"You'd better tell me all you know," I said, losing patience. "Will you have some beer first?" The cobwebs were getting on my nerves.
"Beer!" echoed my visitor. He had, indeed, a generally unslaked appearance that rendered the question an impertinence. "Beer!" he said again, giving the word this time its full diapason or organ sound. The rest was vigorous action.
Unfortunately he had not an equal talent for connected narrative, and I was too anxious about Paul to welcome the light upon dark places which his discursiveness incidentally threw. One day, late in the previous autumn, I made out, his own trade being slack, he was working on the tramway extension to one of the northern suburbs. About midday the fog came on so thickly that the road-making gang were laid off for the day, and wended their way home after the riotously sociable manner of their class, with frequent calls at favored houses of refreshment. When evening fell, he was drinking in a bar the other side of Blackfriars with a neighbor and fellow-workman, whose patronymic of Barker had been long abandoned in familiar discourse for the more recondite one of "Flying Fox." ("Put two tanners on the 'orse 'e did, at odds on, an' won fruppence.") The backer of certainties had only been taken on that morning by the foreman after a week's waiting, and was probably in ill-humor at his enforced leisure. Either for this reason or some other a dispute arose in the bar of the George and Cushion, which was ended by Mr. Barker's shouldering his way out, with the expressed intention of pursuing his homeward way unaccompanied by any "bleedin' skrim-shanker." Mr. Palamount was eager to detail the misunderstanding that had led to this cruel charge, but I checked him, and from this point the story took quite a leap forward.
"Parsin' Thomases 'Orsepittel, I see'd a crahd rahnd the cas'alty door, an' arst 'oo was 'urt. 'Bloke on the Embankmint,' they ses, 'knocked over by a motor-keb near Blackfriars: come aht of the fog like a cannon-ball,' they ses. I arst the nime, 'cos I was feelin' anxious 'baht Foxie; not drunk 'e wasn't, but I give you my word 'e'd 'ad some, and 'e wasn't a man as could 'old the booze. 'That's 'im, they ses—'that's the party. Ginger-'aired wiv freckles; arnswers to nime of Barker.' 'I'm a pal,' I ses, ''oo's in wiv 'im?' 'Man that fahnd 'im,' they ses—'eddigicated bloke: give 'im fust ide, and 'eld 'is 'ead in 'is lap in the tramcar.'
"They let me in w'en they 'eard I was a friend of the party wot was 'urt. Big room wiv benches: young tawfs in long w'ite coats—sawboneses I calls 'em—nurses too (my word, not 'alf givin' 'em the tale): blue jars, an' a smell wot mikes yer fice crack. 'Wotcher want?' the mitron ses to me. 'I fink I can identify the party, sister,' I ses, 'I'm a nighbor.' 'Wite 'ere,' she ses. 'They'll be bringin' 'im through in a minute.' So I sets dahn. A tall furrin' lookin' bloke was a settin' on a bench nigh me, wiv a beard. Werry thin an' fierce 'e wos and eyes a blazin' like coals. 'Crool business over there,' I ses, pointin' to the screen. 'Wife near 'er time, four nippers, an' only took on yesterday. Fust job since the spring.' 'I know abaht it,' 'e ses. I was a-goin' to arst 'im ow 'e knew, w'en the row begins from be'ind the screen. Just told 'im they 'ad as 'e was a free munfs' kise. 'I carn't do wiv it. I carn't do wiv it,' 'e was 'ollerin' over and over ag'in as they carries 'im through. 'My wife's near 'er time, and there ain't five shillin's in the 'ouse.' Tryin' to git up 'e was, and arstin' Gawd to strike 'im dead. ''Oo knows this man?' ses one of the doctors as was 'olding 'is arms. I was a-goin' to speak w'en the tall bloke jumps up and goin' over to the stretcher, bends dahn and w'ispers somethin' quick. Foxie stops strugglin' an' looks rahnd at 'im. ''Ow will yer?' 'e ses, and looks rahnd at 'im. 'Never you mind' ses the man. 'I didn't promust without knowin' 'ow. You wite,' 'e ses, 'and there'll be good news termorrer.' I fink Foxie was stunned like and let 'em carry 'im aw'y quiet. I was a wonderin' too w'ile they filled up 'is card for 'is missus, 'cos I never see destitootion so pline as on 'im.
