CHAPTER I.
MODERATE DRINKING.
SAY, mother, what do you think's the latest joke?" said a respectable artisan to his wife, as he entered his home with his bag of tools slung across his shoulder.
"I'm sure I can't guess, George," answered the woman, with a pleasant smile on her face as she welcomed her husband.
"Well, don't drop the baby when I tell you. Tim Morris has signed the pledge!"
"Good gracious, George, you don't say so! Why, do you know, his poor wife came in yesterday morning to borrow sixpence, for they hadn't a loaf of bread or a bit of coal in the house; and Tim was out then, drinking like a beast. Really I can't help saying such things, George."
"Well this is what I'm told, Susan. He was picked out of the gutter yesterday evening by some teetotal folks, and taken to one of their meetings; and, drunk as he was, he signed, and then they saw him home, and early this morning they were round to see how he was; and anyhow he declares he is going to stick to it. They've taken him on at the works, and given him another chance of redeeming his character."
"I'm very glad to hear it, George; and if the teetotal folks keep Tim Morris out of the gutter, I'll never say another word against them, and shan't let you either."
"I don't think I shall want to if they do; but I've very little hope, Susan. It'll be the first time that ever I heard of a man who had sunk so low being reclaimed."
"Yes; all I've ever given that kind of people credit for doing, is to get as many little ones into their meetings—Bands of Hope, don't they call them?—and make them sign the pledge, and as soon as ever they get to a sensible age, they find out how foolish they've been, and break all their fine promises. And no wonder, for I don't know how people could get on without their glass of ale or porter two or three times a day. I couldn't for one."
"And I'm sure I should be lost without my pint at dinner and supper," echoed George, adding: "I guess we're the moderate drinkers teetotalers rave about."
"Stuff and nonsense," answered Susan. "Why can't they abuse the creatures who never know when they've had enough for their own good, without wanting to take one of our necessary comforts from us, when we pay our way, and are decent, respectable people?"
"That's just what I say, wife. Such folks have neither sense nor reason on their side. But I can forgive them all their mistakes if they only turn Tim Morris into a sober man."
"Well, sit down, George, and hold the baby, while I put the tea into the pot. Go to father, mother's little pet;" and Susan Dixon placed the well-cared-for baby on her father's knee, where, amidst delighted screams and plunges, she speedily found congenial employment in burying her fat dimpled hands in his masses of brown hair.
"There, there, Mattie, won't that do for you, little lass?" said he, as he gave her back to her mother, crying with disappointment at the sudden termination of her delightful frolic.
"She does get on well, mother," he added, looking with fatherly pride on her rounded limbs and rosy cheeks.
"There's no earthly reason why she shouldn't, with all the care that's taken of her. Oh dear! it makes my heart ache when poor Mrs. Morris steps in here sometimes, with her sickly-looking child fretting in her arms, and our Mattie looking so different; I'd rather bury her, George, than see her like that."
"I tell you, Susan, I think that a man who ruins the health and prospects of his wife and children ought to be treated as a felon, and sent to prison until he'd learnt to behave himself as he ought;" said George.
The conversation turned shortly after upon other matters, and presently, baby being put to bed, the husband and wife settled down to their usual pleasant evening; for never since his marriage, two years before, had George left his wife, after returning from his daily labour, for a longer space of time than was necessary to fetch the ale for supper from one of the neighbouring public-houses. They were perfectly happy in each other, and in the treasure which had been theirs for nine months, and wondered why every one could not rest contented as they did, in the pure delight of home joys.
Day after day, week after week, and even month after month passed away, and still, to George and Susan Dixon's unbounded astonishment, Timothy Morris kept his pledge, and into his wretched home there began to creep an air of comfort. Rags gave place to decent clothing, and the children no longer fled terrified at their father's approach.
"I've got another piece of news for you, Susan," said George one evening: "Timothy Morris is announced to speak at the Temperance Hall to-night."
"Well, I never did! What next?" exclaimed his astonished wife.
"Well, I think the next is that, for the pure fun of the thing, I'll go and hear him, if you don't mind being left alone, my dear."
"Oh, no, not for once, George. Besides, I should like to know what Tim will have to say for himself; and you'll bring me word, won't you, dear?" replied Susan.
"Of course I'll do that; but I must be quick, for two of my mates are going to call and see if I'm coming. I can tell you it's made quite a sensation among the men to-day."
"I dare say it has," said Susan, bustling about, and hurrying her husband's tea.
That evening she waited, with the supper-cloth laid, for an hour past the usual time; and then, wondering what had kept her husband, took her post at the street door. Soon she caught sight of three men coming down the road, and at first thought she recognised George's figure in the moonlight; but hearing from the trio noisy snatches of song and loud laughing, she smiled at the absurdity of her mistake. But yet, as they came nearer, the tones sounded strangely familiar. Her heart sank as they halted before her, and her husband separated from them, and entered the house, pushing past his wife, and shouting: "Well, good night, mates; we've not signed the pledge, as our friend Tim advised, and don't intend to at present."
"George, where have you been all this time?" said Susan, as she followed him in.
"In the right place for a Briton who never means to be a slave—to be a slave," he answered thickly.
"If this is what temperance meetings do for you, George, I think you'd better stay at home," said his wife in displeased tones.
"Don't be high and mighty, my dear; we weren't going to hear Tim Morris declare that the public-house wasn't a fit place for a respectable man to put his nose inside, without showing him that he'd made a confounded teetotaler's mistake; and being three respectable men, we went in, and took our supper beer there, instead of in our own homes. That's all right, isn't it?" he asked defiantly.
"If you had stopped at your own supper beer it might have been; but it looks more than likely that you drank your own and your wife's share too, judging from appearances," answered Susan bitterly, for she had been feeling the want of her usual stimulant for some time past.
"You can fetch yours, my dear; I've no objection, I'm sure."
"No objection!" Susan felt outraged. If he had been sober, such a word could not have fallen from his lips, for he never would permit her to enter the door of a public-house. There was no help for it now; she must go, for she could not do without her customary glass, and she dared not ask George to go, lest he should be tempted to imbibe still more freely than he had done.
Putting on her bonnet, and seizing a jug, she hurried down the road to the corner where there were four public-houses blazing with light. She chose the quietest; and entering the jug and bottle department, found herself alone, and screened from all eyes, save those of the barmaid, who stepped forward to take her jug.
"Half a pint, please," said Susan.
Suddenly a thought struck her. If she took her ale home George would be sure to want some; and she knew that he had already exceeded by far his usual limit; why should she not stand and drink hers there? There was no one to see her; no one would ever be the wiser. It would only be just for once, she told herself, to put temptation out of her husband's way.
"If you'll kindly bring me a glass, I'll drink it here," she said to the barmaid.
"Certainly, ma'am;" and Susan rapidly drained her glass, and walked home with her empty jug.
If that night the heavy curtain which shrouded the unknown future could have been lifted, and to George and Susan Dixon there could have been revealed their unwritten history, with what shuddering awe would each have turned from the sin-darkened record, and cried with one of old: "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?"
FOOTNOTE:
[A] Reprinted, by permission, from "The Opposite House," published by T. Woolmer, 2 Castle Street, E.C.
