Part 6

The only way in which I eventually discovered I could be of any use to him was by lending him books. He was extremely fond of reading, and had a special taste for dramatic poetry, which he occasionally gratified by coming to my lodgings, and there devouring the historical plays and tragedies of Shakespeare.

I had once or twice on these occasions endeavoured to extort from him the secret of his absences, but the only result had been an increased reserve on his part, followed by an almost immediate departure from my presence, so that I had soon desisted from further questioning him on the point.

At the same time, I confess I entertained a lingering hope that I might one day be able to penetrate the mystery; for mystery of some sort I was convinced it was, though not of a vulgar kind.

II.

It so chanced that I was detained in Bridgeton on the day of the annual fair and hiring, and having two hours to wait for my train, I determined to pass the time away by noting the humours of the festival. Farmers' wives, laden with 'remnants' and cheap bargains in the hardware line, were slowly surging through the throng, towards the various publics, in search of their 'men' and the 'trap.' Hinds, male and female, having now 'bound their bargains' with their masters, were coasting round the booths and stalls, 'putting in' at all the ale-houses they passed in their uncertain voyaging.

The men were somewhat sheepish still, not having taken sufficient beer on board as yet to lose the shyness of the countryman in town. They confined themselves to chaffing one another, to casting stray glances at their sweethearts, who tittered in their wake, and to offering, when moved to gallantry, 'anuther glass o' yel.'

A squad of pitmen here and there, their customary rivalries heated with liquor, were challenging each other noisily at the various 'try-your-strengths' and 'prove-your-powers' that were anchored in the corners of the market-place.

My attention was next attracted by the clash of cymbals and flamboyant drum-drubbings. ''Ere y'are, ladies and gents, 'ere y'are! Yo'r friend an' acquaintance Bob Stevens, wiv his high-class dancin', trapezin', Shakespearian an' variety entertainment!'

The great flaring gas-brackets, with their smoky tongues stabbing the darkness fitfully, lit up a most delectable advertisement. I produced 'tuppence,' 'walked up,' as invited, to the tent, and found myself in the 'hall of amusement and instruction combined.' It was already crowded, but I eventually discovered a seat in the far corner.

Cries of 'Back! back!'[16] were still ringing in the air, and after a moment or two a most cadaverous-looking clown reappeared and advanced to the footlights.

His haggard, melancholy mien was in admirable artistic contrast to his garb and the burlesque humour of his song. '_And oh_,' sang he, at the end of each verse relating some contretemps of the bashful lover, '_it makes me very, very lively! Very, very lively!_' he repeated, as he step-danced up and down the tiny stage amidst the guffaws of his audience.

It was no great thing to do, perhaps; but it was admirably done. There was no extravagance in his accompanying actions, nor exaggeration of emphasis anywhere. In short, there was something of the genuine artist in him, and it was evident that he held his quaintly assorted 'tuppeny' audience in his grasp.

I grew strangely interested in the queer little figure before me. Something about him appealed strongly to the imagination.

He was encored again, and as I watched him more narrowly his aspect became more and more pathetic. I grew convinced that he was suffering physical pain; the blot of vermilion on his nose glowed brighter; beneath his mask of white I could see ashen-coloured lines streaking a colourless face.

'Poor little chap,' thought I; 'he's starving!'

Just at that moment he concluded at the 'wings,' bowing to the audience. His linen blouse blew open as he turned, and below a ragged shirt thus momentarily visible I saw that which made me suddenly feel sick. Before I recovered myself he had passed out on a step, humming his refrain, '_Oh, it makes me very, very lively!_'

Now, what I saw was a tumour which could only mean one thing, and that was death--an early and painful death probably. 'He's not starving,' I muttered to myself; 'poor little chap, he's dying!'

I thought I would go out into the fresh air, but as I prepared to rise my eye caught sight of a chink in the canvas through which the 'green room' was visible.

The trapeze gentleman was now performing, and the clown was removing his 'make up.' Now that he was off the stage I could see that he had a limp. A gust of wind came suddenly, enlarging the opening. He turned, apparently to close the orifice; his eyes met mine, and in that startled second I knew him to be the 'Caleb Jay.'

Repressing a cry of surprise, I came out, and went round to the back to wait for him.

III.

'Now, tell me,' said I, as I led him up to the station, 'why do you do it? You know you oughtn't to, for it will kill you if you exert yourself like that.'

