75
When the donkey had first begun to munch
the carrots, I would scream from the tail of the
cart, "Thieves! Thieves! Catch 'im!" and
spring away, overturning boxes and making a
great commotion. The coster would leave his
donkey and come running, excited, and while
he was wondering what had happened I would
steal slyly up on the other side of the donkey
and filch the carrots. The poor beast looked
reproachfully at me, wagging his ears and
sometimes braying frightfully, but I ran glee-
fully away, and sitting concealed beneath a
wagon, ate his dinner for him to the last bite.
...
The stupid coster, amazed, would scratch his
head and marvel at the donkey's appetite, but
I do not remember that he ever failed to run
at the cry of "Thieves!" or that I ever failed
to make way with the carrots.
Several times that winter I screwed up my
courage to attempt getting work on the stage,
but after I had walked a long way in the foggy,
dripping streets, I would be so cold and wet
and so conscious of my rags and of my dirty
collar that I turned back to the market again.
76
Sometimes at long intervals the people at the
hospital let me see my mother, but I could not
bear to look at her, she was so altered and
seemed so strange. She lay quite still, some-
times, and would not speak or answer me when
I called to her, so that I thought she was dead,
and a great black misery came over me. Some-
times she turned her head from side to side on
the pillow and talked to herself in a quick,
clear voice about blouses, dozens and dozens
of blouses. She never looked at me or seemed
to know that I was there, and I came away from
the hospital so wretched that I wished never to
go back.
Still I went again, as often as they would
let me, and one day a marvelous thing hap-
pened. The nurse with the flaring white cap
took me into a little office and showed me a
letter.
"A woman brought it here from the lodgings
where your mother lived," she said. "We read
it to your mother, but she could not under-
stand, so we saved it for you."
She gave it to me and I read it in great
excitement.
77
"Dear mother," it read. "I am coming back
from Africa. I will be home for Christmas
Day, with thirty pounds saved, and I am
bringing grand presents for you, but I will not
tell you what they are. Tell Charlie to look
out for his big brother, I have presents for
him, too. I will be home two months from to-day,
at Waterloo station at nine o'clock. Be sure
to have a Christmas pudding ready. Hoping you
are all well, I am your dutiful son,
"Sidney.
"Postscript — It is a shawl, and there are ear-
rings, too, but I will not tell you what else."
My heart gave a great leap and seemed to choke
me, and I trembled so I could not speak. I
had not thought of Sidney for a long time,
and now he was coming home with money and
presents! And thinking of my poor mother,
who was so ill and could not understand the
great news, tears came into my eyes so that I
had to rub them not to let the nurse see. Then
I saw how dirty I was, and ragged, and was
ashamed to have Sidney see me.
78
The nurse kindly told the day, and comparing it
with the date of the letter, I saw it was that
very evening that Sidney would reach London.
...
Quivering with excitement, I begged to see my
mother again and tell her about it, and when
they said I might, I could not walk down the
long ward, but must run in my eagerness.
" Mother! Mother! Sidney's coming home!
With presents for you — a shawl, and earrings!"
I cried. But it was no use. My mother lay there
with her thin drawn face quite still and would
not even open her eyes.
So, with a heavy heart, wondering how I was
to tell Sidney of all that had occurred, I came
out of the hospital and tried to make ready for
going to Waterloo station.
I washed my face and hands carefully in a
puddle and dried them upon some straw. Then
I took some mud and blacked my shoes as well
as possible, and the toe which showed so that
it would not be so conspicuous. Then my hands
must be washed again and my hair combed. I
smoothed out my wrinkled clothes as well as I
could and tucked in the torn lining of my cap
so that it would not show.
79
All this took much time, so that it was almost
dusk before I started to meet Sidney, and I ran
most of the way, not to be late, hoping that I
would not miss him in all the confusion of the
station.
CHAPTER X
In which Sidney comes home to find father dead,
mother too ill to recognize him and me half
starved and in rags.
WHEN AT last I arrived, panting, at Waterloo
station the lamps were already lighted and all
the place was bright with them. There was
such a noise of people coming and going and
so much confusion that, used as I was to the
turmoil of the market, I hardly knew where to
go or what to do. Besides, the manner of these
people was so different and their clothes so
good that I felt more than ever ashamed of my
raggedness and doubtful what Sidney would
think when he saw me.
