CHAPTER XV MOLESKIN JOE
"Soft words may win a woman's love, or soothe a maiden's fears.
But hungry stomachs heed them not—the belly hasn't ears."
—From The Maxims of Moleskin Joe.
That night I slept in a watchman's hut on the streets, and in the morning I obtained a slice of bread from a religious lady, who gave me a long harangue on the necessity of leading a holy life. Afterwards I went away from Paisley, and out on the road I came upon a man who was walking along by himself. He was whistling a tune, and his hands were deep in his trousers' pockets. He had knee-straps around his knees, and a long skiver of tin wedged between one of the straps and the legs of his trousers, which were heavy with red muck frozen on the cloth. The cloth itself was hard, and rattled like wood against the necks of his boots. He was very curiously dressed. He wore a pea-jacket, which bore marks of the earth of many strange sleeping-places. A grey cap covered a heavy cluster of thick dark hair. But the man's waistcoat was the most noticeable article of apparel. It was made of velvet, ornamented with large ivory buttons which ran down the front in parallel rows. Each of his boots was of different colour; one was deep brown, the other dark chrome; and they were also different in size and shape.
In later years I often wore similar boots myself. We navvies call them "subs." and they can be bought very cheaply in rag-stores and second-hand clothes-shops. One boot has always the knack of wearing better than its fellow. The odd good boot is usually picked up by a rag-picker, and in course of time it finds its way into a rag-store, where it is thrown amongst hundreds of others, which are always ready for further use at their old trade. A pair of odd boots may be got for a shilling or less, and most navvies wear them.
The man's face was strongly boned and fierce of expression. He had not shaved for weeks. His shoulders were broad, and he stood well over six feet in height. At once I guessed that he was very strong, so I liked the man even before I spoke to him.
"Where are you for?" he asked when I overtook him.
"God knows," I answered. "Where are you for?"
"Christ knows," he replied, and went on with the tune which he had left off to question me.
When he had finished whistling he turned to me again.
"Are you down and out?" he asked.
"I slept out last night," I answered.
"The first time?" he enquired.
"I slept out for a whole week."
"There's a good time comin', though we may never live to see it," he said, by way of consolation. "Had you anything to eat this mornin'?"
"A slice of bread," I said; then added, "and a lot of advice along with it from an old lady."
"Damn her advice!" cried the man angrily. "The belly hasn't ears. A slice of bread is danged mealy grub for a youngster."
He stuck his hand in the pocket of his pea-jacket and drew out a chunk of currant bread, which he handed to me.
"Try that, cully," he said.
I ate it ravenously, for I was feeling very hungry.
"By cripes! you've a stomach," said my companion, when I had finished eating. "Where are you for, anyhow?"
"I don't know. I'm looking for work."
"It's not work you need; it's rest," said the stranger.
"You've been working," I replied, looking at his covering of muck. "Why don't you clean your trousers and shoes?"
"If you were well fed you'd be as impudent as myself," said the man. "And clean my trousers and shoes! What's the good of being clean?"
"It puts the dirt away."
"It does not; it only shifts it from one place to another. And as to work—well, I work now and again, I'm sorry to say, although I done all the work that a man is put into the world to do before I was twenty-one. What's your name?"
"Dermod Flynn. What's yours?"
"Joe—Moleskin Joe, my mates calls me. Have you any tin?"
"Twopence," I replied, showing the man the remainder of the eightpence which I had picked up the night before.
"You're savin' up your fortune," he said with fine irony. "I haven't a penny itself."
"Where did you get the currant cake?" I asked.
"Stole it."
"And the waistcoat?"
"Stole it," said the man, and then continued with thinly-veiled sarcasm in his voice. "My name's Moleskin Joe, as I've told you already. I don't mind havin' seen my father or mother, and I was bred in a workhouse. I'm forty years of age—more or less—and I started work when I was seven. I've been in workhouse, reformatory, prison, and church. I went to prison of my own free will when the times were bad and I couldn't get a mouthful of food outside, but it was always against my will that I went to church. I can fight like hell and drink like blazes, and now that you know as much about my life as I know myself you'll maybe be satisfied. You're the most impudent brat that I have ever met."