"W'en we was ahtside: 'Nah then,' he ses, and 'e couldn't 'ave spoke brisker not if 'ed bin one of the doctors. 'Somethin's got to be done.' 'Yus,' I ses, lookin' at 'im 'ard. 'Done' I ses, like that. 'Tike me to 'is 'ome fust of all,' 'e ses. 'You know the w'y.' I'd mide up me mind be now as 'e was balmy, and I was a bit ashimed of 'im on the tram. But 'e pide 'is own fare and 'eld 'is jor. On'y w'en we wos gittin' near Camberwell: 'Wot sort of woman is this Mrs. Barker?' 'e arst me. 'I don't know much of 'er,' I told 'im. 'Keeps 'erself to 'erself she does. But sence she's bin doin' laundery work, my missus looks in and gives the kids their meals and a bit of a wash. Gimekeeper's daughter, she wos, in the country.' 'E looks dahn on to the Walworth Road w'ere some gels was a-dancin' to a organ. 'Gimekeeper's daughter!' 'e ses. 'In the country! My Gawd! 'Ow many kids?' 'Four,' I ses. 'Eldest is a van-boy earnin' five bob a week. T'other three's little gels. Don't see 'em in the street much. Mother keeps 'em indoors. Un'ealthy, I calls it.'
"Mrs. Barker must 'ave been listenin' for 'er man, 'cos she comes aht 'fore we'd got to the landin'. Tall, dark, 'an'some woman, wiv a diffrunt voice to most of the wimmin' dahn our w'y. Not so 'igh. 'Oh, Jim,' she ses. 'Wot mikes you so lite. 'Ave you forgot—?' and then stops short, seein' us two. 'You tell 'er,' I ses, keeping aht o' sight and nudgin' 'im. 'That's wot I come for,' 'e ses, and goes in and shets the door in me fice. I listened, expectin' to 'ear screaming, but there wos only talkin'—fust 'im very low, then 'er, and then more talkin', like prayin'. 'You can come in now,' 'e ses, throwin' open the door. She was settin' by the fire, cryin' to 'erself and young Ern, in 'is blue coat and brass buttons, blubbering into 'is coker, and two plites under the 'arth, one on top of the other, and grivy bubbling between the edges. The little gels wos in bed. On'y one room they 'ad.
"'Wot was Barker's job,' 'e asks. 'Road-making gang.' 'My old job,' 'e ses wiv a larf. 'Yus, I don't fink,' I ses, with a sidewise look at 'im. 'That'd be a better tale, matey, if there was a little more meat on your ribs.' 'I've mide roads,' 'e ses, 'under a sun as'd melt you like a taller candle.' 'Wot kinder roads?' 'Millitery roads.' 'Oh,' I ses. 'You bin a soljer?' 'Yus,' 'e ses, 'the only real sort as is left. I never enlisted at eighteen to 'ave my 'ealth built up wiv 'ealthy food an' Swedish gymnastics, so be the time I was twenty I c'd go to Injer and sit in a verander durin' the 'eat of the d'y, flappin' the flies awf me fice w'ile a brown bag o 'bones shined me buttons and kep' me rifle clean. I never bin a luxury seven years and a problem all the rest of me life. Gimme that poker!'
"Young Ern giv it 'im, staring like 'is eyes would drop aht. 'E took it up be the two ends and bent it double, then 'anded it to me. 'Staighten it out,' 'e ses, wipin' 'is forehead. 'It's a knack,' I ses. 'E took it agen' and laid it out true, wiv a kind of a 'eave of 'is chest an' a groan. Next thing 'e did wos to put 'is 'ands over 'is fice and tumble in a 'eap on the floor.
"Wot a ter-do there was! Missis Barker bithing 'is 'ead wiv cold water, old Mrs. Conder from the nex' room tryin' to pour gin down 'is teef—'See wot it is,' she ses, 'to never be wivout a bottle'—young Ern 'ollering out to loosen 'is neck w'en there wasn't nothin' to loosen. 'Oh! is 'e dying?' ses Mrs. Barker to me. 'Dyin'!' I ses; 'not 'im. Acceleration is wot's the matter with 'im and nothing else.' "