Works of Ellen Wood, page 30
“It’s my certain conviction, and has been all along,’’ said Mrs. Gould, “that the way in which Mr. Danesbury and Mr. Arthur set their faces against the liquor-shops, kept many a workman within bounds, who would not have been kept within them but for that. Mr. Arthur’s turning round is a great misfortune upon us, and some of us will rue the day his place opens.”
‘‘ ‘Cause we don’t rue it enough as it is,” called out a miserable woman with a torn cap and hanging hair. “How much d’ye suppose my brute of a fellow brought me home last Saturday night — or Sunday morning, for that’s what it was? Six shillings.”
“Shame!” was murmured around.
“He’ll bring home three next, when he have got this shop of the master’s to sot at. And the children in rags, and me famishing half my time. I wish I was dead, I do.”
“I’d sooner have thought that Mr. Arthur would have finished those alms-houses for the old, which his father began to build some years ago, and was forced to leave unfinished, through the expenses his sons brought upon him, than have turned his thoughts and his money to such a low-lived thing as this — low-lived for a Danesbury.”
“Oh, I don’t know about low-lived: some of the first gents owns publics and liquor-shops, though they don’t have any thing to do with ’em personally, wouldn’t set their proud feet inside one. But, for them alms-houses, it was said in the factory lately, that now things were a-coming round a bit, and some of the pulls upon him was gone, the master meant to finish ‘em.”
“Yes, low-lived,” persisted Mrs. Gould: “it is so for Mr. Arthur Danesbury. He and his father have always been such respectable, lofty men: I don’t mean lofty to us, or proud to us; we all know they are not that; but lofty in high and good things: for him thus to get up and start liquor-selling, is bringing him down dreadfully. Why, my husband, Richard, would never have kept as tolerably sober as he has, but for the fear of getting out of the good books of the masters.”
“You know Tom Locke and his wife, who hurt himself in the machinery, and has never been able to do a good day’s work since — well, it’s them as the master is a-going to put in to keep it.”
“What, Tom Locke? Why, he’s one of they temperance lot: he can’t a-bear his nose to come a-nigh liquor, he can’t. Nor her neither.”
“Who says it’s going to be Tom Locke?” asked Jessy Gould.
“I says so; and I says so ‘cause I heard it. A rum lot he was, I thought at first, to put into a gin-shop, one as abominates the sight and smell of it, but it came into my head afterward that that was the master’s depth: if he had put in one that liked it, he’d have toped away some of the profits. So Tom Locke is just the right sort of man.”
“Well, it’s a new thing for us to be standing here abusing Mr. Danesbury,” uttered Mrs. Gould. “It does not sound right: our best praises have never been good enough for him till now.”
“But who was to think he would turn round like this! I say, did you hear of the row at the Pig-and-Whistle last night?”
“Oh yes, I heered on’t. My husband was in it, worse luck. They got fighting, some of ‘em, and a heap of glasses was broke, which doubled the score. Wretches!”
As may be gathered from the above conversation, the female portion of the community did not view with favor Mr. Danesbury’s new scheme. With the men, it was, on the whole, popular; though the surprise among all classes was unbounded.
Mr. Danesbury was one evening coming out of the new place — palace, shop, or whatever it might be called, when he encountered Thomas Harding, who was passing. “Well,” said he, cheerily, “we are getting on; we shall soon open.”
“Are you, sir?”
“What say those most concerned?”
“The women are outrageous, sir,” said Harding, with a merry twinkle in his eye. “Our relation, Jessy, one of the worst. They expect to be reduced to shorter commons than usual, now ‘the master countenances the drink.’ You have lost caste, sir, with them.”
Mr. Danesbury laughed, and proceeded on his way.
He was going to Mrs. Philip Danesbury’s. When he arrived there, Miss Heber was done; she was sitting at the window enjoying the lovely evening. Her rich black silk dress and jet ornaments became her well. Bather tall, Blender, and graceful, with clearly-cut, expressive features, and an earnest, thoughtful eye, she looked, in her way, as noble as did Arthur Danesbury.
