ROUND LONDON.

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 13, 23 December 1911, Page 14

ROUND LONDON.

STRAY STUDIES FROM LOW LIFE. By GEORGE HAW. Ho looked as contented and happy a man as I havo seen for some time, and as ho Kit on the grass under a tree in Hyde Park tho sua lighted up a face which might have seen fifty years or more ■ and certainly looked no worse for wear "Noo reflations," ho said ithenl told mm hat under certain proposed by-laws tor tho parks ho might not be ailowed to rest Ihero ucit week. "Let 'em moke cm. It . <wt worry me. If they turn ~s out o the parks, wot then? Tho sun will shme just the same, won't, il'-" J agreed, ° n "® blokcs '" «; .o for himself'S- ionTfgo -givln Z woiryinj; about tho morrow. "I'll {J! >° u , «' ot . <hey oughter do next. The ' oughter buy some old boats and tako us a l } out to sea and rink us." US h i Ca tick kd him, as, chuckling quietly, lie went on with his occupation etti. S emk E f tekin ? disca rded cigar-as-as ,* eh ftra another l„g 0 f like appearance n '° a lovely smoking mixture" he resumed, running his fingers through the damp and discoloured tobacco. "But vou mustn't smoke it while it's wet in cai it bites yer tongue. When it's dry it's ffi b °v fi f; C i,r-F a t Ckct Stuff ' saaie a 8 tons buy. I sells it to me pals in tho lodging house or to the ole men on Frithe '' cts <-heir day out?" itio 010 men?" '•Tl!ev n iil- t r. hu -f WO T^ us '" v he "Pained. fW .m Its a change on shag they say They can't get smoking mill lure inside; so I waits round tho corner on their days out wif mo pockets full o' penny packets ready made up. W times takes enough pennies from the ole men on l'ridays to pay for me doss and board over tho week-end. I never has to laj out any of it as capital, 'cos I picks streets o '' cigaretto ends in tho But see here"—holding up another paper bag wnich he drew from the deep pocket of what might have been a secornf hand green eoat--"This here fetches a better price. That s the stuff to make ver smile when yer smokes, al'ays provided lights it aDd d before yer He opened the bag and revealed a collection of _ cigar einds this time. Picks em up in public . houses and onto dustbins, he volunteered. " 'Taint SO hard finding 'em when yer knows • where to lftok. But even this trade's getting ruined by competition. Too many of us in it. That's why I likes a pair' o" uoards now and agin." He told ntn I was right in assuming hat t no boards lie meant were sandwich boa rila. "Ono oiid twopence a day and dear nt the price, was his wav of summing up his earnings as a sandwich man. "But, like most ~ther things, It has its compensations. .'ometiincs 1. right down enjovs nsesclf a-carrying a pair o' boards." In what way?" "Why. tho whole secret is this: lift yer eves from the gutter and look outward. J horns many a worse way o' seeing tho sights it' l/owlon than grtting between n pair q' boards. Now; wot's wrong wif sandwich lnou as a rulo is that they either stares at tho board on tho back o' the bloke walking in front of 'em or tliev keeps their eyes on the gutter all tho J j" 10 -, That s not wot I calls inspiring, ■that's not making tho best o' thing's. There's a time for everything. And tho time for looking in the gutter is when yer a-sceking fogs to turn to profit as smoking mixture. But when yer money's sure, as it is when yer a-carrying boartls, then T say drop seeking for fags and look up! It's a good thing to lift yer eyes from the gutter when yer feet's in it." "T)o you see much when vou do look up r" "Well, ver don't see yerself, anyhow! and that's sometimes a jolly good thing for a bloke. On'y to look at other people when 1 "111 carrying a pair o' boards, especially in tiic Strand or the city, often makes me feel as contented as a lord. Ah! I'eopld may think we look funny atwoen the boards, but they don't know how funny they look, seen as we seen 'cm from behind the boards." "How is that?" "Life is very queer looked at from over the top of !i sandwich board, take my. word for it. It's as though yer were looking over a barricade, well protected yerself, taking no part in the wear and tear and business rush on tho other side. I often asks meself why people go on adoing of it. Tushins about like mad when they might get a living quietly like me? 'Taint worf it." Tho recollection of that genial down-at-heel philosopher brings to mind another of tho fame school, whose acquaintance I made more recently in a side lane oft Fleet Street. Before mo as I write is a little memory of our lirst meeting. It is an illustrated volume with a. title that suggests much reading, weary and otherwise. II is called "The History of England from AA'illiam T to Kdwanl VII." The size of the book belies the title. It is not much larger than a postage stamp. You can read tho wholo of tho contents in three minutes. Nine whole centuries of English history conio and go before the mental vision in a trice. The little history was the gift of one of those odd and kindly people who sell things at the kerb in London streets. There is a time to feel for loose coppers and a time not to feel for them. One of the times to feel for them is when you seo a gutter merchant plying his calling persistently in a side street about dusk. It is then in your power to decide whether a man shall sleep in a bed that night or walk the streets.. For when our friend turns into the sido streets—tho police are not s:o troublesome there when lie becomes importunate—it means he has had a bad day, and despair is coming with the night. It may not always bo inspiring after the day's work, when you are making for tho station, to bo urged to buy bootlaces, umbrella rings, or "ivory-backed, revolving collar-studs." Even tl'ie "little penny comic dying pig—all made to die" loses its interest when you are rushing homeward. But our friend with the penny history looked so woebegone that I was impelled to turn hack. "Xo luck to-day?" I queried. "Not a ha'porth," ho answered. "It means no doss' to-night." Soon ro fell to talking about his trade, no bought his histories at ninepence tho dozen. He sometimes sold enough in a dnv to clear a net profit of a shilling. "An' 'wif a bob in me pocket nt tho bnd of the day I'm a king," he declared triumphantly. "What makes you a king?" I asked. "AVliy, fivepence for a doss leaves sevenpence to spend, don't it?" I assented. "AVell, a man as can't feed 'issclf on sevenpence, and have a pennv to spare for 'bacca, ain't worf his salt." That sounded like admirable economy; but our friend was not frugal as the world would have him be. He told me lie made a practice of spending every penny he possessed before going to bed each night. He did it on principle, lie assured me. He always safeguarded himself by laying in his stock overnight for the next day's business; but everv morning ho turned from his favourite lodgingliouso in Bermondsey with nothing between him and want but the history of England. "1 ain't a relative as T. knows of in the world," he added. "An' if'l were to die in tho night, wot 'ml happen? AVliy, the other blokes in tho lodging-house 'ud rifle me pockets, an' if they found anv money, d'yo know wot they'd do wif it?'' I didn't. "Drink it, sir. That's wot they'd do. An' I enn't bear tho thought of them adrinking of mo health wif me not thero to joi d in." Better by far was the out-of-work navvy, who volunteered a magnanimous bargain. May we meet again hut forget ilio bargain! It was made, without witnesses, in a small street off ono of the Marylebone squares. I had stooped for a moment to road an arresting sign over a cobbler's shop. In letters of various hues and sizes the world at large was told that the little establishment below "performed sundry operations upon old boots." These operations consisted in "heoling the wounded, binding the broken, making good tho understanding, and supporting the body with a new sole." Then (ho defiant little sign went, on to ask: "Who is the proprietor?" This is how it answered its own question: i "Not a fishmonger, though he deals in ! snles and eels. Not a surgeon, though he I performs many cutting operations. Not i a i-ehoolmaster, though he improve,<■ the < understanding. Not a fishter, though, at i