'Ay, an' that's why,' replied he, 'for I ken I'm dyin'; I went an' axed a doctor a while back, iv Oldcastle, an' he says, "I'll gie ye a year ti live at the ootside," says he.'

'Then, why do it?' I urged. 'Do you love it so, or is it for the sake of the money?'

'Ay,' he replied, gasping a little, as we mounted the slope to the station, 'that's it. It's for the brass. Ye ken Tom, my brother? Well, it's for him i' pairt, an' i' pairt for my mother, who wants a bit frae me for my keep, ye ken. Noo, Tom's a bonny fellow, ain't he?--just a joy ti the eye ti look upon; an' he's aye wantin' a bit mair brass for this, an' that, an' t'ither, an', man, it's a pleasure ti me ti slave a bit for him. There's nae use o' brass for me--me that' just the puir "Caleb Jay"--but Tom's like a live lord when he's plenty of brass; an', man, but he spends it weel!'

I was silent for a while, thinking of the tragedy of it all. Then I inquired again: 'Well, but how did you know you had this gift of acting and singing and impersonation? and why did you hide your talent so carefully from us all?'

'It came ower us first, I think,' he answered, 'when reading Shakespeare an' tragedies an' sic like. I seemed ti see the vary actors theirselves before my eyes, an' I fair felt like them, ye ken. Ye'll think it strange, mevvies, but grandfeythor, he had a bit talent that way, an' ran awa frae his home, an' made his livin' play-acting an' piano-playin', an' singin', an' aal. He took ill somewhere aboot here, an' died, an' feythor, he took ti warkin' at the pits, an' that's the story of it,' concluded my little companion shyly.

'But with a gift like yours, why didn't you tell _me_ of it, for example, or the minister, and perhaps we could have got you a proper start somewhere?'

'Ay, I kenned that,' said he, 'an' thank ye kindlies; but I found, on tryin' it, that I wesn't strang enow for't iv a reg'lor way; an' forbye that, I didn't want the laddies ti ken aboot it, lest they might call us "Hamlet," mevvies, or "clownie," or sic like, an' my mother divvent like play-actin'; it was she as made my feythor give it up, sayin' it wes nae bettor than a mugger's[17] life, elwis wanderin' frae one place tiv anuther, an' nae brass iv it at aal.'

There was no time for further talk, for the train was waiting, and, arriving at our destination, I found my companion so tired that it was all he could do to walk home.

The minister and I put our heads together after this, and collected enough money to send our little friend down to a seaside home for a few weeks.

On Saturday night, however, a message came from the doctor that he was rapidly sinking. His mother and brother were both out, as it happened, but the minister and I arrived just in time to bid farewell to the poor little 'Caleb Jay.'

As we proceeded silently homeward, an idea came into my head.

'In an age of public testimonials and memorials,' I said, 'humble self-sacrifice goes unrewarded. Our little friend ought to have a statue at the least; but, of course, it is no good doing anything. You, therefore, should bring him into your sermon to-morrow evening, and give a few people a hint of it beforehand.'

The idea seemed to strike my companion, and he said he would gladly do so.

I had not seen Tom, but as I walked to my lodgings I passed him standing at the street corner amidst a knot of companions.

I heard one of them mention the 'Caleb Jay,' and I stayed my steps a moment to hear the reply.

'Ay,' said Tom, 'he was a plucky little beggor iv his way, an' useful tae, an' I was often sorry for him, _he wes sae tarr'ble ugly_! But, ho-way, I's plenty brass on me, and I'll treat ye aal tiv anuthor beor!'

FOOTNOTES:

[14] It is said that at the time of the Napoleonic wars some French prisoners were detained in custody in the pit country not far from Durham City. It would appear that some intercourse between the inhabitants of the place and the foreigners sprang up, which resulted in the addition of one expressive phrase, at least, to the local dialect, that, namely, of 'Caleb Jay' for 'Quel objêt!' due to their strange garb, probably, or tattered appearance. The phrase is now wholly obsolete, the writer believes, but it is said it was once actually in use.

[15] Wood-pigeon.

[16] The Northumbrian for 'encore.'

[17] 'Mugger' = beggar; literally, one who sells mugs.

GEORDIE ARMSTRONG, 'THE JESU-YTE'

I.

