The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 35

The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 35

What a surprise for the poor lodgers when they were asked to drink

Macquire's health! On being told of his good fortune, they one and all

cheered and congratulated him. But the easy way in which this man

Macquire threw his weight about the kitchen and, for that matter, the

whole house was extraordinary.

 

Now it happened that there were at this house two stonemasons who,

although heavy drinkers, had been working steady for a week or more,

for their job was drawing to a close, and they knew not how many idle

weeks might follow. These men were at breakfast and, being repeatedly

offered drink, grew careless and resolved to quit work there and then

and draw their money, which amounted to three pounds ten shillings

between them. Macquire favoured this resolution and, said he, "Before

your money is spent, I shall have a couple of hundred pounds at my

disposal." The landlord was present at the passing of this resolution

and, though he said nothing, apparently favoured it, for he laughed

pleasantly.

 

In less than half an hour Macquire and the two stonemasons were back

in the lodging house kitchen, and drinking ale as fast as they

possibly could. In a number of cases the former received money from

his new friends to buy the beer, but, according to after developments

he must have pocketed this money and had the beer entered to his

account, in addition to that which he fetched of his own accord.

However, when evening came Macquire, though seemingly possessed of

business faculties, was not in a bodily condition to keep his lawyer's

appointment. As he himself confessed--"he was drunk in the legs, but

sober in the brain." What an evening we had! Not one man in the house

retired sober, and the kindness of the ill-clad one brought tears

into a number of eyes, for he made the stonemasons spend their money

freely, and he made the landlord fetch pot after pot, and all he did

in the way of payment was to utter that name, grown strangely

powerful--James Macquire.

 

Now when the next morning came there seemed to be a suspicion that all

was not right. For, as soon as James Macquire put in an appearance,

one of the stonemasons abruptly asked when he intended to see the

lawyer. At this moment the landlord entered, and, though he had not

heard the question, he too, would like to know when Macquire intended

seeing his lawyer. "Don't bother me," said Macquire, "you see what a

state I am in, trembling after drink?" "I'll soon put you right," said

the landlord, leaving the kitchen, and entering the bar.

 

The stonemasons offered their future benefactor a drink of beer, which

he waved aside, saying that he must first have a short drink to steady

his stomach. "You don't mind giving me a saucerful of your tea?" said

Macquire to me, for I was then at breakfast. "With pleasure," said I,

and, filling the saucer pushed it towards him. "Thank you," said he,

after drinking it--"that saucer of tea has cost me a sovereign!"

"Nonsense," said I, inwardly pleased, "it is of no value whatever."

"Have you any tobacco?" he asked. At this question one of the

stonemasons, in fear that Macquire would promise me more money,

sprang forward with tobacco. "I am not asking you for tobacco," said

Macquire slowly--"but am asking this gentleman." This was said in such

a way as could not give offence; as much as to say that he already

knew that the stonemason's heart was good, but that he felt disposed

to test mine and, if he found it generous, he would not forget me when

he came into his estate. Not setting great value on a pipeful of

tobacco, I offered him my pouch to help himself. After he had filled

his pipe, he said, in an abrupt manner, as he was walking towards the

bar--"Please remember, friend, I am five pounds in your debt." "What a

fine fellow he is," said the stonemason to me; "for the few kindnesses

we did him yesterday, he has promised me and my pal twenty pounds each

out of his first advance, and larger sums to follow."

 

At this moment the postman entered with a letter addressed to James

Macquire, Esq. If the landlord, or any one else, had the least

suspicion earlier in the morning, it certainly vanished at the sight

of this letter. Macquire opened the letter and, after reading it,

passed it to the landlord. That gentleman's face beamed with

satisfaction, although it was but an ordinary note saying that the

lawyer had expected Macquire the night previous, and trusted that he

would keep the appointment at the same hour on the following day, by

which time the lawyer would be able to advance him some money.

"That's something like business," said Macquire, to which every one

agreed, the landlord and the stonemasons showing the most approval.

 

"Now," said James Macquire to the landlord, "you had better let me

have some money." "What for?" asked that gentleman; "you can have

anything that you require, as I told you before." "Just for my own

satisfaction," said Macquire. "I am going to walk out for a while, so

as to keep myself sober for business." "You can't go out in those

rags," said the landlord--"you had better take my best suit."

 

In ten minutes or less the ill-clad one was standing at the bar in the

landlord's best suit of clothes, after which the said landlord gave

him all the money available, amounting to thirty shillings. "How much

am I in your debt?" asked Macquire. "Oh, about three pounds," was the

answer. "We will call it fifty pounds," cried Macquire and, drinking

his whisky, he left the house, followed closely by the faithful

stonemasons.