However, I was so determined not to miss
him that I got up courage to ask the way to
the trains and was waiting there trembling with
excitement and eagerness when the nine o'clock
express came in. I had not quite courage
enough to run forward, but hung back a little,
keeping my broken shoe with the hole in it
where my toe showed behind the other and
looking carefully at each man that passed in
the hope that he might be Sidney.
At last I saw him. He was almost seventeen
then ; big, well-dressed and healthy looking as
he swung along with his cap pushed back look-
ing eagerly at every woman in sight, expect-
ing, I knew, to see my mother. He went by
me without a glance and I saw his bright clean
boots and the new glove he wore on the hand
that held his bag. They seemed to put such a
distance between us that I let him go past, not
daring to stop him. I stood there stupidly
looking at his back.
Then I realized that he was going, that I
was losing him, and I ran after him and
desperately touched his arm. He looked down
at me impatiently.
"No, lad," he said sharply, "I will carry the
bag."
He went on through the station still watching
for my
mother, and I followed him, ashamed
to speak to him again, ragged and dirty as
I was, and yet not being able to let him go.
At last he gave up hope of my mother's coming
to meet him and went outside, where he hailed
a cab. I stood there beside him trying to
speak to him and choking while the driver
opened the cab door and he got in. Then I
could bear it no longer. I seized the
door handle and clung to it desperately.
" 0h, Sidney, don't you know me?" I cried.
"I'm Charlie."
He looked at me a minute, surprised, before
he recognized me. Then his face went white
and he pulled me into the cab, calling to the
driver to go on, anywhere.
"For God's sake, what has happened?" he
asked.
"Father's dead and mother's in the parish
hospital, and I haven't had anywhere to sleep
or to wash," I blurted out.
Sidney did not speak for a minute. His face
seemed to set and harden as I watched it, while
the cab bumped over the cobbles.
"How long has this been going on?" he said
at last, choking over the words.
"About three months," I said. Then I told
him as much as I could, tangling it up because
there was so much to say — about father's death,
and how my mother had sewed, and why I was
so dirty because I had no soap and had to sleep
in the cart, and that I could not make mother
understand that his letter had come.
83
"And I've been — saving my money!" he
said, once, like a groan, and his hand shook.
Then he became very brisk and spoke sharply
to the driver, ordering him where to go.
...
I sat in the cab while he got out to see about
rooms and then he came back and took me into
a place that seemed as beautiful as a palace —
a suite of rooms with lace curtains, and carpets,
and a piano, and a fireplace. I stood on some
papers and undressed, while Sidney drew the
bath for me, and it seemed as unreal as a fairy
tale.
"Good heavens, you're starving !" Sidney
cried when he saw how thin I was, and he sent
out for hot milk and biscuits. Then, leaving
me happy with the hot water and soap and
plenty of clean soft towels, he went out,
taking my rags done in a bundle.
When he came back I was sitting wrapped in
his bathrobe, curling my toes before the fire,
as happy as I could possibly be. He brought
new clothes for me, warm underwear and a
Norfolk suit and new shoes. When I was
dressed in them, with my hair combed and a
bright silk tie knotted under a clean white
collar, I walked up and down, feeling cocky
enough to speak to a king, except when I saw
Sidney's white set face and thought of my
poor mother.
84
"I got a permit to see her to-night," Sidney
said. "I have the cab waiting. I thought
maybe when she saw the presents I brought —
and saw you looking so well — she always liked
you best — "
So we set out in the cab again for the hos-
pital. I felt quite grand coming up the steps
in my new clothes and walked among the nurses,
who did not recognize me at first, with a
superior air, speaking to them confidently. I
led Sidney down the long ward I knew so well,
holding my head high, but all my new impor-
tance left me when I saw my mother.
She lay there with her eyes closed and her
sweet face so thin, with deep hollows in the
cheeks and dark marks under her lashes, that
the old fear hurt my heart and I trembled.
...
"Is she — is she alive?" I asked the nurse.
"Yes. Speak to her and rouse her if you
can," she said. Sidney and I leaned over the
bed and called to her.
85
"Mother, look ! Here's Sidney home ! Look,
mother!" I said cheerily.