She rose when he entered and extended her hand. He took it and retained it, and they stood together before the window in the last rays of the setting sun, watching the clouds of crimson and purple, which were capped by brilliant streaks of golden light
“Did you ever see a more beautiful sunset?” exclaimed Miss Heber.
“I do not know that I have. I was thinking so as I came along.”
“I am sorry my aunt is out. She—”
“I am glad of it,” interrupted Arthur. “Because my visit this evening is to you.”
Something in his tone caused the conscious colour to flush into Miss Heber’s cheeks; possibly she had a foreshadowing of what was to come; and, in her maidenly reserve, she would have withdrawn her hand from his.
“No, Mary, suffer it to remain. I am going to ask you to give it me for my own.”
The flush extended now to her brow, even to her neck, and she dropped her head, and her eyes sank beneath the gaze of his.
“I have waited for you long — you know I have, Mary. For though I would not speak until I saw my way clear, I am sure you have never mistaken me. Will you in trust your happiness to my keeping? will you give yourself to me for all time?”
She burst into tears, and turning half round toward him, suffered him to draw her face to his breast, and hold it there.
Then, after a pause, they began to speak of details. He wished that they should be married with but little delay. She objected, saying that twelve months ought to elapse first, from the period of Mr. Danesbury’s death.
“Can you give me one good reason for that, Mary?” he returned. “Custom? Well, we can afford to dispense with custom. Do you think that I — or you — shall forget my dear father the sooner, or regret him one iota the less, because we become united together?”
“No. Oh no.”
“Then I know of no other point your objection can carry. Believe me, Mary, I should be the last to suggest any thing that could imply disrespect to him. And, were it possible that he could hear us now, I know he would judge my motives aright, and approve of what I urge.”
A happy, reassured expression rose to her face, and she began to think her objection not insuperable.
“I am lonely at home: it is a large house for me to inhabit alone,” he resumed, with a smile. “But that is not the chief argument. I want a helpmate in my new plans, a second self.”
“With your workmen?” she asked, looking up.
“With my workmen; my poor, ignorant, improvident workmen. I want a lady, you, Mary — and if you never were to be any thing to me, I can truthfully say I know of none more fit — to go to their homes, and try to talk, or beat, or soothe something better into the wives. You have learned my plans as to the men, but it will be of little use seeking to raise them from what they are, so long as the women are dirty and careless, and make their houses every thing they ought not to be. A man could not effect this; it must be a woman; one who will go among them, and take an interest in their cares and troubles, and show them how they may be made lighter. Now,” he added, in a gayer tone, “it would not quite do for Miss Heber to go, concerning herself with Mr. Danesbury’s work-people, but it will be the very thing for Mrs. Danesbury.”
Her lips parted with a smile. She had no argument at hand to refute his words.
“And I want a counsellor, Mary: one to whom I can come for advice and help: I want you.”
“Oh, Arthur!” she exclaimed, in surprise, “I counsel you! I blush to think how very unworthy I am, compared with you.”
“A kind, loving friend and counsellor,” he whispered, “who will wait for me and welcome me when the bustle and cares of the day are over — who will listen to my schemes, and share my trials, and cheer on my hopes whether of time or of eternity. My dearest! I know that you will be all this.”
“I will be all I possibly can,” she answered, the tears glistening in her eyes; tears of joy, not of grief, for none, save herself, knew how passionately, for years, she had loved Arthur Danesbury. “And I will do what I can for the work-people. I used to think it wrong that Mrs. Danesbury did not take a personal interest in them.”
“My own mother did. I have heard Harding say so many times. I have heard him say that, had she lived, the women never would have become the slatternly, quarrelsome scolds in their homes, that they are. But she was removed early. The second Mrs. Danesbury would not notice them: I do not suppose she entered a single cottage the whole time that she was my father’s wife. There is much to do, much to be effected.”
