The Day of Judgment. Hocking Joseph
"I don't know," said Paul.
"But you must, man. You can't stay out all night. It's cold, too. Will you have a cab?"
"I don't know where to go," said Paul. "Can you tell me of a respectable place?"
But before the porter could answer, someone else claimed his attention, and Paul was left alone. He took his bag and looked around, then, seeing the notice, "Left Luggage Office," he acted upon impulse, and left his portmanteau there, after which he went out into the streets. He had missed the connection at Bristol, and, the later train having been delayed, it was now past ten o'clock. He had bought some sandwiches on his way, so he did not feel hungry. But he was terribly depressed and lonely. The traffic of the city was subsiding somewhat, but still the rush and roar of the great northern metropolis stunned and bewildered him. Presently he came to the Town Hall, which stood in a great square not far from the station. Around him were trams, cabs, and a hurrying multitude of people. This was life—life in a great city! It was utterly different from what he had expected; and it was bitterly cold. A damp fog hung over the city, the air was depressing, and the streets were black with slimy mud. Still, the thought that more than half a million of people were around him was wonderful to him. He was in the heart of the manufacturing North, where poor friendless boys had risen to position and power. That Town Hall stood for something—stood for the government of this great metropolis. It seemed to him that London could be nothing compared with this, and in his ignorance he felt as though Manchester were the centre of the world. He wandered on and on, passing through St. Anne's Square until he came to Market Street. Here all was a blaze of light, even although the crowd had largely departed. It was all fascinating, bewildering. He felt strangely afraid, and he did not know what to do. A tram stopped just in front of him, and he noticed the words, "Rusholme, Oxford Road." And, again acting on impulse, he entered the tram. A few minutes later the conductor came to him.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked.
Paul had not the slightest idea, and looked at him in a kind of dazed way.
"Where do you want to get out?" went on the conductor. "We only go as far as the tramway shed at Rusholme. Do you want to go as far as that, or where?"
"I don't know," said Paul. "Where do we pass?"
"Why, we go up Oxford Road, and pass Owens College."
"That's it," cried Paul eagerly; "I want to get out at Owens College."
The conductor eyed him curiously, but he was a man of large experience, and took very little notice of the vagaries of his passengers.
"Here you are," he said at length, as the tram stopped. "This is Owens College."
Paul got out, and the tram went on. He looked at the great building like one spell-bound. He had heard, in a vague sort of way, that this was the head-quarters of the Victoria University. He did not know much as to what this meant, but it appealed to him, captivated him. It was the centre of learning—knowledge. Here men taught the knowledge that meant power, progress, achievement. It was not quite so foggy here as in the heart of the city, and the moon did its best to pierce the clouds, and in its pale light Paul could see something of the proportions of this great centre of learning. He wandered around it, and noted what he supposed were the various departments of education. He almost forgot where he was; he did not heed the lapse of time. This was Owens College! It seemed to him the heart of the universe, the centre of the world of knowledge, and he would go there some day, he would learn things; and before his eyes flashed a vision of a brilliant future. What others had done he could do. It meant work; but what of that? He loved it. It meant suffering; but then he had never known anything else.
Presently he found himself in Oxford Road again, and then, like one in a dream, he tramped back to the centre of the city. He had been travelling from early morning, but he felt no weariness. Manchester was the city of dreams. By the time he had got back to Market Street again the streets were deserted, save for a few late stragglers. The trams had ceased running, the theatres had emptied themselves while he had been away, and only an occasional vehicle passed him. All through the night he wandered through the dark, murky streets, and as he did so the mystery of it all, the wonder of it all, filled his heart. Yes, he was in a new world, and in this new world were new thoughts, new modes of life. In after-years Paul recalled the experiences of that night; it seemed to him that it marked a new era in his life. Especially did he feel this as again and again he came to the Town Hall. The place had a strong attraction for him, because it was here he believed that the G. D. Graham of whom he had read had defended the man who, as it appeared to him, was guilty of a crime. More than one policeman noticed him as he stood there looking at its lofty towers and listening for the deep tones of the bell which told of the passing time. But no one molested him; he was respectably dressed, and did not appear to be a suspicious character. Strange to say, the squalor, the misery, the poverty did not impress him: it was the size, the wondrousness, and the vast avenues of life, which the city suggested, that appealed to his mind.
Early in the morning he found himself at the Central Station again, where, having obtained his bag, he made his way towards Victoria Station and caught the early train for Brunford.
By the time he had reached Haslingden the grey light of morning revealed the dreary scenes through which he passed. He wished he had stayed in Manchester. The district through which he passed seemed nothing but a procession of dreary houses, built apparently without thought of order or architecture. He saw stunted men and pale-faced girls with shawls over their heads as if on their way to their work. He heard the clatter of their iron-ringed clogs on the hard paving-stones. Here was a new life indeed, but there was no romance. It was all sordid, grimy. Still he must go on, and presently, when the porter shouted the word, "Brunford," he got out of the train feeling that his new life had really commenced.
CHAPTER III
PAUL IS SENT TO PRISON
The next few years of Paul Stepaside's life must be described somewhat briefly, although they were not without importance. They were the formative period of the young man's history and naturally shaped his whole future. Habits of thought were formed, and the tendencies of his boyhood were hardened and fashioned by the circumstances which surrounded him. Consequently, the passing from youth to manhood, with all its shaping, moulding forces, is doubtless the most vital in the life of any man. Nevertheless there is not much to say about them, as only a few outstanding events happened to him. The development of his character went on, but that development was silent and almost unnoticed by those with whom he came into contact. Still, there were certain things of which cognisance must be taken, because not only did they affect his future but they formed a part of the chain of events which led to the tragic issues which presently evolved.
His first few days in Brunford were not happy ones. The life of a busy manufacturing town was utterly different from that of St. Mabyn. The long rows of ugly houses, the black, slimy streets, the smoke-begrimed atmosphere, the roar of machinery, and the life of the operatives, all made him feel that here was a new world indeed! It seemed to him harsh, sordid, ugly, and more than once he longed for the clear skies, the green fields, and the quiet restfulness of his old Cornish home. Nevertheless it had its compensations. He was at the heart of a great, busy, manufacturing centre, and the life there could not help but be educational in the highest degree. He had no difficulty in finding work. A loom manufacturer took him on for a few days to give him a trial, and then, finding that Paul was skilful with his blacksmithing tools, he engaged him as one of his permanent hands. He obtained lodgings near the centre of the town, with an old couple who took quite an interest in him. They were Methodists, and, learning that Paul was acquainted with a minister who had formerly been in the Brunford circuit, felt quite at home with him. This led, moreover, to his being visited by the minister of Hanover Chapel, who