Although our hero’s plan of search may seem to some rather Quixotic, there was nothing further from his thoughts than merely playing at the game of amateur detective. Being enthusiastic and sanguine2, besides being spurred on by an intense desire to rescue the father of May Leather, Charlie Brooke was thoroughly3 in earnest in his plan. He knew that it would be useless to attempt such a search and rescue in any other capacity than that of a genuine pauper4, at least in appearance and action. He therefore resolved to conduct the search in character, and to plunge5 at once into the deepest pools of the slums.
It is not our intention to carry the reader through the Arabian-night-like adventures which he experienced in his quest. Suffice it to say that he did not find the lost man in the pools in which he fished for him, but he ultimately, after many weeks, found one who led him to the goal he aimed at.
Meanwhile there were revealed to him numerous phases of life—or, rather, of living death—in the slums of the great city which caused him many a heartache at the time, and led him ever afterwards to consider with anxious pity the condition of the poor, the so-called lost and lapsed6, the depraved, degraded, and unfortunate. Of course he found—as so many had found before him—that the demon7 Drink was at the bottom of most of the misery8 he witnessed, but he also learned that whereas many weak and vicious natures dated the commencement of their final descent and fall from the time when they began to drink, many of the strong and ferocious9 spirits had begun a life of wickedness in early youth, and only added drink in after years as a little additional fuel to the already roaring flame of sin.
It is well known that men of all stamps and creeds11 and classes are to be found in the low lodging12-houses of all great cities. At first Charlie did not take note of this, being too earnestly engaged in the search for his friend, and anxious to avoid drawing attention on himself; but as he grew familiar with these scenes of misery and destitution13 he gradually began to be interested in the affairs of other people, and, as he was eminently14 sympathetic, he became the confidant of several paupers15, young and old. A few tried to draw him out, but he quietly checked their curiosity without giving offence.
It may be remarked here that he at once dropped the style of talk which he had adopted when representing Jem Mace16, because he found so many in the lodging-houses who had fallen from a good position in society that grammatical language was by no means singular. His size and strength also saved him from much annoyance17, for the roughs, who might otherwise have bullied18 him, felt that it would be wise to leave him alone.
On one occasion, however, his pacific principles were severely19 tested as well as his manhood, and as this led to important results we must recount the incident.
There was a little lame10, elderly man, who was a habitual20 visitor at one of the houses which our hero frequented. He was a humorous character, who made light of his troubles, and was a general favourite. Charlie had felt interested in the man, and in ordinary circumstances would have inquired into his history, but, as we have said, he laid some restraint on his natural tendency to inquire and sympathise. As it was, however, he showed his goodwill21 by many little acts of kindness—such as making way for Zook—so he was called—when he wanted to get to the general fire to boil his tea or coffee; giving him a portion of his own food on the half pretence22 that he had eaten as much as he wanted, etcetera.
There was another habitué of the same lodging, named Stoker, whose temperament23 was the very opposite to that of little Zook. He was a huge, burly dock labourer; an ex-prize-fighter and a disturber of the peace wherever he went. Between Stoker and Zook there was nothing in common save their poverty, and the former had taken a strong dislike to the latter, presumably on the ground of Zook’s superiority in everything except bulk of frame. Charlie had come into slight collision with Stoker on Zook’s account more than once, and had tried to make peace between them, but Stoker was essentially24 a bully25; he would listen to no advice, and had more than once told the would-be peacemaker to mind his own business.
One evening, towards the close of our hero’s search among the lodging-houses, little Zook entered the kitchen of the establishment, tea-pot and penny loaf in hand. He hastened towards the roaring fire that might have roasted a whole sheep, and which served to warm the entire basement storey, or kitchen, of the tenement26.
“Here, Zook,” said Charlie, as the former passed the table at which he was seated taking his supper, “I’ve bought more than I can eat, as usual! I’ve got two red-herrings and can eat only one. Will you help me?”
“It’s all fish that comes to my net, Charlie,” said the little man, skipping towards his friend, and accepting the herring with a grateful but exaggerated bow.
We omitted to say that our hero passed among the paupers by his Christian27 name, which he had given as being, from its very universality, the best possible alias28.
A few minutes later Stoker entered and went to the fire, where loud, angry voices soon told that the bully was at his old game of peace-disturber. Presently a cry of “shame” was heard, and poor Zook was seen lying on the floor with his nose bleeding.
