Sawn Off: A Tale of a Family Tree

“Stuff!” ejaculated Mrs Shingle sharply.

“No, no, mother, it ain’t stuff neither; so don’t talk like that. Here, you sir,” he cried to the boy, who was standing staring from one to the other, “get to work, you luxurious young rascal. That ain’t the way to improve your shining hours. Wax up and get ready a pair of fine points to mend them old shoes.”

“All right, master,” said the boy. And, slipping off his threadbare jacket, he sat down on a stool, and began to unwind a ball of hemp.

“I don’t believe in such brothers,” said Mrs Shingle bitterly. “Brothers, indeed!”

“No, that’s it, mother; it’s because you are a bit put out. But you’ll see it in the right light soon.”

“Ah!” he continued, rearranging the band round his forehead; and then, catching sight of a letter tucked behind the glass, “Now, if old Uncle Rounce’s money – or present, as he calls it – would drop in now, it would be welcome.”

As he spoke he opened the often-perused letter, which was written on thin paper and bore Australian postmarks, and began to read aloud:

”‘Thinking that a little money might be useful, I have sent you a present’ – and so on. Now, I wonder when that money’s coming.”

“Never,” said Mrs Shingle tartly.

“Now, there’s where you are so wrong, mother,” said Dick. “It’s very kind of the old fellow, who must have got on famously to be able to send us a few pounds – it’s sure to be pounds when it does come.”

“And it won’t never come,” said Mrs Shingle; “for you’ve had that letter nine months.”

“Well, if it don’t, mother, it don’t – that’s all; but what I say is, blood is thicker than water, or else old Uncle Eb – as I never see, only heard o – wouldn’t have said he’d send me a present – would he, Hoppy?”

“Hey?”

“I say Uncle Rounce wouldn’t have said he’d send me a present if blood warn’t thicker than water.”

“No. Have you got it yet?” said the old fellow.

“No, not yet. I asked Max about it, and he said he didn’t believe it would come.”

“He said that, did he?”

“Yes, he said that,” replied Dick, doubling the letter again, and replacing it behind the old looking-glass. “I dessay it’ll come, though, some day.”

“You had better try and sell those boots at once,” said Mrs Shingle rather impatiently, and as if she had not much faith in the coming money.

“Sell ’em? Yes; but who’s to buy ’em? There’s only two feet in London as will fit ’em, and they’re Max’s.”

“I declare it’s too bad, Dick dear, and we so pressed for money. The rent’s due, you know. Rolling in riches, as he is, and to behave so to his poor brother, who works so hard.”

“Gently, mother, gently: it’s only a way he’s got. But I do work pretty hard, don’t I? – only I’m so unlucky.”

“Why don’t you make a good dash at something, instead of plodding, then?” said Hopper suddenly.

“Come, now,” cried Dick, with an ill-used look and tone, “don’t you turn round on me, Hoppy, old man. We’re too good friends for that. It’s what Max always says; and I ain’t clever, so how can I?”

Hopper relapsed into silence.

“There, there, I shall get over it,” continued Dick, working away; “and as to rolling in riches, why, Max can’t help rolling in riches, any more than I can help rolling in nothing. It’s his way. But I say, mother, if we had riches, I think I could roll in ’em with the best.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Dick,” said Mrs Shingle, “when we’re so worried too. There,” she added, in a whisper, as their visitor rose, “we’re driving him away.”

“Going, Hoppy, old man?” said Dick, as their visitor rose and laid aside his pipe.

“Yes, going now,” said the old fellow. “I’ll drop in, perhaps, in the evening.”

“We haven’t put you out, have we?” said Dick.

“No, no, my lad; it’s all right. Dick, just lend me sixpence. My money is not due till Monday.”

Dick’s countenance fell, and he glanced at his wife.

“Have you got a sixpence, Polly?” he said.

“Not one,” was the reply.

“I’m very sorry, Hoppy, old man,” said Dick, looking more puzzled than ever, and as if this time he really could not understand why he should be so poor and his brother so rich – “but really I haven’t got it.”

“Never mind,” said the old fellow – “never mind; I dare say I can do without.”

And, grumbling and muttering, he took up his hat and stick, and went off.

Volume Two – Chapter Three.

A Poor Judge on the Bench

“Now he’s put out,” said Dick, looking puzzled at his wife. “I did not mean to upset him; but a man can’t lend another man what he hasn’t got, can he, mother?” There was no answer – only the clicking of Mrs Shingle’s needle against her thimble.

“I say a man can’t lend what he hasn’t got, can he, mother?” said Dick again, as he bent over some strange performance that he was achieving with an awl and some wax-end.