Geordie Armstrong, after a somewhat stormy past, had become a steady hewer, and a local preacher of some repute. Never a Sunday but he was 'planned' to speak at this or that village, and frequently, as he found opportunity, would 'pit in a bit overtime' at a 'class-meeting' or 'knife-an'-fork tea,' when the 'asking a blessing' or a returning of thanks might furnish occasion for a 'bit extemporizin'.' He was in receipt of excellent wages down the pit; his worldly goods comprised, as he often proclaimed, a 'bonny, an' what's o' far mair importance, a godly missus, three canny bairns, a cosy hoos, a fine little librairee, an' a tarr'ble fertile garden.'

As he thought upon the sum of his blessings one Saturday night when, after having 'weshed hissel' an' had his tea,' he proceeded to light his pipe, he felt he could only properly describe himself as a 'varitable corn-u-cop-ye-ar ov happiness.'

Yet even then, even in that depth of felicity, an uneasy feeling would intrude: the memory of Scotty would float to the surface of his mind, and the thought of the 'parlous state' in which his old 'marrow' (mate) stood would ruffle its calm placidity.

This was 'the little rift within the lute'; here was the caterpillar in the 'corn-u-cop-ye-ar,' and, like the Apostle Paul of old, he was fain to accept his trial, in the spirit of true humility, as a judgment upon him for the failings of his past life.

It was not for lack of trying that Scotty refused to come to chapel; indeed, Geordie had so vexed him with his importunity that Scotty had refused to work with him any longer, and was now employed further 'in-by' with another mate. But for all that, Geordie felt certain that the cause of failure lay with himself, due probably to his weakness in faith, to lack of some essential or other, and that the blame of Scotty's not being 'brought to the Lord' lay at his door.

It had been evident to him for some time that he must try other means, and, being a great reader, he had latterly come across, and been much attracted by, a remarkable account of some ancient methods of the 'Jesu-ytes' in cases of this sort.

Sometimes the sinner in question had been unwittingly tempted into the 'narrow path' by the gratification of his ambitions on some point or other, conversion resulting, as in the case of Tom Appleby--once a fire-hot Socialist, now a sleek Conservative--from unexpected prosperity.

At other times the same end had been attained by a crafty flattery. Suppose a man ambitious of eminence and State distinction: he might be diverted from politics to the Church, and many were the instances given of bold and ambitious men who had done great work and attained high place as the servants of St. Peter.

Could Scotty not be caught hold of in some such fashion? queried Geordie to himself, as he sat by his fireside that night, deeply pondering the records he had just been studying. 'I divvn't think he's ambitious, for he cares nowt aboot politics, an' he never even thought o' stannin' for election on wor Parish Cooncil. Aal he cares for is his beer, an' his quoits, an' bettin', an'--an'--his pansies; an' I doot I cannot catch haud ov him in any one of those partic'lors, for it wouldn't be fittin' for us that's a local preacher to gan an' send him a barril o' beer, or back him at a quoitin' match. But stay--there's the pansies; he's pansy champion, dootless; but then I's leek champion, an' if I can grow leeks, I's warn'd but I can grow pansies, for flooers is easier grown nor vegetables.'

Geordie puffed at his pipe vigorously for a minute or two in silence as he turned the matter over in his mind.

A light kindled slowly in the back of his deep-set eye, a smile showed upon his lips, then he cuffed himself vigorously upon the knee.

'Ho-way, gan on, Geordie!' he encouraged himself aloud; 'thoo's turnin' a fair Jesu-yte, I's warn'd!'

* * * * *

As the day appointed for the annual meeting of the Flower Show drew near, Geordie had been heard to drop hints of the 'wonnerfu' new specie' of pansies he had become possessed of--'seedlin's' he had obtained 'doon the south-country way,' and it was not long before the rumour reached the ears of Scotty.

Nothing could exceed the contempt of the latter when he heard of Geordie's trying to grow pansies--'him that's just a vegetable man, a tormut (turnip) grower, a sort o' ha'penny farmer,' and as for anything good in the way of seedlings coming out of the south-country, it was just 'bang ridi'klous, for a' folk kenned that a' the best growers lived in auld Scotland.'

By-and-by some mischievous individual told Scotty that Geordie was 'full' set upon being pansy champion, and was so cock-sure about it that he was willing to back himself to win.

Scotty was so annoyed at this that the next time he came across Geordie he could not refrain from jeering at his attempt at pansy growing. 'Wey, it'll be as muckle as ye can do to tell a pansy frae a vi'let!' he cried.