“Will it be effected?” returned Miss Heber.
“Not perhaps as I could wish it to be — not as it might be, if the men and women were more enlightened; half of them are without any education whatever, can not read or write. But a great deal may be done; I feel that it will; we shall both bring earnestness and hope to the rescue. Mary! I purpose to devote, in a degree, my life to this object. Next to my own family, I mean to you, and — to—” he momentarily hesitated, but continued with a half smile—” those who may be born to us, I shall consider these poor dependents. Not only my energies shall be given to their service, to the raising them, bodies and souls, to a more healthy condition, but a great portion of my income must be spent in it. I warn you of this beforehand.”
“Oh yes, Arthur,” she earnestly replied; “indeed you will find me agree with you in all, and help yon. When wealth is being accumulated by commerce, and no part of it, save their bare wages, is ever applied to benefit the poor aiding operatives, I think a sin must lie at the rich man’s door. It may be justice in the sight of man, to pay them but their simply due, and leave them to make the best of it in indifference and neglect; but it can not be, in the sight of God. Devote as much of yours as you will to the workmen, Arthur, I shall never say you Nay.”
“My daring,” he murmured, bringing her face nearer to his, “I hope and trust we shall be able to do our duty to them and to ourselves; and to Him, who has placed us here to do it, and made us rich, and them poor. Our probationary time on earth is but short at its best; may we always remember, in the great trials of life and in its small daily cares, in the pleasant social intercourse with friends and in the dearer sunshine of our own home, that we are but travellers here, making our short journey to a better land!”
CHAPTER XXV.
THE STAR OF HOPE.
April came in, and the new gin-palace was ready to be opened. But it lacked one thing — a sign. This troubled the gazers amazingly, both men and women; neither had it great outward embellishments. The gaudy place opposite had a large gold animal (gold, to look at) extended, by means of projecting iron rods, over the whole width of the door, and a foot farther on either side. It might have been taken for one of the quadrupeds that came out of Noah’s ark, though, to say which, would have puzzled Noah himself; but there was a long board underneath, whose painted letters decided the question; “The Brazen Bull.’’
Not to have honoured the new place with any sign at all, gave considerable offense to numbers, who were already its warm partisans and supporters in prospective. Somebody ventured to name the omission to Mr. Danesbury.
“A sign, they want, do they?” said he. “I have not thought of one. Let them call it — call it — the ‘Star of Hope.’ I hope it will prove one.”
On the evening of the grand openings Mr. Danesbury summoned dell his operatives before him, of whatever degree, in the large machine-room of the factory, which had been cleared for the occasion. It was just before the hour for leaving work. He stood upon a raised platform, that all might see him as he addressed them; his brother William, and a few gentlemen, who were taking an interest in the new undertaking, being by his side.
“My friends, I have assembled you here, but not to keep you for many minutes, as it is but a few words I wish to say to you now; and, the fewer I say, the better pleased you will be, for I feel sure that you are on thorns to be off to that new palace of mine. Is it not so?”
A murmur; then laughter; then a hearty cheer for their master.
“I shall be very happy to see you all there; but there; are certain conditions attached to your entering, and it is to acquaint you with them that I have called you before me. Because,” and here he spoke very slowly and distinctly, “unless you can take upon yourselves to observe them, you would be just as well away — at least, for the present.”
“Let’s have ‘em, sir; we sha’n’t objec’ to ‘em,” called out a voice from the far end of the room.
“Was that you, Joe Smith?” cried Mr. Danesbury.
A roar of laughter against Joe Smith, who, not having bargained for his voice to be recognized, shrank into nothing.
“The first condition is, that whoever goes in to-night must undertake to go in for a whole month, never omitting,”
Oh, every body would promise that.
“Stop a bit,” said Mr. Danesbury, “don’t promise any thing till you have heard” me further. The second condition is that you must remain firm to my establishment for the whole month, and not enter any other during that period.”
No danger they’d want to leave the master’s for any body else’s!