“I wasn’t thinking of that, Dick,” said his wife, with a sigh, “but of the money for the boots.”

“There, you needn’t fidget about that,” said Dick, throwing out his arms so as to draw the hemp tight; “for we shouldn’t have had the money if he had kept the boots.”

“Not had the money?”

“No – he meant to keep it for the rent. He said so.”

“There!” exclaimed Mrs Shingle. “Well, that comes of having your brother for your landlord. He’s as hard again as any one else.”

“Well, Max always was a hard one, certainly, my dear. Ever since we were boys together, ‘Merry, merry boys – since we were boys together,’” he sang. Then, descending once more to everyday-life conversation, he went on, “He was a hard one, Max was; and as to money, he’d always have a penny or twopence when I had none, even if he borrowed it of me.”

“And never paid it again,” said his wife contemptuously. “Well, it was a way he had,” said Dick.

“I haven’t patience with him.”

“No, my dear, you never did have patience with Max. Clever chap too. Marries his widow with lots of tin and a pair of boots – boys I mean – ready made. Why didn’t I?”

“Ah! why indeed?” said Mrs Shingle sharply.

“Because I was a fool,” said Dick, smiling pleasantly. “Fools are best off too, mother. I say, fancy me with a wife like Max’s!”

The idea seemed to please Dick so that he laughed and wiped one eye.

“There are worse women than Mrs Max,” said Mrs Shingle.

“Yes, and there’s better ones than you, I suppose, mother. But I’m contented, and never wanted a divorce yet.”

“Dick, how can you talk so before that boy?”

“All right! but I say, mother – Here, go on with your work, you young rascal. Keeping your ears staring wide open like that!”

“Please, master, I couldn’t help hearing,” said the boy dolefully. “I’m a-learning my trade, and trying to obey my pastors and masters as hard as ever I can.”

“Now, lookye here,” said Dick, taking up his hammer and gazing threateningly at the boy, “I never have given it to you yet, John Johnson, or, as I familiarly call you, from where you came and the stripes you had on you when you came, Union Jack – ”

“No, master,” whined the boy, “you’ve been very kind indeed to me.”

“I have, you hungry young alligator,” said Dick. “So look here, I won’t have it; I’m as bad as Mr Hopper that way, – I hate people to preach and sling catechism at me so don’t you do it again.”

“No, master; please, I’ll try very hard indeed, and obey you, as it is my dooty to.”

“Will you leave off?” roared Dick, striking his bench with the hammer, so that the tools and nails jumped almost as much as the boy. “You’re at it again, talking in that canting, whining, tread-underfoot, workhouse style; and I won’t have it. What did I tell you you was?”

“A free-born Briton, please, master.”

“Then why don’t you act as such, and say ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘No, sir,’ outright and down straight? – not whine and grovel like a worm without any sting in his tail.”

“Please, master, I’ll try and order myself lowly and reverently to all my betters.”

“Now, just hark at him!” cried Dick to his wife.

“Please, master, I’m very – ”

“Ah!” shouted Dick.

“All right, master,” said the boy; and he bent to his work.

“I say, mother;” said Dick, “Max is a bit put out with us.”

“So it seems,” said Mrs Shingle, biting her silk and stitching away. “I think he’d be glad if we starved to death.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, my girl, because it wouldn’t be nice to look at, and he never liked unpleasant things; but he’s a bit put out about our Jess.”

“What?” said Mrs Shingle, turning very red.

“About our Jess,” said Dick, hammering away very viciously at an inoffensive-looking bit of leather. “He’s got to know about those boys being so fond of coming here.”

“Our Jessie’s as good as his boys,” said Mrs Shingle sharply, and ready to stand her ground, now that the truth was out.

“So she is, my gal – so she is, every bit; but she’s only copper, and they’re silver-gilt in his eyes, if they ain’t gold. – Here, you sir, you’re listening again, instead of working,” he shouted to the boy, who began to gum his hands liberally with wax and roll the threads on his lath-like knees. – “But Max has been on to me about it, and he says he won’t have it; and I always told them so, ’specially Tom. ‘Tom,’ I says, ‘your governor won’t like your coming here,’ I says; ‘and he’ll think all sorts of things about it.’”

“Just as if money need make any difference!” exclaimed Mrs Shingle.

“It needn’t, my gal,” said Dick, grunting over his work; “but it do – it makes all the difference; you see if it don’t. For if you don’t go off with that bit of shoe-binding of yours, and bring back the money, we sha’n’t get any dinner, and that’s very different to having it. But where’s Jessie?”

“Gone to the warehouse.”