The man made the last assertion in a quiet voice, as if stating a fact which could not be contradicted. I did not feel angry or annoyed with the man who made sarcastic remarks so frankly and good-humouredly. For a long while I kept silence and the two of us plodded on together.
"Why do you drink?" I asked at last.
"Why do I drink?" repeated the man in a voice of wonder. "Such a funny question! If God causes a man to thirst He'll allow him to drink, for He's not as bad a chap as some of the parsons make Him out to be. Drink draws a man nearer to heaven and multiplies the stars; and 'Drink when you can, the drouth will come' is my motto. Do you smoke or chew?"
He pulled a plug of tobacco from his pocket, bit a piece from the end of it, and handed the plug to me. Now and again I had taken a whiff at Micky's Jim's pipe, and I liked a chew of tobacco. Without answering Moleskin's question I took the proffered tobacco and bit a piece off it.
"There's some hope for you yet," was all he said.
We walked along together, and my mate asked a farmer who was standing by the roadside for a few coppers to help us on our way.
"Go to the devil!" said the farmer.
"Never mind," Moleskin remarked to me when we got out of hearing. "There's a good time comin', though we may never live to see it in this world."
Afterwards we talked of many things, and Joe told me of many adventures with women who were not good and men who were evil. When money was plentiful he lived large and drank between drinks as long as he was able to stand on his feet.
The man impressed me, and, what was most wonderful, he seemed to enjoy life. Nights spent out in the cold, days when hardly a crust of food was obtainable, were looked upon as a matter of course by him.
"Let us live to-day, if we can, and the morrow can go be damned!" he said, and this summed up the whole of his philosophy as far as I could see. It would be fine to live such a life as his, I thought, but such a life was not for me. I had my own people depending on my earnings, and I must make money to send home to Glenmornan. If I had a free foot I would live like Joe, and at that moment I envied the man who was born in a workhouse and who had never seen a father or mother.
A lot of events took place on the road. Passing along we overtook a dour-faced man who carried a spade over his shoulder.
"He's goin' to dig his own grave," said Moleskin to me.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Well, I'd like to know how a man is goin' to live long if he works on a day like this!"
Just as we came up to him a young woman passed by and gave us an impudent glance, as Moleskin called it. She was good to look at and had a taking way with her. As she went by the man with the spade turned and looked after her.
"Did ye see that woman?" he asked Moleskin when we came abreast.
"By God, I'm not blind!" said my friend.
"Dinna sweer," said the man with the spade. "'Tis an evil habit."
"'Tisn't a habit," said Joe. "'Tis a gift."
"'Tis a gift frae the deevil," replied the other man. "A gift frae the deevil, that's what it is. 'Tis along with that woman that ye should be, though God forgi'e me for callin' her a woman, for her house is on the way tae Sheol goin' doon tae the chambers of death. I wadna talk tae her wi' muckle mooth sine she be a scarlet woman with a wily heart."
"What are you jawin' about?" asked Moleskin, who seemed at a loss what to make of the man with the spade, while for myself I did not in the least understand him.
"Have you a sixpence?" asked Joe suddenly.
"A sixpence?" queried the man. "Gin that I hae, what is it tae ye?"
"If you have a sixpence you should have given it to that woman when she was passin'. She's a lusty wench."
"Gi'e a sixpence to that woman!" replied the stranger. "I wadna do it, mon, if she was lyin' for death by the roadside. I'm a Chreestian."
"I would give up your company in heaven for hers in hell any day," said Moleskin, as the man with the spade turned into a turnip field by the roadside. "And never look too much into other people's faults or you're apt to forget your own!" roared Joe, by way of a parting shot.
"Don't you think that I had the best of that argument?" Joe asked me five minutes later.
"What was it all about?" I asked.
"I don't know what he was jawin' at half of the time," said Joe. "But his talk about the Christian was a damned good hit against me. However, I got in two good hits myself! The one about her company in hell and the one about lookin' too much into other people's faults were a pair up for me. I think that I did win, Flynn, and between me and you I never like to get the worst of either an argument or a fight."