“Who cried shame?” demanded the bully, looking fiercely round.
“I did not,” said Charlie Brooke, striding towards him, “for I did not know it was you who knocked him down, but I do cry shame on you now, for striking a man so much smaller than yourself, and without provocation29, I warrant.”
“I am one who likes fair play,” said Charlie, restraining his anger, for he was still anxious to throw oil on the troubled waters, “and if you call it fair play for a heavy-weight like you to attack such a light-weight as Zook, you must have forgotten somehow that you are an Englishman. Come, now, Stoker, say to Zook you are sorry and won’t worry him any more, and I’m sure he’ll forgive you!”
“Hear! hear!” cried several of the on-lookers.
“Perhaps I may forgive ’im,” said Zook, with a humorous leer, as he wiped his bleeding nose— “I’d do a’most anything to please Charlie!”
This was received with a general laugh, but Stoker did not laugh; he turned on our hero with a look of mingled31 pity and contempt.
“No, Mister Charlie,” he said, “I won’t say I’m sorry, because I’d tell a big lie if I did, and I’ll worry him just as much as I please. But I’ll tell ’e what I’ll do. If you show yourself as ready wi’ your bunches o’ fives as you are wi’ yer tongue, and agree to fight me, I’ll say to Zook that I’m sorry and won’t worry ’im any more.”
There was dead silence for a minute after the delivery of this challenge, and much curiosity was exhibited as to how it would be taken. Charlie cast down his eyes in perplexity. Like many big and strong men he was averse32 to use his superior physical powers in fighting. Besides this, he had been trained by his mother to regard it as more noble to suffer than to avenge33 insults, and there is no doubt that if the bully’s insult had affected34 only himself he would have avoided him, if possible, rather than come into conflict. Having been trained, also, to let Scripture35 furnish him with rules for action, his mind irresistibly36 recalled the turning of the “other cheek” to the smiter37, but the fact that he was at that moment acting38 in defence of another, not of himself, prevented that from relieving him. Suddenly—like the lightning flash—there arose to him the words, “Smite a scorner and the simple will beware!” Indeed, all that we have mentioned, and much more, passed through his troubled brain with the speed of light. Lifting his eyes calmly to the face of his opponent he said— “I accept your challenge.”
“No, no, Charlie!” cried the alarmed Zook, in a remonstrative39 tone, “you’ll do nothing of the sort. The man’s a old prize-fighter! You haven’t a chance. Why, I’ll fight him myself rather than let you do it.”
And with that the little man began to square up and twirl his fists and skip about in front of the bully in spite of his lameness—but took good care to keep well out of his reach.
“It’s a bargain, then,” said Charlie, holding out his hand.
“Done!” answered the bully, grasping it.
“Well, then, the sooner we settle this business the better,” continued Charlie. “Where shall it come off?”
“Prize-fightin’s agin the law,” suggested an old pauper, who seemed to fear they were about to set to in the kitchen.
“So it is, old man,” said Charlie, “and I would be the last to engage in such a thing, but this is not a prize-fight, for there’s no prize. It’s simply a fight in defence of weakness against brute40 strength and tyranny.”
There were only a few of the usual inhabitants of the kitchen present at the time, for it was yet early in the evening. This was lucky, as it permitted of the fight being gone about quietly.
In the upper part of the building there was an empty room of considerable size which had been used as a furniture store, and happened at that time to have been cleared out, with the view of adding it to the lodging. There, it was arranged, the event should come off, and to this apartment proceeded all the inhabitants of the kitchen who were interested in the matter. A good many, however, remained behind—some because they did not like fights, some because they did not believe that the parties were in earnest, others because they were too much taken up with and oppressed by their own sorrows, and a few because, being what is called fuddled, they did not understand or care anything about the matter at all. Thus it came to pass that all the proceedings41 were quiet and orderly, and there was no fear of interruption by the police.
Arrived at the scene of action, a ring was formed by the spectators standing42 round the walls, which they did in a single row, for there was plenty of room. Then Stoker strode into the middle of the room, pulled off his coat, vest, and shirt, which he flung into a corner, and stood up, stripped to the waist, like a genuine performer in the ring. Charlie also threw off coat and vest, but retained his shirt—an old striped cotton one in harmony with his other garments.