Geordie looked at him seriously from under his bushy eyebrows as he replied, 'I's gannin' to show--an' I's gannin' to win--_wi' pansies, not vi'lets_.'

'Will ye back yorsel', then?' retorted his opponent sneeringly.

'Well, ye knaa,' replied the other slowly, with evident embarrassment, 'I's not a bettin' man, but if thoo thinks I's not in earnest, I's willin' to gie a proof that I is. What d'ye say to yor takin'--if ye beat us, that is--anythin' oot o' my hoos thoo has a fancy for; an'--an'--if I beat thoo, wey, aal I axes is that thoo should come to chapel--noo an' again, ye knaa--ov an evenin',' he hastily added, as his companion's face assumed a look of infinite scorn.

'Ha' ye got that auld double-barrelled shot-gun yet?' queried Scotty, after a pause in which he had arrived at the conclusion that the odds were 'aboot a thoosand to one' in his favour.

'Yes,' replied Geordie. 'I still have her; she's there hangin' up above the mantelshelf.'

'Well, I'll tak' up wi' yor proposal,' was Scotty's reply.

'Shake hands on't, then,' said Geordie slowly, unsuccessfully endeavouring to instil an apprehensive tremor into his voice.

His companion shook hands carelessly, and swung away whistling barefacedly, 'And it's up wi' the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee.'

Geordie, on his part, walked away swiftly homewards, fearing lest his exultation might betray itself too openly. 'Wow!' he thought to himself, 'but I's fair a-feard o' mysel'. I's growin' intiv a proper Jesu-yte!'

The morning of the show-day came, and Geordie, having finished packing his exhibits with extraordinary care, had just returned with the small cart the grocer had lent him to convey his treasures to the show-field, about a mile and a half distant, when up came Maggie, Scotty's wife, who, notwithstanding the little difference between their respective men, had always kept up her friendship with Geordie's wife. Her arms bore a large green case, tied round with a many-knotted cord. This she hastily set down beside the cart, then turned breathlessly to Geordie, who, with his son, was just about to drive off.

'Eh noo, canny man,' she cried, as she wiped her hot face with the tail of her gown, 'do us a favour. Will thoo carry my man's pansy-case up to the show wi' yors? Wor Jimmy was to have taken it up first thing this mornin', but he went aff for his school treat an' left it--an' my man's awa playin' hissel' at quoits--an' he'll aboot kill Jimmy when he gans up to the show an' finds his pansies isn't there.'

Geordie willingly acceded, and the green case was carefully deposited alongside of his own at the bottom of the cart.

His nine-year-old son squatted on the seat opposite, his legs up to his chin, so as to be out of the way as much as possible in the crowded cart. The pony started off gallantly enough, and all went well till within about two or three hundred yards of the field. At that point, however, the pony suddenly shied at some stray paper on the road, and Tommy fell with a crash upon the green case below.

'Eh, Tommy, lad!' cried his father in dismay; 'what hast thoo done? Wow! but thoo's gan an' smashed Scotty's case right thro' an' thro'!'

His succeeding feeling was one of joy; for, the accident having irreparably damaged a third at least of his rival's pansies, it was evident that Scotty was now 'catched,' and Geordie, with an inward acknowledgment to Providence, saw, as in a vision, Scotty sitting devoutly 'under' himself in chapel.

A few moments later, however, doubt and dismay entered his soul. What if Scotty should say Tommy had done it 'o' purpose'--at his instigation? Further reflection convinced him that this was exactly what Scotty would say, and doubtless there would be some folk unkind enough to back him up in it.

Scotty would likelies claim the gun. Well, he'd not mind parting with that, but he could not give up the prospect of saving Scotty's soul alive without a groan.

'Eh, Tommy, lad! Eh, Tommy! But thoo divvn't knaa what thoo's done; thoo's put us in a fine quandary,' he murmured, gazing sadly now at Tommy, who was rubbing his knee ruefully, and again at the splintered case. The problem was a 'puzzlor;' even a Jesu-yte might have found solution difficult; for Scotty, he knew, would not believe him if he told the simple story of the accident, and winning the prize would be useless in the face of Scotty's insinuations of foul play.