“What, all-alone! Now, look here, mother – I won’t have it. She’s too young and pretty to go there all alone, and I won’t have her left to be followed and annoyed by counter-jumpers, and that fellow as gives out the work. You know she came home crying on Friday. Why didn’t you go with her?”

“I had this to finish, Dick.”

“You’ve always got this to finish,” said Dick testily. “Then you should have kept her till I came back.”

“But it would have been too late, Dick. Where are you going?” she cried, as he rose and began to untie his apron. “To meet her,” he exclaimed angrily.

“But she hasn’t gone alone, Dick,” said the wife softly.

“If you’ve let her go there with that Fred Fraser, Polly, I’ll never forgive you,” cried Dick.

“She’s gone with Tom, dear.”

“Tom, dear, indeed! It isn’t ‘Tom, dear,’ and it isn’t going to be ‘Tom, dear,’” exclaimed Dick, re-tying his apron viciously.

“But he came, dear, just as she was starting, and he begged so hard that I was obliged to let him take her.”

“There you go!” cried Dick, hammering again at the piece of unoffending leather. “You’ll ruin me before you’ve done. Here’s Max says only this morning, says he, ‘I won’t have that gal of yours hanging about after my wife’s sons.’ He said ‘gal’ and ‘my wife’s sons.’ And I, feeling a bit up, says back, ‘Lookye here, Max, I can’t help your boys coming to my house. I’m not going to send my daughter away.’ I think that was pretty sharp on him, you know; when, ‘Damn your impudence,’ he says. – Look here, Jack,” continued Dick, pointing at the boy with his hammer, “I promised the workhouse authorities as I’d bring you up moral, so don’t you go telling anybody as your master swears, because that was some one else.”

“All right, master,” said the boy smartly.

“That’s better,” cried Dick; “don’t whine. Well, mother, then he gets in a towering rage, and showed me what was the matter with the boots. They’d got Jessie in ’em; that’s where they wouldn’t fit. ‘How dare you speak to me in that familiar way, sir!’ he says, sticking himself out and looking big, like a poor-law guardian. ‘When I employ you, sir, as an humble tradesman, I desire you pay me proper respect.’ And now, mother, you’ve been and made worse of it. Hang me, if I don’t turn burglar, or something to make money, if things don’t mend! I’m sick of being poor.”

“No, don’t, please, master,” said the boy, with a whine. “Honesty’s the best policy. And he who steals comes to a bad end.”

“Now, just look here, young fellow,” cried Dick, with a serio-comic look on his face, as he raised his hammer once more, “burglary’s bad enough, but killing’s worse. There was a man once who had a boy from a workus, just as I’ve had you, to teach you a trade – ”

“Yes, master,” said the boy, with eyes and mouth wide open.

“Well, he killed him with ill-usage, that’s all. I shouldn’t like to kill you, you know, so don’t you get chucking any more of your copy-book texts at me again.”

“All right, master,” said the boy, wiping his eyes.

“Now, look here, mother: once for all, I won’t have it. I’m as poor as I can be to get along; and though we’ve swallowed my watch, and the sugar-tongs and spoons, I haven’t swallowed my little bit of pride; and the next time that Tom or that Fred comes here, see if I don’t call him a son of a purse-proud, stuck-up father, and slam the door in his face. – Now, you be off.”

“Yes, Dick,” said his wife meekly; and she rose and gathered together her work. “But, Dick, you’re not very cross with me?”

“Well, perhaps not,” he said; and his eyes endorsed his words.

“But, look here, Dick: if Tom comes back with Jessie, you won’t say anything unkind to him – for her sake?”

“Won’t I?” cried Dick sharply. “I’ll shy the lapstone at him! If he’s too good for my Jessie, she’s too good for him.”

“But don’t hurt their feelings, Dick,” she whispered, so that the boy should not hear.

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings,” said Dick, yielding to his wife’s influence. “But there, you’re trying to come the soft on me again, as you always do, and I won’t have it. Now be off.”

“Yes, Dick – I’m going,” she said quickly, as she put on her bonnet and shawl. “But I know you won’t be unkind.”

“Won’t I?” said Dick, as the door closed. “I’ll show some of them yet! I can be a regular savage when I like – can’t I, Jack?”

“Please, what did you say, master?” whined the boy.

“I can be a regular savage when I like – can’t I?” shouted Dick.

“Yes, master. – Please, master, I’m so hungry.”

“So what?”

“So hungry, please, master.”

“Hungry? Why, the boy’s mad!” cried Dick, looking up in mock astonishment. “How dare you, sir? Hungry, indeed! There, take that wax-out of your mouth. You’re always trying to ruin me by eating the wax or chewing leather.”

