what do you think they’re doing it for?”
“He says that keeping a betting-house is corruption in the neighbourhood.”
“You think he thinks that?”
“I know he do; and there is many like him. I come of them that thinks like that, so I know. Betting and drink is what my folk, the Brethren, holds as most evil.”
“But you’ve forgot all about them Brethren?”
“No, one never forgets what one’s brought up in.”
“But what do you think now?”
“I’ve never said nothing about it. I don’t believe in a wife interfering with her husband; and business was that bad, and your ‘ealth ‘asn’t been the same since them colds you caught standing about in them betting rings, so I don’t see how you could help it. But now that business is beginning to come back to us, it might be as well to give up the betting.”
“It is the betting that brings the business; we shouldn’t take five pounds a week was it not for the betting. What’s the difference between betting on the course and betting in the bar? No one says nothing against it on the course; the police is there, and they goes after the welshers and persecutes them. Then the betting that’s done at Tattersall’s and the Albert Club, what is the difference? The Stock Exchange, too, where thousands and thousands is betted every day. It is the old story — one law for the rich and another for the poor. Why shouldn’t the poor man ‘ave his ‘alf-crown’s worth of excitement? The rich man can have his thousand pounds’ worth whenever he pleases. The same with the public ‘ouses — there’s a lot of hypocritical folk that is for docking the poor man of his beer, but there’s no one that’s for interfering with them that drink champagne in the clubs. It’s all bloody rot, and it makes me sick when I think of it. Them hypocritical folk. Betting! Isn’t everything betting? How can they put down betting? Hasn’t it been going on since the world began? Rot, says I! They can just ruin a poor devil like me, and that’s about all. We are ruined, and the rich goes scot-free. Hypocritical, mealy-mouthed lot. ‘Let’s say our prayers and sand the sugar’; that’s about it. I hate them that is always prating out religion. When I hears too much religion going about I says now’s the time to look into their accounts.”
William leaned out of bed to light his pipe from the candle on the night-table.
“There’s good people in the world, people that never thinks but of doing good, and do not live for pleasure.”
“‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ Esther. Their only pleasure is a bet. When they’ve one on they’ve something to look forward to; whether they win or lose they ‘as their money’s worth. You know what I say is true; you’ve seen them, how they look forward to the evening paper to see how the ‘oss is going on in betting. Man can’t live without hope. It is their only hope, and I says no one has a right to take it from them.”
“What about their poor wives? Very little good their betting is to them. It’s all very well to talk like that, William, but you know, and you can’t say you don’t, that a great deal of mischief comes of betting; you know that once they think of it and nothing else, they neglect their work. There’s Stack, he’s lost his place as porter; there’s Journeyman, too, he’s out of work.”
“And a good thing for them; they’ve done a great deal better since they chucked it.”
“For the time, maybe; but who says it will go on? Look at old John; he’s going about in rags; and his poor wife, she was in here the other night, a terrible life she’s ‘ad of it. You says that no ‘arm comes of it. What about that boy that was ‘ad up the other day, and said that it was all through betting? He began by pawning his father’s watch. It was here that he made the first bet. You won’t tell me that it is right to bet with bits of boys like that.”
“The horse he backed with me won.”
“So much the worse…. The boy’ll never do another honest day’s work as long as he lives…. When they win, they ‘as a drink for luck; when they loses, they ‘as a drink to cheer them up.”
“I’m afraid, Esther, you ought to have married the other chap. He’d have given you the life that you’d have been happy in. This public-’ouse ain’t suited to you.”
Esther turned round and her eyes met her husband’s. There was a strange remoteness in his look, and they seemed very far from each other.
“I was brought up to think so differently,” she said, her thoughts going back to her early years in the little southern seaside home. “I suppose this betting and drinking will always seem to me sinful and wicked. I should ‘ave liked quite a different kind of life, but we don’t choose our lives, we just makes the best of them. You was the father of my child, and it all dates from that.”
“I suppose it do.”
William lay on his back, and blew the smoke swiftly from his mouth.
“If you smoke much more we shan’t be able to breathe in this room.”
“I won’t smoke no more. Shall I blow the candle out?”
“Yes, if you like.”
When the room was in darkness, just before they settled their faces on the pillow for sleep, William said —
“It was good of that fellow to come and warn us. I must be very careful for the fut
ure with whom I bet.”
XXXVII
ON SUNDAY, AS soon as dinner was over, Esther had intended to go to East Dulwich to see Mrs. Lewis. But as she closed the door behind her, she saw Sarah coming up the street.
“Ah, I see you’re going out.”
“It don’t matter; won’t you come in, if it’s only for a minute?”
“No, thank you, I won’t keep you. But which way are you going? We might go a little way together.”
They walked down Waterloo Place and along Pall Mall. In Trafalgar Square there was a demonstration, and Sarah lingered in the crowd so long that when they arrived at Charing Cross, Esther found that she could not get to Ludgate Hill in time to catch her train, so they went into the Embankment Gardens. It had been raining, and the women wiped the seats with their handkerchiefs before sitting down. There was no fashion to interest them, and the band sounded foolish in the void of the grey London Sunday. Sarah’s chatter was equally irrelevant, and Esther wondered how Sarah could talk so much about nothing, and regretted her visit to East Dulwich more and more. Suddenly Bill’s name came into the conversation.
“But I thought you didn’t see him any more; you promised us you wouldn’t.”
“I couldn’t help it…. It was quite an accident. One day, coming back from church with Annie — that’s the new housemaid — he came up and spoke to us.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘How are ye?… Who’d thought of meeting you!’”
“And what did you say?”
“I said I didn’t want to have nothing to do with him. Annie walked on, and then he said he was very sorry, that it was bad luck that drove him to it.”
“And you believed him?”
“I daresay it is very foolish of me. But one can’t help oneself. Did you ever really care for a man?”
And without waiting for an answer, Sarah continued her babbling chatter. She had asked him not to come after her; she thought he was sorry for what he had done. She mentioned incidentally that he had been away in the country and had come back with very particular information regarding a certain horse for the Cesarewitch. If the horse won he’d be all right.