The only way out of the difficulty, he determined sadly, was to exhibit his own pansies under Scotty's name, and withdraw from the contest himself. The contents of the two cases were sufficiently alike for his purpose, though his own were superior in size and depth of colour. It was a 'sair trial,' for his pansies were bound to win; but his character as an honest, religious man was at stake, and Scotty's triumph would be easier to endure than his sneers, if defeated, at a 'chap who caa's hissel' releegious, an' swindles ye like a Jew pedlar.'

With a groan he undid the label, and tied it on to his own beloved specimens, casting aside, as a temptation of the evil one, a disturbing suggestion that he was guilty of deception in passing off his own as Scotty's pansies.

* * * * *

The judges had been round, and Scotty's pansies easily gained the place of pride; pansies so perfectly developed, so dark and deep in colour, had never been shown before.

A crowd of admirers stood round. Scotty came lurching up, having evidently held a preliminary carouse in certain expectation of the championship, and, with a careless glance at his exhibits and the red card attached, cried triumphantly:

'Ay! an' whaur's that Geordie body noo, wi' his brags an' a'? Wey, I'm tauld he daurna even exhibit his ain puir specimens by the side o' mine! Look at thae pansies, an' think o' him wi' his yaller sheep's tormuts tryin' to vie wi' me that's the auld established pansy champion! Ay, I'm that ower an' ower again; an' what's mair, I've win his gun. Wey, I'll gang an' fetch her awa at aince!'

So boasting, the proud champion reeled off in triumph, inadvertently knocking up against a silent looker-on, who was standing in melancholy guise against a tent-pole some little distance away.

One morning, a day or so after the flower-show, it chanced that Tommy was late for school, and, rounding a corner hurriedly, ran up against a big boy, who was sporting a pansy in his buttonhole. The big boy, who was Scotty's son, immediately proceeded to cuff him for his carelessness, and Tommy retorted by "calling"[18] his opponent and his family connections with a ready profuseness.

'Wey, even that pansy thoo's sportin' divvn't belong thoo, nor thy feythor nowther, it's my dad's growin'; he showed his ain pansies as Scotty's, 'cos Scotty's happened an accident i' the cart. Feythor took them up for yor mither, 'cos thoo had forgottened them, an' to save thoo a strappin'; an' feythor's pansy champion, and Scotty's nowt but a beer-barril!'

'Liar!' responded the other boy, with a punch of his fist.

'Ax yor mither, then,' shouted Tommy, as he ducked and broke away from his captor's clutch.

A night or two after this encounter Geordie was surprised by a visit from Scotty.

'Whatten a tale's this ye're spreadin' aboot o' yor showin' yoor pansies as mine, I'd like to ken?' demanded the intruder wrathfully.

Geordie looked up quietly from his book, and: 'I've spread no tales aboot thoo or thy pansies,' he replied.

'Weel, it's either thoo or that wee, impittent son o' yoors, Tommy. Noo, I've been axin' my missus aboot it, an' she says she did gie ye my pansies to tak' up to the show wi' yoors; an' what I want to be at is what i' the deil's name ye did to them.'

Geordie, in reply, exactly related what had occurred.

'Then, wey didn't ye tell us aboot it?' demanded Scotty, still dissatisfied.

'Because thoo has a tarr'ble sharp tongue i' thy mouth, an' I divvn't want to be scandalized aboot the village as one who would sharp another for the sake o' winnin' a floo'er prize.'

'Hum!' ejaculated Scotty, 'it's an extraordinar' thing this! But hoo can ye explain aboot the pansies, then? I'm pansy champion, an' therefore thae pansies that win the prize mun ha' been mine, yet here ye are sayin' that they were yoors.'

Geordie got up from his seat, and, without immediately replying, went into the room at the back, and came forth again bearing in his arms a shattered green case.

'Dis thoo recognise this?' he asked quietly, as he set it down on the table in front of his visitor.

'Ay,' replied Scotty, after a minute inspection; 'it's mine dootless. But what then?'

'Wey, then, thoo has my case, an' my pansies inside ov it; an' here's yors still left i' their holes, just as they were on show-day.'

Scotty bent over the broken lid incredulously, lifted a faded specimen out, and regarded it contemptuously.

'Na, na,' he asserted shortly, 'that's no my pansies; mine were champions, an' these is weeny things. Na, na, there's been a bit queer play about this. Maybe Tommy changed them frae the one case to the ither.'

'Tommy did nowt o' the sort,' retaliated Geordie quickly. 'Aal that was done was to untie the label an' clagg (stick) it on to my case instead o' yors.'