“I’m not a professional,” he said, as he stepped forward; “you’ve no objection, I suppose, to my keeping on my shirt?”
“None whatever,” replied Stoker, with a patronising air; “p’r’aps it may be as well for fear you should kitch cold.”
Charlie smiled, and held out his hand— “You see,” he said, “that at least I understand the civilities of the ring.”
There was an approving laugh at this as the champions shook hands and stood on guard.
“I am quite willing even yet,” said Charlie, while in this attitude, “to settle this matter without fighting if you’ll only agree to leave Zook alone in future.”
This was a clear showing of the white feather in the opinion of Stoker, who replied with a thundering, “No!” and at the same moment made a savage43 blow at Charlie’s face.
Our hero was prepared for it. He put his head quickly to one side, let the blow pass, and with his left hand lightly tapped the bridge of his opponent’s nose.
“Hah! a hammytoor!” exclaimed the ex-pugilist in some surprise.
Charlie said nothing, but replied with the grim smile with which in school-days he had been wont44 to indicate that he meant mischief45. The smile passed quickly, however, for even at that moment he would gladly have hailed a truce46, so deeply did he feel what he conceived to be the degradation47 of his position—a feeling which neither his disreputable appearance nor his miserable48 associates had yet been able to produce.
But nothing was further from the intention of Stoker than a truce. Savages49 usually attribute forbearance to cowardice50. War to the knife was in his heart, and he rushed at Charlie with a shower of slogging blows, which were meant to end the fight at once. But they failed to do so. Our hero nimbly evaded51 the blows, acting entirely52 on the defensive53, and when Stoker at length paused, panting, the hammytoor was standing before him quite cool, and with the grim look intensified54.
“If you will have it—take it!” he exclaimed, and shot forth55 a blow which one of the juvenile56 bystanders described as a “stinger on the beak57!”
The owner of the beak felt it so keenly, that he lost temper and made another savage assault, which was met in much the same way, with this difference, that his opponent delivered several more stingers on the unfortunate beak, which after that would have been more correctly described as a bulb.
Again the ex-pugilist paused for breath, and again the “hammytoor” stood up before him, smiling more grimly than ever—panting a little, it is true, but quite unscathed about the face, for he had guarded it with great care although he had received some rather severe body blows.
Seeing this, Stoker descended58 to mean practices, and in his next assault attempted, and with partial success, to hit below the belt. This roused a spirit of indignation in Charlie, which gave strength to his arm and vigour59 to his action. The next time Stoker paused for breath, Charlie—as the juvenile bystander remarked—“went for him,” planted a blow under each eye, a third on his forehead, and a fourth on his chest with such astounding60 rapidity and force that the man was driven up against the wall with a crash that shook the whole edifice61.
Stoker dropped and remained still. There were no seconds, no sponges or calling of time at that encounter. It was altogether an informal episode, and when Charlie saw his antagonist62 drop, he kneeled down beside him with a feeling of anxiety lest he had killed him.
“My poor man,” he said, “are you much hurt?”
“Oh! you’ve no need to fear for me,” said Stoker recovering himself a little, and sitting up—“but I throw up the sponge. Stoker’s day is over w’en ’e’s knocked out o’ time by a hammytoor, and Zook is free to bile ’is pot unmorlested in futur’.”
“Come, it was worth a fight to bring you to that state of mind, my man,” said Charlie, laughing. “Here, two of you, help to take him down and wash the blood off him; and I say, youngster,” he added, pulling out his purse and handing a sovereign to the juvenile bystander already mentioned, “go out and buy sausages for the whole company.”
The boy stared at the coin in his hand in mute surprise, while the rest of the ring looked at each other with various expressions, for Charlie, in the rebound63 of feeling caused by his opponent’s sudden recovery and submission64, had totally forgotten his r?le and was ordering the people about like one accustomed to command.
As part of the orders were of such a satisfactory nature, the people did not object, and, to the everlasting65 honour of the juvenile bystander who resisted the temptation to bolt with the gold, a splendid supper of pork sausages was smoking on the various tables of the kitchen of that establishment in less than an hour thereafter.
