Some of the people, however, were noisy enough. Many of them were smoking, and the coarser sort swore and talked loud. Those who had once been in better circumstances sat and moped, or spoke in lower tones, or cooked their victuals with indifference to all else around, or ate them in abstracted silence; while not a few laid their heads and arms on the tables, and apparently slept. For sleeping in earnest there were rooms overhead containing many narrow beds with scant and coarse covering, which, however, the law compelled to be clean. One of the rooms contained seventy such beds.
Little notice was taken of the west-end visitors as they passed up the room, though some dark scowls of hatred were cast after them, and a few glanced at them with indifference. It was otherwise in regard to Seaward. He received many a “good-night, sir,” as he passed, and a kindly nod greeted him here and there from men who at first looked as if kindness had been utterly eradicated from their systems.
One of those whom we have described as resting their heads and arms on the tables, looked hastily up, on hearing the visitors’ voices, with an expression of mingled surprise and alarm. It was Sammy Twitter, with hands and visage filthy, hair dishevelled, eyes bloodshot, cheeks hollow, and garments beyond description disreputable. He seemed the very embodiment of woe and degradation. On seeing his old friend Welland he quickly laid his head down again and remained motionless.
Welland had not observed him.
“You would scarcely believe it, sir,” said the missionary, in a low tone; “nearly all classes of society are occasionally represented here. You will sometimes find merchants, lawyers, doctors, military men, and even clergymen, who have fallen step by step, chiefly in consequence of that subtle demon drink, until the common lodging-house is their only home.”
“Heaven help me!” said Sir Richard; “my friend Brisbane has often told me of this, but I have never quite believed it—certainly never realised it—until to-night. And even now I can hardly believe it. I see no one here who seems as if he ever had belonged to the classes you name.”
“Do you see the old man in the last box in the room, on the left-hand side, sitting alone?” asked Seaward, turning his back to the spot indicated.
“Yes.”
“Well, that is a clergyman. I know him well. You would never guess it from his wretched clothing, but you might readily believe it if you were to speak to him.”
“That I will not do,” returned the other firmly.