Part 8

“Heard about your calling three times a day... far too kind with all your work... and the messages from the staff... touched me to heart... never thought had so many friends... wished been more friendly myself.

“My promotion, too... hope may be fit for duty... can't speak much, but think I'll be spared... Almighty very good to me... Chief Clerk of Schedule Department... would you mind saying Lord's Prayer together... it sums up everything.”

So we knelt one on each side of Perkins' bed, and I led with “Our Father”--the other two being once or twice quite audible. The choir of a neighbouring church were singing a Christmas carol in the street, and the Christ came into our hearts as a little child.

THE RIGHT HAND OF SAMUEL DODSON

I

“Smoking, as usual, and wasting your time after luncheon, instead of hurrying to your offices and coining time into money like old Sam Dodson, who can give the cash value of every five minutes,” and Welsby sat down beside three other young Liverpool merchants in the club--all men who had one eye on business and the other on the good of the city. “Something's happened since I saw you fellows last on 'Change. Guess.” “Cotton up three points? A corn corner at Chicago? A big bear in lard? Anything to do with fruit?”

“Nothing whatever to do with such prosaic subjects, and I am ashamed to notice your mercenary tempers; this is a public affair, and is to be a profound secret for exactly seventy minutes, after which it will appear in the fourth edition of the _Evening Trumpet_.

“It's a pity that the early news could not be used for an operation in cotton, but I'll take it along to the 'Flags,' and tell it under pledge of silence to half a dozen brokers. If you are really interested in the matter, this will give it a wider and more certain circulation than any _Trumpet_ could.”

“We're all ears, Welsby.”

“Well, to begin at the beginning, you know how our people in Liverpool are crowded together in courts and rookeries without room or air. It's hard on the men and women, but it's hardest on the children, who have no place to play in but the gutter.

“So a man wrote a letter to the papers about a month ago, pleading for a fund to put down small playgrounds in the crowded districts, where the little folk could come of an evening, and the mothers could sit, and the men might smoke a pipe...

“I remember the letter,” broke in Cotton; “it was signed 'Philanthropist,' and was generally supposed to have been composed in a moment of inspiration by some proprietor of insanitary property; it was an elegant letter, and affected me very much--to tears, in fact,”

“It was signed 'Charles Welsby,' and you never read a word of it, because it had no reference to polo nor the Macfarlane Institute for Working Lads, the only subjects to which you give any attention. Four people read it, however, and wrote to me at once. One man denounced the scheme as another instance of the patronage of the rich. He added that it was a sop, and that the toilers would soon find open places for themselves.”

“He would mean your garden, Welsby,” suggested Lard. “The Socialist has two main principles of action: first, to give nothing to any good cause himself; and second, to appropriate his neighbour's property on the first opportunity. And your other correspondents?”

“I had a letter from the inventor of a nonintoxicating beer, offering £5 on condition that we advertised his beverage, which he discovered by supernatural guidance and sold for philanthropic ends.”

“All queer beverages and patent medicines are owned by high-class religious people, as far as I can understand,” remarked Com.

“Go on.”

“A third letter warned me that such spaces would be abused by bad characters and sap the morals of the people; the writer also wanted to know whether they would be closed on the Sabbath.”

“A publican evidently,” remarked Cotton; “no man is so concerned about Sabbath observance. And so you got sick of the whole affair?”

“Rather, till I got this letter. I'll read it, and then you can make your guesses at the enclosure.

“'Liverpool, June 9, 189-.

“'MY DEAR Sir,--Your letter of 7th ult, in the issue of the _Morning Trumpet_ of May 8, caught my eye and received my most careful attention. As you appeared to have established a _primâ facie_ case for what you designate “People's Playgrounds,” I have occupied my leisure time in examining the sanitary and social condition of certain parts of our city which were more or less distinctly indicated in your letter. As the result of my investigations, I am thoroughly convinced, in the first place, that you have proved your case as regards the unfortunate circumstances of the children in such parts, and, in the second place, that your plan for their relief is practical and wisely considered,

“'It then became my duty as a citizen of Liverpool to consider what I could do to further the ends of your scheme, and it seemed to me on the whole most advisable to place a sum of money at your disposal, on condition that it be spent with such other sums as may be sent you in purchasing decaying property and creating playgrounds--said playgrounds to be vested in the Parks and Gardens Committee of the City Council--and I would suggest that people interested in each district be allowed and encouraged to contribute to the furnishing and adornment of the playgrounds.