“I can’t help it, master,” said the boy. “Please, I’m so hungry.”

“Hungry!” exclaimed Dick, with mock heroic diction. “Brought up, too, as you were, at one of the first workhouses in the kingdom!”

“Please, master, I can’t help it,” said the boy. “I feel so hollow inside.”

“Hollow? Nonsense, sir! It’s bad tendencies, or desire for gluttony and wine-bibbing. And after I’ve been such a good master to you!”

“Yes, master; and I’ll never, never, never – ”

”‘Never, never, never shall be slaves,’” sang Dick, in his musical tenor voice. “But don’t you say that, Jack, my boy; because if you keep on running out of your trousers as you do, and looking like something growing out of two beans, which is your boots, and then joining in the middle and running up to a head, I sha’n’t want you, specially if you’re going to be hollow, and want filling out.”

“But I don’t want filling out, master, only just a little sometimes. I can’t help feeling hollow, and as if something was gnawing me.”

“Gnawing? Yes, that’s it,” cried Dick. “I always told you so. That’s it. You will devour your food in such a way that it don’t digest; and that’s what you feel, sir – gnawing pains. There, fix up them bristles. You ain’t hungry.”

“It feels very much like as I used to feel at the House, master,” said the boy. “We all of us used to feel hollow there sometimes on rice days. I can’t help it, please.”

“Now, look ye here, my fine fellow, it won’t do, so I tell you. I’m your master, ain’t I?”

“Yes, please,” said the boy, making a scoop with his hand. “Leave off! I won’t have it!” cried Dick. “You ain’t to bow to me. I say as your master I ought to know best, and I say you ain’t hungry; and, look here, don’t you chew wax and leather any more, because they’re my property, and you’ll be tempted to swallow them, when it will not only be petty larceny, but they’ll disagree with you. Now, go on sorting out the best o’ them bits o’ leather.”

“Yes, master,” said the boy.

Dick rose from his bench, and went to the cupboard to see if there was a crust of bread and some butter to give to the boy; but it was quite empty, and he began to walk up and down, talking to himself.

“It’s very hard,” he muttered dolefully; “but the more I try to get on the more I don’t, and if things don’t mend God knows what’s to become of us. Poor Polly! she frets a deal, only she hides it; and as for Jessie – There, there, there, I can’t bear to think of it!” he groaned. “I must have been a fool, and so can’t get on.”

He scuffled back to his seat, for a familiar step was heard in the court; and, taking up his work, he began to sing merrily, after adjuring the boy to go on ahead.

“Hollo, mother!” he cried, as his wife entered the room: “brought the money?”

“No, Dick,” said Mrs Shingle sadly; “they don’t pay till next week.”

“Don’t pay for a week!” said Dick, letting his hands drop, but recovering himself directly. “All right!” he cried, – “so much in store. – ‘Cheer up, Sam, and don’t let your spirits go down,’” he sang. “I say, mother, ain’t it time that Jessie was back?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle sadly; “she’ll be back soon. It’s very hard, though, and it seems as if it never rained but it poured.”

“Never does,” said Dick cheerily; ”‘So put up your gingham and drive away care,’” he sang. “Hang it, mother, I hope it won’t really rain before she comes back. Did she take the big umbrella?”

“No, father.”

“Ah! bad job; but never mind – perhaps it won’t rain. Go along, Jack, my lad: you don’t feel hollow inside now, do you?”

“Yes, please, master – ever so much hollower,” said the boy pitifully.

“I never see such a boy,” cried Dick. “Here, open the door, mother, – it’s Jessie. Hollo!” he cried, jumping up; “what’s the matter?”

“Oh, father, father!” sobbed the girl, running to his arms.

“Why, my precious!” he exclaimed, patting her cheek, “what is it? Has any one dared? Oh, that’s it, is it?” he muttered; for his brother, closely followed by his younger step-son, entered the room.

Volume Two – Chapter Four.

A Brothers’ Quarrel

Maximilian Shingle was a heavy, broad-faced man, very cleanly shaven, and with grey hair very smoothly brushed. His black suit was as glossy as a first-class undertakers, and he always wore an old-style bunch of seals beneath his vest, with which he played as he spoke, spinning them round, while his other hand flourished a black ebony stick, with a gold top and a good deal of tassel.

Metaphorically speaking, there was a good deal of tassel all about Maximilian, for he swung and flourished about in his words and deeds, and always seemed to be more showy than substantial; and even now, when he was very white, and evidently in a towering passion, he flourished his seals and stick, and turned threateningly upon his brother; whilst the boy, who seemed to see in him a workhouse official or Poor-law guardian, softly stole into the back room, and surveyed the proceedings through the crack of the door.

