The Day of Judgment. Hocking Joseph
as a beast and not as a man, while he was drinking wine and faring sumptuously, there did not seem much justice in the world."
Hearing a rustle by his side as he spoke, Paul turned and saw that the customer who had been talking with the shopkeeper was looking straight at him, and his heart beat violently as the eyes of the two met. It was a young girl he saw, not more than twenty years of age, and, as far as he knew, she was a stranger to the town. He had never seen her before, and she appeared different from the young women with whom he had happened to meet. He noticed, too, as their eyes met, that hers were full of horror. She seemed to regard him as she might regard a snarling dog. He saw her lips quiver, and he thought for a moment that she was about to speak to him. The intensity of her gaze made him almost beside himself, and then, acting on the impulse of the moment, and speaking with the freedom so common to the Lancashire operative class, he went on: "Yes, miss, and I mean it too. You, by the look of you, belong to that class, but, remember, the time will come when men like Bolitho will be paid for what they have done. But, there!" And he laughed. "I suppose he had to speak to his brief, and, justice or no justice, he had to do what his employer told him to do. 'Ten pounds more for every extra month you get him,' would be Wilson's cry, and Bolitho would be anxious to get the ten pounds."
The girl's eyes shone with a fierce anger, and then, without a word, walked away.
"I say, Paul," said the shopkeeper, "that's not the way to treat my customers!"
Paul looked ashamed of himself. "I know, I know, Mr. Sutcliffe, it was mean of me," he said, "and I know I ought to apologise to her. But if you had seen the look on her face, and had suffered what I have suffered, you'd have spoken too. Why, she might think I was an adder. But there, I dare say she knew who I was, and that I had just come out of prison."
"As you know, I'm all on your side, Paul," said the shopkeeper, "but I cannot afford to have my customers driven away."
"Nay, I know," said Paul; "and if she doesn't come back and pay for the things that are on the counter there, I'll take them myself and pay for them. But there, I must be going." And, having got the things he came to buy, he left the shop, little realising the influence the interview would have upon his future.
He had barely gained the street when a man, whom he had known almost ever since he had come to Brunford, met him. "Ay, Paul," he said. "I have just been to your lodgings, and I want to see you particular."
Paul's heart was still embittered with the scene through which he had passed, and he met the man rather coldly. "Is it anything particular?" he said.
"Yes, I think so," replied the man.
"Because if it isn't," said Paul, "I don't want to talk about it. I've had a hard day, and I'm pretty well worn out."
"That's so," replied the other, "and we'll say nothing more about it if you don't feel like talking, but I thought as 'ow you might look upon it as good news."
"Forgive me, Preston," he said, recognising the man's kindly tone. "I know I spoke like a brute, but my nerves are all on edge, and while everybody is very kind to me, I'm easily upset. What is it, old man?"
"I can't tell you here," replied Preston. "It'll take me an hour, anyhow."
"Is it so important as that?" said Paul, with a questioning look in his eyes.
"Ay, I think so," replied the other.
George Preston was a teacher in the Hanover Sunday-school, and was some two years older than Paul. He had more than average intelligence, and had been known for years as a hard-working, saving fellow. They had met at the Mechanics' Institute, where they had gone for classes, and, while they had gone their different ways, mutual respect existed between them.
"I expect Mrs. Dixon will have got my little room all ready," said Paul, "so we shall be able to have a chat without interruption." And the two threaded their way along the busy street towards Paul's lodgings. Never did Paul realise how much he was liked until that evening. It happened to be market day, and the streets were crowded with people. Not only had the townspeople gathered together in the centre of Brunford, but many had come in from a distance, and thus to a casual visitor it might seem as though a fair were being held. Every minute or so he was stopped by someone who came up to congratulate him on his return, and to bid him welcome.
"Never fear, Paul lad," it was said to him again and again. "You shall noan suffer for this, and 'appen Wilson and that lot will noan be the happier for what they have done to thee. Art short of money, lad? If a sovereign 'll be of any use to thee, thou can have it."
And from the ring of sincerity in their voices Paul knew that every word was meant. For I should like to say here that, although the Lancashire operative is rough, and sometimes a little coarse, there are no kinder people on earth than those who live in the great manufacturing centres of the North. In the main they are loyal to a man, and as true as steel. Brunford is by no means an ideal place to live in; indeed, from November to April its atmospheric conditions are horrible beyond words. It rains nearly all the time, and, the air being smoke-begrimed, the streets are covered with black, slimy mud, offensive both to sight and to smell. The very conditions, too, under which the people live must have a tendency to coarsen and to destroy artistic feelings. The artisans know practically nothing about the gardens common to the South-country peasant. Houses are often built back to back, or only divided by a small paved yard, the front door is nearly always right on to the street, and, even in cases where some strip of garden is obtained, the flowers, which are the pride of the South-country people, simply come up hideous and black with grime.
The writer of these lines once lived in a manufacturing town in the North, and, there being a strip of garden to his house, he asked the gardener to plant for him some white hyacinth bulbs, hyacinths being one of his favourite flowers. When the spring came, the hyacinths appeared, but alas! they were not white, but as black as the soot which is belched forth from a hundred chimneys.
So moved was Paul by the kindness which was manifested, that a great sob came into his throat, and his heart became full of love towards the people. He longed, as he had never longed before, to work for them, to live for them; and before his mind came a vision of what the future might have in store. He knew what their life was, understood thoroughly the hard conditions under which they laboured. Yes, he would make some return for all this goodwill, and for the love which they evidently bore to him. He would live for them! He would work night and day for the betterment of their conditions! He would make Brunford a town to rejoice in! He would remove the wrongs under which the people suffered, and bring music and gladness into their lives! How he was to do this he did not know; indeed, it seemed impossible for him to commence as yet, but the time would come, and when that time came he would not spare himself. He did not forget what he had regarded as the chief purpose of his existence—that, at all costs, must be performed—but he must not live wholly for that; he must live for the people who loved him, and whom, in spite of everything, he loved.
"Well, Preston," he said, "what is it?" when at length they reached his lodgings, and were sitting alone in the little room which the old couple had allotted to him.
"I was thinking," said Preston, "of what you mean to do in the future."
"I don't think I shall go to work to-morrow," said Paul. "I shall need one day's holiday to get things straightened out a bit, but, as you know, my place is kept open for me."
"Have you any brass?" asked Preston abruptly.
"Not much," said Paul; "but I've saved a few pounds." And then, with a laugh, "It's cost me nothing to live during the winter, you know. All the same, I've had to work hard for the black bread and skilly."
"Come, now," said Preston, "let's say no more about that. I know you had a bad time, but you know by this time that no one in Brunford thinks the worse of you because of it, and no one thinks the better of Wilson. And it's not Christian to cherish black thoughts about them, or about Bolitho either. As you say, he was paid for his job, and he did it. How much money have you saved?"
"Two hundred pounds," said Paul.
"So much?" said the other in a tone of surprise. "Ay, I did not