"That," said Peter's mother, to her reflection in a mirror, "that is what your modern child has come to. That's one of the consequences of them 'aving a education. That's the result of waiting on 'em, hand and foot, and struggling for 'em, tooth and nail, and stinting yourselves so as they should live on the fat of the land. A nicely managed world," she added, bitterly, "that, I must say."
"It's bad enough," argued Peter, "to have to go home there at nights, and find the old man blind to the world, and called upon to make the beds myself, because she's too lazy to attend to them."
Peter's mother called Heaven as a witness on her behalf, declaring that Heaven knew, better than neighbours or relatives, or friends, how she had laboured morning, noon, and night, working her fingers to the bone, and becoming a mere slave in her desire to bring up her boy as a credit to herself, and a model for all other youngsters.
"I shall run off on my own, mind you," Peter warned her, "jest as soon as ever I can!"
I dismissed the incident from my thoughts, but one remark offered by the Deptford woman came back when mobs began to smash windows of shops owning names which gave a foreign hint of other nationalities. They were not too particular, and, starting with confectioners and bakers where the origin was possibly Teutonic, they extended the sphere of their operations. The Lusitania affair had saddened some people, impressed many, and excited a few: it was the few who set out during the day, and occasionally of an evening, to enjoy revenge, and to give themselves the luxury of committing reckless damage. In High Street, Deptford, there were at least a dozen shops with not a sound piece of glass in anyone of them; from the upper floors, blinds and curtains bulged out of empty windows, and carpenters were engaged in nailing up a wooden protection. There followed stories of the rioters helping themselves to any article of domestic furniture which appealed to their fancy. There came rumours of the paying off of grievances against shopkeepers who had incurred unpopularity by requesting the settlement of accounts. The mob, it was stated, preferred to throw stones at establishments where no man was in charge.
"You can get on without me," I said to Mrs. Hillier. "For the time I must look after myself. I don't intend to leave London Street, for a moment, day or night."
"We must find some one to stay with you, Weston, and help to protect the shop."
"Mr. Hillier is too old, and Master Edward is too young. Besides, I know as well as you do that they are both scouring London, every spare minute they've got, trying to find Miss Muriel. If it wasn't for this bother I should be helping them."
"Wish one knew when the dear girl was likely to come back."