In fact, the moment you saw Max Shingle, you said to yourself, “What a splendid man for a beadle!” And so he was: put him in uniform, and he would have been simply perfect – from the soft roll of fat under his chin to the well-rounded calf of his leg, which showed so prominently through his well-cut trousers. His very appearance aggravated you, and caused an itching beneath the nail of your right toe; for he was one of those men whom nature out of pure beneficence moulded to be kicked as a relief to abnormal irritation. His appearance at every turn suggested it, inasmuch as he was padded with tissue of the most elastic nature, such as would yield easily to the foot; and thus the kicker would run no risks either of hurting himself or committing homicide, while he obtained the satisfaction all the same.

“Now, sir,” began Max, fiercely addressing his brother, “what have you to say?”

“Well, I don’t know yet,” said Dick, looking in a puzzled way from one to the other. “What is it?”

“Don’t know!” cried Max. “Didn’t I speak to you, sir, an hour or two back?”

“Was it an hour or two back?” said Dick, who still held and soothed Jessie, as she clung to him.

“Yes, it was, sir!” cried Max, who was surprised that his brother did not cower, according to his wont. “I told you an hour or two ago that I would not have these disgraceful proceedings.”

“What disgraceful proceedings?” said Dick sullenly.

“These,” cried Max, pointing with his stick first at Jessie and then at Tom. “I speak to you, and warn you – ”

“Let me say a word,” began Tom.

“Hold your tongue, sir!” cried Max, holding up his stick; but the young man did not flinch. “I say, I speak to you and warn you, and directly after I find your girl arm-in-arm with this foolish son of mine in the open street, sir – in the open street.”

“Well, Max, you can’t have the streets shut up,” said Dick quietly.

“How dare you address me, sir, like that?” cried Max. “Will you listen, Mr Shingle?” cried Tom, who was losing patience – “it was all my fault.”

“Silence, sir! I will not hear a word. Your conduct is disgraceful, and after the Christian example that has been set you – ”

“I don’t see anything unchristianlike in loving a good, sweet girl, sir,” said the young man stoutly. “I cannot stand here and let you speak like this.”

“Then go, sir, go; and never dare to enter beneath this roof again while these people are here,” cried Max. “I suppose you have had baits set to coax you into the trap, you silly pigeon?”

“Indeed – ”

“But let me tell them all,” said Max, looking round with supreme disgust, “that if their nefarious scheme had succeeded, you would not have received a shilling from me.” Dick broke in here. He had been ready to explode several times, but had been kept back by wife and child. Now he could contain himself no longer.

“Here, let me say a word,” he exclaimed. “He hasn’t been coaxed here, nor anything of the sort, Mr Max. We don’t want him, and won’t have him; so there now.”

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Jessie.

“You hold your tongue, miss,” cried Dick, “and just try and have some pride in you.”

“How dare you speak to me like that, sir!” cried Max, frowning portentously – “how dare you! You, whom I’ve tried to raise out of the mud, but who always would persist in grovelling!”

“I shouldn’t have had to grovel so much if people paid me for the boots they ordered,” said Dick.

“You contemptible wretch!” cried Max. “You cloven-hoofed viper, who persists in turning and biting the hand that helped you! And after all we meant to do for you to try and raise you! – to endeavour to clothe and educate your neglected child, whose conduct as a work-girl is most reprehensible.”

“Look here,” cried Dick, whose face was working with anger.

“Silence, sir!” cried Max, thumping his stick upon the floor. “You grow lower and lower year by year, and now try to reward me by making this despicable plan to drag yourself up to my level. Now, look here. I’ve warned you, and it has been of no use. I have let you occupy this house, when I might have had a better tenant, and you have got in arrears.”

“Only two weeks,” cried Mrs Shingle indignantly.

“Silence, woman!” cried Max.

“Don’t bully her, Max, or there’ll be a row,” exclaimed Dick fiercely.

“Silence, both of you! I say I’ve let you get in arrears of rent for my property; and now you shall leave it. I’ll let the house to honest people who will pay – ”

“Oh, Mr Max!” cried Mrs Shingle imploringly.

“And then I shall see the last of you, and have no more of these disgraceful meetings.”

“Mr Shingle, this is too bad,” cried Tom.

“Silence, boy!” said Max, placing one hand in the breast of his glossy frock-coat, and scowling round at all in turn. “Does any one here think I’d disgrace my honourable wife by permitting such an alliance?”

“Nice brotherly behaviour, this!” cried Dick indignantly.