“The third is, that for that month nobody pays for what they take. I stand treat for all.”
A deafening roar; the huzzas seemed never coming to an end.
“And the fourth is, that you must, during that period, endeavour to persuade yourselves — that you will make an effort to persuade yourselves, to continue in future to patronize my establishment, and not the one — over the way.”
Another roar; every body’s voice drowning every body else’s, in vows that they would do so; as if they would patronize any but the master’s!
“Stop a bit, yet,” said Mr. Danesbury. “You have heard the conditions of entrance: you must now hear a little of the rules and regulations. In the first place, no man drinks more than I choose.”
A dead silence.
“In the second, no man must grumble at the liquor. It may be quite different from what he has been accustomed to; but he undertakes to go in, he must drink it, and not grumble.”
That they’d promise.
“My friends, listen. You have been accustomed to drink beer, that you think good; gin, that you think good; but suppose in my establishment you meet with only bad beer and bad gin, next to undrinkable — you know I do not patronize either myself, and am no judge — what should you do, at being obliged to put up with them for a month? Would you do so, out of regard to your word passed to me!”
Yes, they would. Bless the master! ‘wouldn’t be his fault, if the sellers imposed upon him.
“But suppose you should get neither beer nor gin, bad or good? suppose the cheer you meet with should be totally different from that which you are accustomed to take? suppose it should be unpalatable? You must still observe the condition of remaining your month.”
Well — they’d do that
“Finally, my men, understand fully, and then decide. If you go at all, you must go for the month, evening by evening; and you must abide by the cheer provided for you, even though it be not beer, or spirits, or any drink of that sort. Joe Smith, could you manage to live without beer or spirits for a month?”
“I can’t rightly say, sir,” hesitated Joe.
“My friends, those of you who think they can not, had better not subscribe to my conditions, or enter; for, understand me, the conditions and rules must be observed. But to you who do enter I have a word more to say. Which of you ever found my father or me a hard master?”
Not one — some Rooked ready to melt into tears. Mr. Danesbury and Mr. Arthur had been masters such as poor workmen did not often find: good, just, kind — friends they had been — never bad masters.
“Then, if you have found us thus,” Mr. Danesbury resumed, in a voice that could not altogether suppress its emotion, “you will not mind a little sacrifice by way of return., If the cheer provided for you be not quite to your minds, put up with it; give it, for one month, a hearty trial, in gratitude to my late father, your honoured master.”
The words and the tone carried the room with enthusiasm, and nearly every one bound himself in his own mind, and as fast as promises could do it, to stop out the month at the new place, drink or no drink.
A ticket was now given to each man. They were differently numbered, up to three. The superior managers and overlookers were not included in the invitation, though Mr. Danesbury intimated that to see them there would give him pleasure. The foremen, such as Thomas Harding, had number one; the next grade below had number two; and the last, number three. It was understood there were three reception-rooms, and the ticket merely indicated which they were to enter, to prevent over-crowding and confusion. The men went out, after three times three for Mr. Danesbury.
“We will look in upon you in the course of the evening,” said Mr. Danesbury to the men.
Curiosity was excited to the utmost to see the inside of the famous gin-palace, and they crowded in, but in an orderly manner, and were shown to their appointed room, each apartment being conspicuously numbered. No difference had been made in their fittings-up, and the classing of the men had only been according to their suitability, in grade and intellect, as companions. The place was brilliant with gas, and with an immense fire in each room, in ornamental open grates, quite as brilliant as the old gin- palace; tables, small and large, and chairs and benches were scattered about; busts of great and good men were standing in niches and comers; a few pictures, maps, etc., were on the walls; the better sort of the dear and the cheap periodicals, monthly and weekly; plenty of newspapers, and plenty of books, scientific, useful, entertaining, and amusing; also, there were several sets of chess and draught men. A more complete picture of comfort the men had never entered on, although it wanted the bottles and barrels, and shining taps of the gin-shop.