When the late hours of night had arrived, and most of the paupers were asleep in their poor beds, dreaming, perchance, of “better days” when pork-sausages were not so tremendous a treat, little Zook went to the table at which Charlie sat. He was staring at a newspaper, but in reality was thinking about his vain search, and beginning, if truth must be told, to feel discouraged.
“Charlie,” said Zook, sitting down beside his champion, “or p’r’aps I should say Mister Charlie, the game’s up wi’ you, whatever it was.”
“What d’you mean, Zook?”
“Well, I just mean that it’s o’ no manner o’ use your tryin’ to sail any longer under false colours in this here establishment.”
“I must still ask you to explain yourself,” said Charlie, with a puzzled look.
“Well, you know,” continued the little man, with a deprecatory glance, “w’en a man in ragged66 clo’se orders people here about as if ’e was the commander-in-chief o’ the British Army, an’ flings yellow boys about as if ’e was chancellor67 o’ the checkers, an orders sassengers offhand68 for all ’ands, ’e may be a gentleman—wery likely ’e is,—but ’e ain’t a redooced one, such as slopes into lodgin’-’ouse kitchens. W’atever little game may ’ave brought you ’ere, sir, it ain’t poverty—an’ nobody will be fool enough in this ’ouse to believe it is.”
“You are right, Zook. I’m sorry I forgot myself,” returned Charlie, with a sigh. “After all, it does not matter much, for I fear my little game—as you call it—was nearly played out, and it does not seem as if I were going to win.”
Charlie clasped his hands on the table before him, and looked at the newspaper somewhat disconsolately69.
“It’s bin70 all along o’ takin’ up my cause,” said the little man, with something like a whimper in his voice. “You’ve bin wery kind to me, sir, an’ I’d give a lot, if I ’ad it, an’ would go a long way if I wasn’t lame, to ’elp you.”
Charlie looked steadily71 in the honest, pale, careworn72 face of his companion for a few seconds without speaking. Poverty, it is said, brings together strange bed-fellows. Not less, perhaps, does it lead to unlikely confidants. Under a sudden impulse our hero revealed to poor Zook the cause of his being there—concealing nothing except names.
“You’ll ’scuse me, sir,” said the little man, after the narrative73 was finished, “but I think you’ve gone on summat of a wild-goose chase, for your man may never have come so low as to seek shelter in sitch places.”
“Possibly, Zook; but he was penniless, and this, or the work-house, seemed to me the natural place to look for him in.”
“’Ave you bin to the work-’ouses, sir?”
“Yes—at least to all in this neighbourhood.”
“What! in that toggery?” asked the little man, with a grin.
“Well, sir, it’s my opinion that you may go on till doomsday on this scent an’ find nuthin’; but there’s a old ’ooman as I knows on that might be able to ’elp you. Mind I don’t say she could, but she might. Moreover, if she can she will.”
“How?” asked Charlie, somewhat amused by the earnestness of his little friend.
“Why, this way. She’s a good old soul who lost ’er ’usband an’ ’er son—if I ain’t mistaken—through drink, an’ ever since, she ’as devoted76 ’erself body an’ soul to save men an’ women from drink. She attends temperance meetin’s an’ takes people there—a’most drags ’em in by the scruff o’ the neck. She keeps ’er eyes open, like a weasel, an’ w’enever she sees a chance o’ what she calls pluckin’ a brand out o’ the fire, she plucks it, without much regard to burnin’ ’er fingers. Sometimes she gits one an’ another to submit to her treatment, an’ then she locks ’em up in ’er ’ouse—though it ain’t a big un—an’ treats ’em, as she calls it. She’s got one there now, it’s my belief, though w’ether it’s a he or a she I can’t tell. Now, she may ’ave seen your friend goin’ about—if ’e stayed long in Whitechapel.”
“It may be so,” returned our hero wearily, for he was beginning to lose heart, and the prospect77 opened up to him by Zook did not on the first blush of it seem very brilliant. “When could I see this old woman?”
“First thing to-morror arter breakfast, sir.”
“Very well; then you’ll come and breakfast with me at eight?”
“I will, sir, with all the pleasure in life. In this ’ere ’ouse, sir, or in a resterang?”
Having given his address to the little man, Charlie bade him good-night and retired79 to his pauper-bed for the last time.
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1
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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12
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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destitution
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| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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mace
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| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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smiter
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| 打击者 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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remonstrative
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| adj.抗议的，忠告的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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46
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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51
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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