“'I beg therefore to enclose a draft in your favour on Messrs. Goldbeater & Co., Lombard Street, London, and I have only to add my sincere approval of the good work you are doing among the poor of Liverpool, and my wish, which, as a man of honour, you will doubtless carefully respect, that you will take no steps to discover my name.--I have the honour to be, your obedient servant,

“'Zaccheus.'”

“Satisfactory, very, although a trifle pedantic and long-winded. And the sum, Welsby? I say £250.”

“£500” said Cotton.

“£1,000,” cried Lard.

“What do you say to £10,000?” and the draft was handed round.

“Congratulate you, old man.” Com shook hands with Welsby, and so did they all, for he had worked hard in many a good cause. “You deserve your luck; think I'll take to writing letters for my pet hospital. Who can he be? Do you suspect any one?”

“Half a dozen, but I'm bound not to inquire; and I rather think that the trail is covered at Goldbeater's beyond finding. But I know who did not give it--Sam Dodson.

“No, of course I did not ask him for help. One does not court refusals; but you know his meddling, ferreting ways. If he didn't stop me in the street and ask fifty questions till I hinted at a subscription, when he was off in a minute.”

“Nothing frightens him like a suggestion of that kind. He has raised meanness to the height of genius. They say that he is worth £200,000, but I wouldn't change with him,” said Lard, “for a million. When he dies, Dodson will not leave a soul to regret him, and there'll not be six people at his funeral.”

“You can't be sure, gentlemen,” said a quiet voice behind; “I've overheard you on Dodson, and I hope what you say is not true.”

The speaker was one of those rare souls God sends forth at a time to establish our faith in goodness; who are believed in by all parties, and respected by all creeds, and loved by all classes; who sit on all the charitable boards, and help on every good cause, and make peace in quarrels; whom old men consult in their perplexities, and young men turn to in trouble, and people follow with affectionate glances in the street; who never suspect their own excellence, always take the lowest seat, and have to be compelled to accept an honour.

“You have a good word to say for everybody, sir,” said Cotton with deep respect; “but have you, even, ever got a penny from Mr. Dodson far a charity?”

“Well, I cannot say that I remember an instance; only I'm sure that he has his own way of doing good. Every one has, unless he be utterly bad; and I'm seventy years old, gentle-men, and I never met that kind yet.”

“Greatheart is the only man in Liverpool who would say a word for Dodson,” said Lard a minute later, “and in this case his charity has rather overshot the mark; but it does one good to hear the old man. He is a walking Sermon on the Mount, and the best thing about him is that he believes in everybody; the very sight of his white hair makes me a better man.”

II

“How tired you must be, Fred, after four hours' begging in offices! I'll bring you a cup of tea in the study at once, and then you are to have a nice little dinner all to yourself.

“Oh, no, I've not been extravagant at all, and I've not taken any money out of our alms-box, and I'm not a wicked parson's wife who gets into debt; but a hamper came from the country, with lots of good things in it, and you will have the chicken; the children and I simply rioted in plenty to-day. Now, I'll not hear a word about your expedition until you have had some food.”

“There, I feel a perfect glutton, Ethel. I hope you have sent some of the h-hamper to the sick.”

“I've done nothing of the kind; every single bit is to be eaten in this Vicarage of St Ambrose; you would starve yourself and your family for the parish, and I am sure you are the hardest working man in it. Well, have you got the money to furnish the playground of St Ambrose's?”

“Do you mean have I come home with £54 in my pocket as the result of one r-raid by a poor, dull, s-stammering parson, who couldn't make an eloquent appeal to save his life?”

