Bean went on to say he slaved and slaved, and got his pay, but not much thanks. But he couldn't do better; and so he stopped, and went on slaving "lots of years," till he "was a man upgrown." Then he got married.
"To the same poor old creature whom you so badly misused the other day, and who has sent you her forgiving messages by me?"
"Ah, yes, well; just as you like, sir; only she wasn't old then. That was forty years gone by."
"You have lived together forty years, then? and have always been poor, as I suppose, neighbour?"
"You are safe to say that, master," he replied, sharply. "How is a man to get rich on twelve or fourteen shillings a week, and sometimes out of work, and a family to bring up?"
"Not very likely to get rich——especially when he spends much of his spare time and a large part of his earnings at the beershop," I ventured to say.
"What's that to——to anybody?" asked Bean, fiercely. It seemed as though he meant, "What's that to you?" but he stopped short at the word. "It was my own money I spent," he added.
"And what became of your sons and daughters——poor things?" I asked him.
"They went to the bad, mostly. There was Ned, the oldest——he took to poaching, and was sent across the water for knocking a gamekeeper about. Then there was Tom; he went for a soldier, and I never heard of him afterwards. The girls got married, and didn't make much of that. The only one that did any good was Joe, and he got a place in London, or somewhere; but he went against me, like everybody else. The last time I saw him he had a good coat on his back, and good shoes on his feet, and money in his pocket; but he wouldn't give his old father a penny. He told me if he did I should only get drunk with it. A pretty sort of a son that, sir!"