§ 4
In the unsympathetic light of a bright and pushful morning the tramp was shorn of much of his overnight glamour. It became manifest that he was not merely offensively unshaven, but extravagantly dirty. It was not ordinary rural dirt. During the last few days he must have had dealings of an intimate nature with coal. He was taciturn and irritable, he declared that this sleeping out would be the death of him and the breakfast was only too manifestly wanting in the comforts of a refined home. He seemed a little less embittered after breakfast, he became even faintly genial, but he remained unpleasing. A distaste for the tramp arose in Bealby’s mind and as he walked on behind his guide and friend, he revolved schemes of unobtrusive detachment.
Far be it from me to accuse Bealby of ingratitude. But it is true that that same disinclination which made him a disloyal assistant to Mr. Mergleson was now affecting his comradeship with the tramp. And he was deceitful. He allowed the tramp to build projects in the confidence of his continued adhesion, he did not warn him of the defection he meditated. But on the other hand Bealby had acquired from his mother an effective horror of stealing. And one must admit, since the tramp admitted it, that the man stole.
And another little matter had at the same time estranged Bealby from the tramp and linked the two of them together. The attentive reader will know that Bealby had exactly two shillings and twopence-halfpenny when he came down out of the woods to the fireside. He had Mrs. Bowles’ half-crown and the balance of Madeleine Philips’ theatre shilling, minus sixpence halfpenny for a collar and sixpence he had given the tramp for the soup overnight. But all this balance was now in the pocket of the tramp. Money talks and the tramp had heard it. He had not taken it away from Bealby, but he had obtained it in this manner: “We two are pals,” he said, “and one of us had better be Treasurer. That’s Me. I know the ropes better. So hand over what you got there, matey.”
And after he had pointed out that a refusal might lead to Bealby’s evisceration the transfer occurred. Bealby was searched, kindly but firmly....
It seemed to the tramp that this trouble had now blown over completely.
Little did he suspect the rebellious and treacherous thoughts that seethed in the head of his companion. Little did he suppose that his personal appearance, his manners, his ethical flavour—nay, even his physical flavour—were being judged in a spirit entirely unamiable. It seemed to him that he had obtained youthful and subservient companionship, companionship that would be equally agreeable and useful; he had adopted a course that he imagined would cement the ties between them; he reckoned not with ingratitude. “If anyone arsts you who I am, call me uncle,” he said. He walked along, a little in advance, sticking his toes out right and left in a peculiar wide pace that characterized his walk, and revolving schemes for the happiness and profit of the day. To begin with—great draughts of beer. Then tobacco. Later perhaps a little bread and cheese for Bealby. “You can’t come in ’ere,” he said at the first public house. “You’re under age, me boy. It ain’t my doing, matey; it’s ’Erbert Samuel. You blame ’im. ’E don’t objec’ to you going to work for any other Mr. Samuel there may ’appen to be abart or anything of that sort, that’s good for you, that is; but ’e’s most particular you shouldn’t go into a public ’ouse. So you just wait abart outside ’ere. I’ll ’ave my eye on you.”
“You going to spend my money?” asked Bealby.
“I’m going to ration the party,” said the tramp.
“You—you got no right to spend my money,” said Bealby.
“I—’Ang it!—I’ll get you some acid drops,” said the tramp in tones of remonstrance. “I tell you, blame you,—it’s ‘Erbert Samuel.’ I can’t ’elp it! I can’t fight against the lor.”
“You haven’t any right to spend my money,” said Bealby.
“Downt cut up crusty. ’Ow can I ’elp it?”
“I’ll tell a policeman. You gimme back my money and lemme go.”
The tramp considered the social atmosphere. It did not contain a policeman. It contained nothing but a peaceful kindly corner public house, a sleeping dog and the back of an elderly man digging.
The tramp approached Bealby in a confidential manner. “’Oo’s going to believe you?” he said. “And besides, ’ow did you come by it?