(his establishment a man can get leathered to his heart's content." To what further lengths the amazing sign goes before tolling the public who the proprietor really is I cannot sav. Having read as far as "heart's content," I suddenly became conscious that a big, rugged man, of frank features ami soiled clothes stood before me. "You don't know of a bit n' work you could put in a fellow's way, I suppose?" Now I thought that tho most delicato wav imaginable of asking the price of n night's lodging. So we adjusted matters, and lib said he would now bo ablo to get his first bed that week. "Where do you stay? 'What's your hotel?" ... , He wouldn't, tako tho joke, but simply mentioned tho name o£ a street which 1 knew to be near AVestminster Abbey. "That's in Camberwclll suggested, with a sneaking suspicion that perhaps lie was an idlo cadger who would assent to anything. . "Xo, it's in AA estminstcr, lie returned Crm,V - • 1.1 T -« "Sevenpenws a night, 1 suppose.' "Xo, fivepence." One began to blush at one 8 own suspicion®. Tho frankness of the man was unmistakable. Wo became more confidential. His last job was at tho Dover Harbour works. Recently lie had been up to Bedford seeking work. There ho had left "tho missus and the young nns —five of 'em at their aunt s. London was a hard place to get a start in; l>ut it was all right onco you got a start. He had done well years ago here on one ot the railway extensions. He had come again hoping to get navvy's work on the new tubes, but the works were neanng completion and the gangs getting disband°l"Look here," he said, with a sincere ring in his voice, at parting, if 1 ever meet you when I'ni in work 111 pay 3 0U "A bargain," I answered jocularly, "Agreed," he said, raising his hat. "Herc'6 to our next meeting.