The Beetle by Richard Marsh (read e books online free txt) 📕

“Which is the next nearest workhouse?”

“Kensington.”

Suddenly opening the door, as he answered me, putting out his arm he thrust me backwards. Before I could recover the door was closed. The man in rags had continued a grim spectator of the scene. Now he spoke.

“Nice bloke, ain’t he?”

“He’s only one of the paupers⁠—has he any right to act as one of the officials?”

“I tell yer some of them paupers is wuss than the orficers⁠—a long sight wuss! They thinks they owns the ’ouses, blimey they do. Oh it’s a ⸻ fine world, this is!”

He paused. I hesitated. For some time there had been a suspicion of rain in the air. Now it was commencing to fall in a fine but soaking drizzle. It only needed that to fill my cup to overflowing. My companion was regarding me with a sort of sullen curiosity.

“Ain’t you got no money?”

“Not a farthing.”

“Done much of this sort of thing?”

“It’s the first time I’ve been to a casual ward⁠—and it doesn’t seem as if I’m going to get in now.”

“I thought you looked as if you was a bit fresh.⁠—What are yer goin’ to do?”

“How far is it to Kensington?”

“Work’us?⁠—about three mile;⁠—but, if I was you, I’d try St. George’s.”

“Where’s that?”

“In the Fulham Road. Kensington’s only a small place, they do you well there, and it’s always full as soon as the door’s opened;⁠—you’d ’ave more chawnce at St. George’s.”

He was silent. I turned his words over in my mind, feeling as little disposed to try the one place as the other. Presently he began again.

“I’ve travelled from Reading this ⸻ day, I ’ave⁠—tramped every ⸻ foot!⁠—and all the way as I come along, I’ll ’ave a shakedown at ’Ammersmith, I says⁠—and now I’m as fur off from it as ever! This is a ⸻ fine country, this is⁠—I wish every ⸻ soul in it was swept into the ⸻ sea, blimey I do! But I ain’t goin’ to go no further⁠—I’ll ’ave a bed in ’Ammersmith or I’ll know the reason why.”

“How are you going to manage it⁠—have you got any money?”

“Got any money?⁠—My crikey!⁠—I look as though I ’ad⁠—I sound as though I ’ad too! I ain’t ’ad no brads, ’cept now and then a brown, this larst six months.”

“How are you going to get a bed then?”

“ ’Ow am I going to?⁠—why, like this way.” He picked up two stones, one in either hand. The one in his left he flung at the glass which was over the door of the casual ward. It crashed through it, and through the lamp beyond. “That’s ’ow I’m goin’ to get a bed.”

The door was hastily opened. The grizzled pauper reappeared. He shouted, as he peered at us in the darkness,

“Who done that?”

“I done it, guvnor⁠—and, if you like, you can see me do the other. It might do your eyesight good.”

Before the grizzled pauper could interfere, he had hurled the stone in his right hand through another pane. I felt that it was time for me to go. He was earning a night’s rest at a price which, even in my extremity, I was not disposed to pay.

When I left two or three other persons had appeared upon the scene, and the man in rags was addressing them with a degree of frankness, which, in that direction, left little to be desired. I slunk away unnoticed. But had not gone far before I had almost decided that I might as well have thrown in my fortune with the bolder wretch, and smashed a window too. Indeed, more than once my feet faltered, as I all but returned to do the feat which I had left undone.

A more miserable night for an out-of-door excursion I could hardly have chosen. The rain was like a mist, and was not only drenching me to the skin, but it was rendering it difficult to see more than a little distance in any direction. The neighbourhood was badly lighted. It was one in which I was a stranger. I had come to Hammersmith as a last resource. It had seemed to me that I had tried to find some occupation which would enable me to keep body and soul together in every other part of London, and that now only Hammersmith was left. And, at Hammersmith, even the workhouse would have none of me!

Retreating from the inhospitable portal of the casual ward, I had taken the first turning to the left⁠—and, at the moment, had been glad to take it. In the darkness and the rain, the locality which I was entering appeared unfinished. I seemed to be leaving civilisation behind me. The path was unpaved; the road rough and uneven, as if it had never been properly made. Houses were few and far between. Those which I did encounter, seemed, in the imperfect light, amid the general desolation, to be cottages which were crumbling to decay.

Exactly where I was I could not tell. I had a faint notion that, if I only kept on long enough, I should strike some part of Walham Green. How long I should have to keep on I could only guess. Not a creature seemed to be about of whom I could make inquiries. It was as if I was in a land of desolation.

I suppose it was between eleven o’clock and midnight. I had not given up my quest for work till all the shops were closed⁠—and in Hammersmith, that night, at any rate, they were not early closers. Then I had lounged about dispiritedly, wondering what was the next thing I could do. It was only because I feared that if I attempted to spend the night in the open air, without food, when the morning came I should be broken up, and fit for nothing, that I sought a night’s free board and lodging. It was really hunger which drove me to the workhouse door. That was Wednesday. Since the Sunday night preceding nothing had passed my lips save water from the public