“Moreover, I ain’t going to spend your money. I got money of my own. ’Ere! See?” And suddenly before the dazzled eyes of Bealby he held and instantly withdrew three shillings and two coppers that seemed familiar. He had had a shilling of his own....
Bealby waited outside....
The tramp emerged in a highly genial mood, with acid drops, and a short clay pipe going strong. “’Ere,” he said to Bealby with just the faintest flavour of magnificence over the teeth-held pipe and handed over not only the acid drops but a virgin short clay. “Fill,” he said, proffering the tobacco. “It’s yours jus’ much as it’s mine. Be’r not let ’Erbert Samuel see you, though; that’s all. ’E’s got a lor abart it.”
Bealby held his pipe in his clenched hand. He had already smoked—once. He remembered it quite vividly still, although it had happened six months ago. Yet he hated not using that tobacco. “No,” he said, “I’ll smoke later.”
The tramp replaced the screw of red Virginia in his pocket with the air of one who has done the gentlemanly thing....
They went on their way, an ill-assorted couple.
All day Bealby chafed at the tie and saw the security in the tramp’s pocket vanish. They lunched on bread and cheese and then the tramp had a good sustaining drink of beer for both of them and after that they came to a common where it seemed agreeable to repose. And after a due meed of repose in a secluded hollow among the gorse the tramp produced a pack of exceedingly greasy cards and taught Bealby to play Euchre. Apparently the tramp had no distinctive pockets in his tail coat, the whole lining was one capacious pocket. Various knobs and bulges indicated his cooking tin, his feeding tin, a turnip and other unknown properties. At first they played for love and then they played for the balance in the tramp’s pocket. And by the time Bealby had learnt Euchre thoroughly, that balance belonged to the tramp. But he was very generous about it and said they would go on sharing just as they had done. And then he became confidential. He scratched about in the bagginess of his garment and drew out a little dark blade of stuff, like a flint implement, regarded it gravely for a moment and held it out to Bealby. “Guess what this is.”
Bealby gave it up.
“Smell it.”
It smelt very nasty. One familiar smell indeed there was with a paradoxical sanitary quality that he did not quite identify, but that was a mere basis for a complex reek of acquisitions. “What is it?” said Bealby.
“Soap!”
“But what’s it for?”
“I thought you’d arst that.... What’s soap usually for?”
“Washing,” said Bealby guessing wildly.
The tramp shook his head. “Making a foam,” he corrected. “That’s what I has my fits with. See? I shoves a bit in my mouth and down I goes and I rolls about. Making a sort of moaning sound. Why, I been given brandy often—neat brandy.... It isn’t always a cert—nothing’s absolutely a cert. I’ve ’ad some let-downs.... Once I was bit by a nasty little dog—that brought me to pretty quick—and once I ’ad an old gentleman go through my pockets. ‘Poor chap!’ ’e ses, ‘very likely ’e’s destitoot, let’s see if ’e’s got anything.’... I’d got all sorts of things, I didn’t want ’im prying about. But I didn’t come to sharp enough to stop ’im. Got me into trouble that did....
“It’s an old lay,” said the tramp, “but it’s astonishing ’ow it’ll go in a quiet village. Sort of amuses ’em. Or dropping suddenly in front of a bicycle party. Lot of them old tricks are the best tricks, and there ain’t many of ’em Billy Bridget don’t know. That’s where you’re lucky to ’ave met me, matey. Billy Bridget’s a ’ard man to starve. And I know the ropes. I know what you can do and what you can’t do. And I got a feeling for a policeman—same as some people ’ave for cats. I’d know if one was ’idden in the room....”
He expanded into anecdotes and the story of various encounters in which he shone. It was amusing and it took Bealby on his weak side. Wasn’t he the Champion Dodger of the Chelsome playground?
The tide of talk ebbed. “Well,” said the tramp, “time we was up and doing....”
They went along shady lanes and across an open park and they skirted a breezy common from which they could see the sea. And among other things that the tramp said was this, “Time we began to forage a bit.”
He turned his large observant nose to the right of him and the left.