“You don't stammer, Fred, and I wish you wouldn't say such things; you may... hesitate at a time, and I am sure any one would give you money for a good cause, because you are... so sincere and...”

“That will do, Ethel; it's a great h-help to an obscure parson in the poorest of parishes to have a wife who believes in him, and makes four hundred pounds out of two.”

“And now about the money. Was the asking hard?”

“It might have been, but every one was so j-jolly. The first man I went to was Mr. Welsby, and as soon as I came into his room he cried out, 'Was just thinking of you: I hope you're on the w-warpath for that playground, for I've a five-pound note ready for you.'

“He sent me on to a cotton b-broker, and he thanked me several times for coming on such a good errand, and backed up Welsby with five pounds. Every person had a kind word, and by five o'clock I had...

“The whole sum?”

“With six p-pounds over, which will get a little sheltered seat for old people. How good those city fellows are when they fancy a cause.”

“And when they fancy the man who pleads it, Fred. Did you not get one refusal?”

“Well, I was h-hurt by one man, who treated me rather shabbily. He allowed me to explain the whole scheme--swings, sand-heaps, seats and all--and he asked me a hundred questions about the parish and my work, till I think he knew as much about the place as we do ourselves, and then sent me off without a penny--said he didn't give to subscriptions on p-principle.”

“What a mean, hypocritical wretch!”

“I left rather down, for I had lost h-half an hour with him, and I was afraid I had offended him by some remark, but when I met Welsby again in the street and told him, he declared that I ought not to have been sent there, because D-Dodson--that's his name--was the most inquisitive and hardest man on 'Change.”

“He can't be a gentleman, at any rate, to question you for mere curiosity; I hope you gave him something to think over.”

“No, I didn't; it's no use, and only frets oneself. He had a big c-chance and lost it What do you say to inviting the subscribers down some evening when the playground is in full occupation? They will get full value for their money at the sight of the girls on the swings, and the boys at ball, and the b-babies scooping up the sand, and the old folks sunning themselves on their seats.”

“It will be splendid; but Fred, it goes to my heart that our own boys can have no holiday, and when their schoolfellows are away in Wales, will be sweltering in this close house.”

“How much have we in the h-holiday fund?”

“Just two pounds and sixpence. Save as I would, that is all I could manage... If we had not given so much away we might...”

“You are just as r-ready to give as I am, my little wife, and none of us regret anything we've done for the poor souls around us; but I'm sorry for the boys. Did you tell them?”

“No, I hadn't the heart, so I played the coward and said you were thinking the matter over, and that you would tell them, perhaps, to-morrow morning.”

“Do you know I rather s-suspected this would be the end of it, and I was planning how to make the best of things. I made up a series of cheap trips, personally conducted, to New Brighton, and Cheshire, and Hale; you'll give us our l-lunch, and we'll have a regular picnic. I have some old knick-knacks of my schooldays at Shrewsbury, and I'll offer them as p-prizes for the best account of the day. You'll come with us, too, and we'll have a particularly jolly time.

“Letters? The post is late to-night That is about the c-contract for swings, and this is a diocesan circular, and there is a new company p-prospectus--rather an irony sending it to me--but here are two unknown hands; let us see the news.

“Now isn't this good? £3 for the playground from a Dissenter who c-complains I didn't call on him, and has a kind word about my hard work, as he calls it; and I've been often annoyed at that man for the things he said on Disestablishment. He may say anything he pleases now on a platform; I know there is a kind heart behind the words.

“Will this be more money for the s-swings? Hurrah! here is an enclosure of some sort But what is this...?”

“What's wrong, Fred? Is any one dead? Are you ill...?”

“Ethel, you are an excellent m-manager.”' The Vicar, very white as to his cheeks, and somewhat wet as to his eyes, stood on the hearthrug and waved his wife to a distance. “Be g-good enough to secure a commodious farmhouse in North Wales, somewhere between Bettws-y-Coed and Llanberis, for the month of August--with a little f-fishing attached, if possible.

