"Meaning to say that the volcano is now about to take a hand in it! Well, Bertie here will be on the spot if there's any looting to be done. I guess the side-track won't see much of him."
Morris was rather flattered.
"I was up among the lakes one winter," he said, "and I saw the wolves pull down a buck. He came out of the woods like a race-horse on the straight. There were twenty snarling devils at his heels, and they had eyes like live coals. Presently one jumped at the buck's throat, and you could not have struck a match before the others had fixed their teeth in him. He bleated for about two minutes; then he was so many gnawed bones on the ice. Well, that's what I think of the social system sometimes. Let the cold get a cinch on those particular wolves, and you'll count some bones! It has got to be—hunger is going to make it so!"
No one contradicted him, for the scenes on the side-walk were too engrossing. All Whitechapel appeared to be abroad that day as though curiosity drove it out of the mean houses. Wan women stood at their doors seeking vainly for some tidings which should be carried to the famished children within. Hulking labourers took their leisure with their broad backs supported by friendly posts. Paradoxical as the thing seemed, the public-houses were beset by fierce mobs of ruffians, both sexes being fairly represented in the mêlée. By here and there some anxious philanthropist in a black coat moved amid the throngs, and spoke words of good cheer to all. There were ministers of religion whose faith knew nothing of new theology but much of bread.
Through this press, by many a filthy street, the car conveyed the strangers to their destination. This lay some way down the Commercial Road and was officially in Stepney. Long before they reached it, the increasing throngs spoke of its whereabouts. A vast mob of the hungry, the homeless, and the desperate strove to reach a square-fronted building over whose doors were written in golden letters the words "The Temple." A shabby structure of dull red brick, this day it had become a house of salvation to the multitude. And high above them, upon the topmost step of a stairway which led to its unadorned halls, stood Gabrielle Silvester speaking to the people.
She was dressed from head to foot in grey furs, and her flaxen hair showed golden beneath the round cap of silver-fox which crowned it. The excitement of her task had brought a rich flood of colour to her round girlish cheeks, and her eyes were wonderfully bright. The nation's tragedy had dowered her with a rare part, and finely she played it. All this publicity, this movement, this notoriety of charity was life to her. She worked with a method and an energy which surprised even her most intimate friends. In Stepney they had come to call her "Princess Charming"—a title taken from their halfpenny stories and apt for them. Whenever she drove, men doffed their caps, while the eyes of the women filled with tears. This very day she was feeding the people even as Christ, her Master, had fed them. And, looking on with new wonder and pleasure, was the man who knew that she was necessary to him—she and none other.
The car came within a hundred yards of the Temple and then was held up by the press. Faber called a sergeant of police, and slipped a sovereign into his hand.
"Get us up to the door and there's another," he said, and immediately five sturdy policemen drove a way through the hungry throngs with shoulders hardened by such tasks. The car followed them slowly, and as it went Faber threw silver among the people. It was a mad act, for they fell upon it like wolves, and when the police had quelled the riot, two of those who had come to the Temple for bread lay stark dead upon the pavement.
III
There were two long counters running down the centre of the Temple, and between them lay piles of new crisp loaves. Many servers handed them out to whoever asked for them, and continued so to do until the day's supply was exhausted. It was a study to watch the faces of those who came for relief—cunning faces, pitiful faces, the faces of mean desire. Some of these people would go out with their bread and return immediately for more, trusting to the press to remain undiscovered. Others were given to wild words of thanks; but these were few, and in the main it would seem that natural greed dominated other thoughts.