Sidney was only eighteen, and strong in juvenile Radicalism, but he had a fund of common sense, and such a conclusion as this of poor John’s half-astonished, half-amused him. However, the man’s personality attracted him; it was honest, warm-hearted, interesting; the logic of his pleadings might be at fault, but Sidney sympathised with him, for all that. He too felt that ‘things were wrong somehow,’ and had a pleasure in joining the side of revolt for revolt’s sake.
Now in the same house with them dwelt a young woman of about nineteen years old; she occupied a garret, was seldom seen about, and had every appearance of being a simple, laborious girl, of the kind familiar enough as the silent victims of industrialism. One day the house was thrown into consternation by the news that Miss Barnes—so she was named—had been arrested on a charge of stealing her employer’s goods. It was true, and perhaps the best way of explaining it will be to reproduce a newspaper report which Sidney Kirkwood thereafter preserved.
‘On Friday, Margaret Barnes, nineteen, a single woman, was indicted for stealing six jackets, value 5l., the property of Mary Oaks, her mistress. The prisoner, who cried bitterly during the proceedings, pleaded guilty. The prosecutrix is a single woman, and gets her living by mantle-making. She engaged the prisoner to do what is termed “finishing off,” that is, making the button-holes and sewing on the buttons. The prisoner was also employed to fetch the work from the warehouse, and deliver it when finished. On September 7th her mistress sent her with the six jackets, and she never returned. Sergeant Smith, a detective, who apprehended the prisoner, said he had made inquiries in the case, and found that up to this time the prisoner had borne a good character as an honest, hard-working girl. She had quitted her former lodgings, which had no furniture but a small table and a few rags in a corner, and he discovered her in a room which was perfectly bare. Miss Oaks was examined, and said the prisoner was employed from nine in the morning to eight at night. The Judge: How much did you pay her per week? Miss Oaks: Four shillings. The Judge: Did you give her her food? Miss Oaks: No; I only get one shilling each for the jackets myself when completed. I have to use two sewing-machines, find my own cotton and needles, and I can, by working hard, make two in a day. The Judge said it was a sad state of things. The prisoner, when called upon, said she had had nothing to eat for three days, and so gave way to temptation, hoping to get better employment. The Judge, while commiserating with the prisoner, said it could not be allowed that distress should justify dishonesty, and sentenced the prisoner to six weeks’ imprisonment.’
The six weeks passed, and about a fortnight after that, John Hewett came into Sidney’s room one evening with a strange look on his face. His eyes were very bright, the hand which he held out trembled.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get married again.’
‘Really? Why, I’m glad to hear it!’
‘And who do you think? Miss Barnes.’
Sidney was startled for a moment. John had had no acquaintance with the girl prior to her imprisonment. He had said that he should meet her when she came out and give her some money, and Sidney had added a contribution. For a man in Hewett’s circumstances this latest step was somewhat astonishing, but his character explained it.
‘I’m goin’ to marry her,’ he exclaimed excitedly, ‘and I’m doing the right thing! I respect her more than all the women as never went wrong because they never had occasion to. I’m goin’ to put her as a mother over my children, and I’m goin’ to make a happier life for her. She’s a good girl, I tell you. I’ve seen her nearly every day this fortnight; I know all about her. She wouldn’t have me when I first asked her—that was a week ago. She said no; she’d disgrace me. If you can’t respect her as you would any other woman, never come into my lodging!’
Sidney was warm with generous glow. He wrung Hewett’s hand and stammered incoherent words.