“Please sit down, Ethel, and don't interrupt. I'm sane, quite sane; much p-playground and domestic affliction have not made me mad. Now, where was I? Yes, and arrange quite a s-series of tours round by Festiniog, and up Snowdon, and down to Llandudno, and another to the Menai Straits....

“You are an extravagant, d-dressy woman, Ethel, so you may get a n-natty walking dress and three blouses, but keep a trifle for f-fishing apparatus and special provisions... you are t-throttling me... then read it yourself, read it aloud, and... I will p-process round the table. I wish the boys had not gone to bed.”

“'Liverpool, _July_ 16, 189--.

“'Reverend and Dear Sir,--It has come to my knowledge from various quarters that you and your devoted partner in life are doing a most beneficent work, both sacred and secular, in a very necessitous district of our great city, and that you are discharging this duty to your fellow-creatures at severe cost to yourselves and your family.

“'My observation of life leads me to believe that none of our citizens live harder lives, or make greater sacrifices, than clergymen of limited means whose sphere of labour lies in poor parishes, and, without being in any sense a good man--for my whole life is a struggle with one besetting sin, which often getteth the victory--I have been filled with respectful admiration, and have wished to assist, after a humble fashion, in this Christian service.

“'As you may have some difficulty in securing a suitable holiday for your family through your notorious charity--for such is the report concerning you--I venture with much diffidence to enclose a draft on London, which can be cashed at any bank, for your use, under two conditions, which I must charge you to observe: (i) that the whole sum be employed to the last penny in holiday expenses--including such special outfit as may be judged fit by your wife for you all; and (2) that you make no effort to discover the name of your unworthy friend. The endorsement of this draft will be sufficient acknowledgment.

“'Trusting you will all have a health-giving, happy, and long holiday,

“'I have the honour to be,

“'Your humble servant,

“'Zaccheus'”

“Your voice is a little shaky, Ethel... don't wonder... such nonsense about me and such c-compliments to you... yes, it will be g-glorious, another honeymoon, and those rascals of boys, why won't they... Let us thank God, wife; it came from Him....”

III

“You will be pleased to hear, mater dear, that corn is up twopence a cental, and that the market is buoyant; that's the good of new blood being brought into corn. I would have been lost in medicine.

“I have been studying the career of a corn prince, and it has five chapters. He begins a poor boy--from the North of Ireland by preference, but that is not necessary--then he attracts his chiefs attention, who sends him out to America, where even the Yankees can't hold their own with him, and he becomes manager of his firm. His next move is to start in partnership with some young fellow who has money and no brains; by-and-bye he discovers by instinct that corn is going to rise, so he buys it ahead by the cargo, and piles up a gorgeous sum--say one hundred thousand pounds. Afterwards he buys out Emptyhead, and becomes the chief of a big house with lots of juniors, and he ends by being a Bank director and moving resolutions at the Town Hall.

“Please don't interrupt, mother, for I have not done yet. Long before the Town Hall level this rising corn man has gone up by stages from the street off Princes Road to an avenue near the Park, and then into the Park, and perhaps into the country, whence he appears as High Sheriff.

“One minute more, you impatient mother. A certain person who will pretend to be nearly fifty when the corn man comes into his kingdom, but will remain always at twenty-five exactly, and grow prettier every year, will have a better set of rooms in each new house, and, at last, will have her own carriage, and visit whole streets of poor folk, and have all Liverpool blessing her. This is the complete history of the corn man and his mother, as it will be expounded to after generations of schoolboys by informing and moral philanthropists. What do you think of it?”

“I think that you are a brave boy, Jack, and your mother is proud of you and grateful; if it's any reward for you to know this, I can say that the way you have taken your disappointment has been one of my chief comforts in our great sorrow.”

“Don't talk as if I were a sort of little tin hero, mater, or else I'll have to leave the room, for I'm nothing of the sort, really. If you only saw me at my desk, or fussing round the offices, or passing the time of day on corn, you would see that I was simply born for business.”

“Jack,” said Mrs. Laycock solemnly, “you have not been without faults, I'm thankful to say, for you've been hot-tempered, hot-headed, wilful, and lots of things, but this is the first time you have been deliberately untruthful.”