 

In half an hour the stonemasons were back, having lost their companion

in the market place, and were at the bar awaiting him, thinking he

might have already returned. Yes, and they could wait, for that was

the last of Macquire, and, to the surprise and mortification of the

landlord and the two stonemasons, the house received no more visits or

letters from lawyers.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXXI

 

SOME WAYS OF MAKING A LIVING

 

 

No doubt laces are the best stock to carry, for a gross of them can be

had for eighteen pence, sometimes less, which, sold at a penny a pair,

realises six shillings; and, counting the number of pennies that are

tendered free in pity for the man's circumstances, who must be cunning

enough to show only two or three pairs at a time--he has nothing to

complain of in the end. Although he sometimes meets a lady who

persists in regarding him as a trader and bargains for two pairs for

three halfpence, and ultimately carries them off in triumph--in spite

of his whine of not being able to make bed and board out of them--in

spite of these rare instances, he must confess that in the end he has

received eight or nine shillings for an outlay of eighteen pence, and,

what is more, an abundance of free food. Then, again, laces are light,

they are easy to carry and can be stored in one coat-pocket. Another

great advantage is that although a man may get wet through, or roll on

his laces in the grass, he does not spoil his living. In fact, if they

become crumpled and twisted and their tags rusty, he makes them his

testimony that he was wet through, being out all night, which story

rarely fails in coppers and he still retains his laces.

 

But with all these advantages of a light and profitable stock, there

are two men who scorn to carry even these and will not on any account

make any pretence at selling. These two men are the gridler and the

downrighter. The former sings hymns in the streets, and he makes his

living by the sound of his voice. Professional singers are paid

according to the richness, sweetness, and compass of their voices, but

the gridler's profit increases as his vocal powers decline. The more

shaky and harsh his voice becomes, the greater his reward. With a

tongue like a rasp he smoothes the roughness off hard hearts. With a

voice like an old hen he ushers in the golden egg. With a base mixture

of treble, contralto and bass, he produces good metal which falls from

top story windows, or is thrown from front doors, to drop at his feet

with the true ring. Then, if the voice be immaterial, where lies the

art of gridling? No more or less than in the selection of hymns, which

must be simple and pathetic and familiar to all. Let the gridler

supply the words sufficiently to be understood, and the simple air

with variations--a good gridler often misses parts of the air itself

for breathing spells and in stooping for coppers--let him supply the

words, I say, and his hearers will supply the feeling. For instance,

if a gridler has sung an old well known hymn fifty or sixty times a

day for ten or fifteen years, he cannot reasonably be expected to be

affected by the words. It would be extremely thoughtless to request of

such an one an encore without giving a promise of further reward. In

fact this man is really so weary of song that if there is any merry

making at the lodging house, he is the one man who will not sing, not

even under the influence of drink; and, what is more no man would

invite him for, being a gridler and earning his living by song, we

know well that his voice is spoilt, and that he cannot sing. The

gridler considers himself to be at the top of the begging profession,

for his stock never gets low, nor requires replenishing; and his voice

is only a little weak thing of no weight, the notes of which are born

into the world from his throat, and was never roused from sleep in the

depths of his chest. There is no strain or effort in giving these

notes to the world--despite the gridler's affectations--and he neither

grows pale nor red with the exertion.

 

But the downrighter not only scorns grinders, pedlars, etc., but he

even despises the gridler for being a hard worker. "I," says he, "do

not carry laces, needles, matches, or anything else; and I do not

advertise my presence to the police by singing in the streets. If

people are not in the front of the house, I seek them at the back,

where a gridler's voice may not reach them. I am not satisfied with

getting a penny for a farthing pair of laces--I get the whole penny

for nothing. People never mistake me for a trader, for I exhibit no

wares, and tell them straightforward that I am begging the price of my

supper and bed."

 

The fact of the matter is that all these men have different ways of

making a living, and each man thinks his own way the best and fears to

make new experiments, such an opinion being good for the trade of

begging. Sometimes, owing to the vigilance of the police, and their

strict laws, the gridler has to resort to downright begging, but his

heart is not in the business, and he is for that reason unsuccessful.

He longs to get in some quiet side street where he can chant slowly

his well known hymns. But everything is in favour of the more silent

downrighter; who allows nothing to escape him, neither stores, private

or public houses, nor pedestrians. All he is required to do is to keep

himself looking something like a working man, and he receives more

charity in the alehouse by a straightforward appeal as an unemployed

workman, than another who wastes his time in giving a song and a

dance. People often hurry past when they hear a man singing, or see

one approaching with matches or laces, but the downrighter claims

their attention before they suspect his business.

 

When I met Long John at Oxford, we had much talk of the merits of

different parts of a beggar's profession. He, it seemed, had carried

laces; he had also gridled sacred hymns in the streets, and sung

sporting songs in the alehouses; he had even exerted himself as a

dancer, "but," said he, "I must confess, after all, that as a

downrighter my profits are larger, at the expenditure of far less

energy."

 

In the course of conversation Long John informed me that he also was

travelling London way, and if I was agreeable we would start together

on the following morning. "And," said he, in a whisper, so that other

lodgers might not hear--"there is a house on our way that is good for

a shilling each. He is a very rich man and has been an officer in the

army. He pretends to be prejudiced against old soldiers, and when they

appeal to him, he first abuses them, after which he drills them and,

after abusing them again rewards each with a two shilling piece. Do

you know the drills'?" "No," I answered, "I have never been in the

army." "That is a great pity," said Long John, "for we lose a shilling

each. However, we will not say that we are old soldiers, for fear of

losing all, and be satisfied with the two shillings between us." So it was agreed.