"See, mother dear — all the beautiful pres-
ents. Wake up and see — it's Christmas!"
Sidney said, taking her hand. She did not
seem to hear at first, and then she turned her
head on the pillow and opened her eyes.
"Here we are, mother!" we cried happily.
"All the hard times are over — we'll have
Christmas together — look at the lovely things
Sidney's brought — see Charlie's new clothes."
We tumbled the words together, excited and
eager.
"Is — it — morning?" mother said painfully.
"Three dozen more to sew. He shouldn't keep
out the money for spots, there were no spots at
all. Twelve make a dozen, and that's a half-
crown, and then a dozen more, and then a
dozen more, and then a dozen more — " She
did not know us at all.
Sidney spread over the bed the beautiful
shawl he had brought for her and put the ear-
rings in her hand and showed her the comb of
brilliants for her hair, which the nurses had cut
away, but she only turned her head restlessly
on the pillow and talked wildly until the nurse
told us we must come away.
86
We rode back to the rooms, not saying a word.
Sidney sat with his arm about my shoulders
and his eyes were hard and bright. When we
were home again he ordered up a great supper
of chops and a meat pie and pudding. We sat
down and he piled my plate high with food.
Then suddenly he put his arms down on the
table and began to sob.
It was terrible. He could not stop. I tried
to speak to him, but could not, so after a
moment I got up and went over to the window.
I stood there leaning my forehead against the
glass, looking at the lights outside, so miser-
able that I could not cry. What was the good
of all this comfort without our mother?
...
Sidney came over after a while and we stood
together not saying anything for a long
time. Then he drew a deep breath and said:
"Well, all we can do is to go on. I suppose we
must look up a berth for you after you have
been fed up a bit. What do you want to do?"
...
"I want to be an actor," I answered dully.
"All right. We'll see what we can do to-
morrow," he said.
CHAPTER XI
In which I vainly make the rounds of the
theatrical agents ; almost go to sea ; and
at last get the chance for which I have
long been yearning.
NOTHING, I believe, makes so much difference,
not only with the appearance of a man, but with
the man himself, as good clothes and a well-
filled stomach, and this is even more true of a
boy, who is more sensitive to impressions of
every sort.
When I was dressed next morning in my new
clothes, which already had almost ceased to
feel strange to me, and had
eaten a breakfast
so large that Sidney's eyes widened with alarm
while he watched me, I did not feel at all like
the shabby boy of the day before. I did a few
dance steps, in high spirits, and mimicked for
Sidney's benefit a great many of the market
people and the coster who had fed his donkey
carrots. I even assumed a little of my old
patronizing attitude toward Sidney, who had
never been considered the clever one of the
family, and promised him large returns for
all he had done for me as soon as I should
become a famous actor.
This matter of cleverness I believe now to be
greatly overrated. The clever person is too
apt to let his cleverness excuse the absence of
most of the solid qualities of character, and to
rely on facility and surface brilliance to supply
the want of industry and prudence. All my
life I have been going up like a rocket, all
sparks and a loud noise, and coming down like
one again, but Sidney has always been the
steady stand-by of the family, ready to pick
me out of the mud and start me up again. He
is the better man of the two.
That morning, though, after I had eaten his
breakfast, I could not imagine myself ever in
need of help again and my mind was full of
future success on the stage. I could hardly
wait while he dressed to go with me to the
agents, and when we were in the streets I
walked with a swagger, and pointed out the
sights as if he were only a provincial and I at
least a capitalist of London.
89
I was just twelve then and the law was strict
against the employment on the stage of chil-
dren under fourteen, but I do not remember
that I ever had any difficulty in convincing the
agents that I was over the legal age. My self-
confidence and my talent for mimicry were so
strong that they overcame the impression of
my small size, and I suppose the month of
hunger and suffering for my mother had given
my face an older look.
In the weeks which followed Sidney's home-
coming we visited dozens of agents. I climbed
the long stairs to their offices in a fever of
expectation and hope; I talked to each agent
quite confidently, and when he had taken my
name and address and said he had nothing for
me at present, I came down again in the depths
of gloom, so despondent that only a good
dinner and a visit to the theater would cheer
me. I always felt that I could play the parts
much better than any actor I saw, and so I
Charlie Chaplins Own Story Page 6