“Mother, with all respect to you, I will not stand this insult,” and so he slipped down on the floor and caressed his mother's hand. “You think that I've no commercial ability. Wait for the event It will be swagger, you bet.”

“I think everything that is good of you, Jack, as I ought, and your father did; but I know that it was very hard that you could not go back to Rugby this autumn and finish in the sixth, and go to Cambridge and study at Caius, your father's college, and get your M.D., and take up your father's profession and the one you loved, the noblest a man can live and... die in,” and there was a break in the widow's voice.

“Of course, mater, that is what I would have preferred, and it was a bit... stiff when I knew that it would all have to be given up; but that was nothing to... losing father. And besides, I think that I may get on in business and... help you, mother.”

“Your father had set his heart on your being a doctor, and I don't know whether he ever spoke to you about it, but he hoped you might become a specialist--in surgery, I think; he said you had the hands at least for a good surgeon.

“It was his own heart's desire, you know, to be a surgeon, pure and simple, and Mr. Holman, the great consultant, considered him to be one of the best operators in the provinces, but he was obliged to be a general practitioner.

“Why? Oh, because he had no private means, and he had you and me to support, so he couldn't run any risks; he had to secure a regular income; and there is something I wish you to understand, in case you should ever think hardly of your father.”

“Mother--as if I could! The very people in the street admired father; you know what they said in the _Morning Trumpet_ about his self-sacrificing life, and his skill being at the disposal of the poorest, without money and without price.”

“Yes, the papers were very kind, and his patients adored your father; but I am certain some of our neighbours criticised him because he did not make better provision for his wife and child. As if he had been extravagant or improvident, who never spent a farthing on himself, and was always planning for our welfare.”

“You are just torturing yourself with delusions, I am sure, mater. Did any single person ever hint that father had not done... his duty by us? I can't believe it.”

“One man did, at any rate, Jack, and that was our neighbour, Mr. Dodson.”

“What did he say, the miserable old curmudgeon? Did he dare to bring a charge against father? I wish I had been with you.”

“No, it was not that he said anything; it was rather what he implied; he just questioned and questioned in an indirect fashion, all by way of interest in our affairs, but left the impression on my mind that he thought the doctor ought to have done better for his family.”

“What business had Mr. Dodson to call at all and to ferret into our affairs, who was never before in our house? If we needed help--which we don't--he is the last man in this district to give it. Do you know he's the hardest, meanest creature in Liverpool? He'll leave a cab thirty yards from his house when he's coming from the station, to keep within the shilling limit, and he goes down in the penny 'bus with the working-women to save twopence.”

“There is a certain young corn-broker,” interpolated Mrs. Laycock, “who walks all the way to save even that penny, and I don't consider him mean.”

“That is economy, and indicates the beginning of a fortune, which will be shared with a certain sarcastic mater. But Dodson is a millionaire, and has nobody depending on him but an old housekeeper. Certainly father was not economical by his standard.”

“Your father was most careful and thrifty,” said the widow eagerly, “and that is what I want to explain. He had to borrow money to educate himself, and that he paid back, every penny, with interest Then, you know, a doctor cannot keep himself for the first few years of his practice--he only made £32 10s. 6d. the year he began--and when he reached £200 he did a... foolish thing.”

“Let me guess, mater. Was it not marrying the dearest, sweetest, prettiest...”

“Hush, you stupid boy! And we had to keep up a certain appearance and pay a high rent, and we were very poor--poorer than the public ever knew.

“Of course, the doctor had a large practice before he died, and people used to think he made two and three thousand pounds a year; and Mrs. Tattler-Jones, who knows everything, said our income was £4,000.

“His last year, your father earned £1,800 and got in £1,200; the other £600 will never be paid; and yet he was so pleased because he had cleared off the last penny of his debt, and thought he would begin to lay something aside for your education.”

“But why did he not get the other £600? Could the people not pay?”

“They could pay everybody else--wine merchants, jewellers, and car-owners--but their doctor's bill was left last, and often altogether, and your father would never prosecute.”