A Breaker of Laws/Chapter 13

early morning air blew freshly and almost boisterously as Alfred Bateson drove the demure horse (named by him The Bishop) and the plain-sheeted van through New Cross towards the junction where roads of the neighbourhood meet under the presidency of Old Kent Road, father of them all. The air was sportive enough now and again to blow off the hats of men asleep on the slowly moving waggon-loads of vegetables, thus breaking their rest and forcing them to alight and chase the trundling headgear. A stall near to New Cross Gate did well with early patrons, who poured their coffee into a saucer and sipped at it noisily, the while the proprietor made satirical remarks to them about the recent action of Russia, giving some very plain hints of the course of action that he himself would pursue were he called upon to change positions with Lord Salisbury. Alfred, being in excellent spirits, urged the coffee-stall keeper as he drank a cup of hot tea, holding his hat on as he did so, not to stay longer outside the Houses of Parliament, remarking that whilst a man was of course justified in looking after himself and his little coffee-stall business, there remained questions of duty to his fellow-men and the general welfare of the country. On the coffee-stall keeper replying acutely that if ever he were to get inside the House he rather reckoned that he would make some of its Members sit up, Alfred said that he was sure of this, and the coffee-stall keeper remarked further, as he breathed on a plate and rubbed, that it would remind them of the days of good old Cromwell.

Cheered by this opportunity for a Londoner's favourite exercise, Alfred aroused The Bishop from deep thought over some theological question and drove on; heading the wind, up Old Kent Road, London-wards. Some traffic here despite the hour; men being blown in the direction of the station, where they hoped to be able to stand up in a workman's train; a few scarlet Post-office vans rushing about wildly; milkmen in chariots careering up from side streets with their cans banging and rattling. From the bedrooms of dwelling-houses white befrilled sleeves drew the window-blinds aside to permit inspection of the morning, and disappeared instantly. A small, chubby face peeping over a curtain reminded Alfred of Trafalgar; he began at once to sing loudly in order that the thought of a little woman and her boy sleeping peacefully away at Westgate might be kept from his mind. He had told Finnis the previous evening that he was going down to Westgate for a brief stay of about twenty-four hours and had straightway gone to Deptford Green, where the young carman, silk-hatted, tweed-suited, and wearing a necktie that no reasonable lady could withstand, had arrived at the hour appointed. Some trouble had arisen in explaining the absence of Miss Ladd; more trouble in inducing the young carman to compensate himself for the disappointment by toasting her frequently in ardent spirits; nevertheless, these tasks accomplished, the youth had been deposited at a house in Mill Lane, perfectly drunk, at about five that morning, with precise instructions that he was not to be awakened until the afternoon.

'Left anything in his pawkets?' the old woman had asked.

'You'll have all the oof he's got.'

'Well, of course!' the old woman had remarked impatiently; 'I know that.'

So he was safe, and here was the delivery order, and here were also an excellent van and a respectable horse, both calculated to inspire absolute confidence. And here presently was the Elephant and Castle, with early trams starting in a slow, careful way, defying the brisk wind, and making the wind scream with annoyance because it could not blow them over; women carrying huge baskets of sweet and gorgeous flowers stacked tightly; a straggling line of sandwich men, with boards in full sail above their heads, starting to a rendezvous in the West End, and having to tack and to hide flat in shop entrances in order to avoid total wreck. It only required some dodging in this world to elude disaster. A wise idea this of his to do the business himself; many a good scheme of the kind had been spoilt by partnership; besides there would be more credit in doing it single-handed. In less than half an hour it would be all over.

What a fine place this London was, and what a joy to be here and to feel that you could hold your own with anyone! Here was the river below him now, with barges waking up reluctantly (having slightly overfed themselves with cargo), and half-a-dozen bare-armed youngsters racing with a steady swing, so that their boat shot along the river and slacked to shoot again. On the other side the stout cathedral, where, on an afternoon not long ago, Caroline The Embankment lodgers were yawning and bestirring themselves; a woman who had been sleeping on one of the seats dipped the corner of her apron in a trough of water and washed her bright-eyed baby's face, singing to him the while, as mothers do, whether they live in Berkeley Square or on the Embankment, to distract his notice from the annoyance of the operation, telling him all about going round a mulberry-bush, the baby listening with great eagerness, as one anxious to obtain all the information that the world contained with the least possible delay. Alfred flung her sixpence, partly from a feeling of charity, but mainly with some vague idea of propitiating the gods in regard to his coming essay. The woman made the baby throw a kiss with the aid of a chubby hand, just as Trafalgar used He whipped The Bishop, and it trotted in a demure clerical way up the wind-driven, narrow street past the Old Bailey. A grim, square, reproachful building, the ; it should, he considered, have been pulled down long ago.

Bustle and traffic within the roof-covered depot where offerings from the continent of Europe are received with railway trucks being rapidly unloaded, cases being checked and insistent carmen demanding them without a moment's hesitation, because London waited, and London is an impatient town that will brook no sort of delay, accustomed, as it is, to having its lightest wants supplied on the instant. Thus, when London says musingly, 'Fancy I should rather like a little fruit,' straightway the South of France strips its trees and sends waggonloads by grande vitesse, with instructions to hurry; when London says, 'I suppose I ought to give the wife a new silk dress,' then Lyons packs up a thousand cases and despatches them swiftly; when London wants to wear straw hats, Italy bestirs itself, and ceases thinking of its grievances and its taxes, whilst it complies with the order. London desires to give away watches, and busy little Switzerland serves a few tons before the wording of the request is completed; the attention of Germany is ever alert and deferential to the point of irksomeness.

And here they are bundling out of the railway trucks and tipping over and over as though they had nearly learnt to walk, but had not quite got the trick of it, with noisy porters and noisy carmen, who begin the day with a shout on their highest note and their strongest language, like reckless operatic singers; so that if a situation occurs later in the day requiring a loud voice and expressive adjectives, they find themselves able only to speak in a hoarse whisper, and to repeat words that have become almost worn out. Alfred is not new to the place; he has watched it furtively on two or three occasions, and now he backs his van against the platform in a business-like manner. Here it is that something may go wrong; here it is that a clerk from the agents, whose order he holds in his hand, may appear, here it is that someone may recognise him.

'Whose goods you after? You ain't the usual man.'

'Think I don't know that, Jimmy, old sort?'

'How,' says the uniformed man with interest—'how did you know my name was Jimmy?'

'Gaw bless my soul!' replies Alfred, taking him affectionately by the shoulder. 'Don't I recognise a old schoolfellow when I see one?'

'Mean to tell me that you used to go to Netley Street Board School?'

'I knew you,' says Alfred untruthfully, 'moment I set eyes on you. Tell you what you can do to oblige me.'

'Give it a name, old pal.'

'Load me up sharp and let me be off, and allow me to offer you the price of a pint.'

'Be rights,' says the porter, 'you ought to take your turn.'

'For the sake of old times,' urges Alfred, 'and the price of a pint.'

'Fancy coming across an old schoolfellow,' remarks the porter, as he takes a trolley. 'I must tell my gel about this,' he adds, stacking up the stout sealed cases of watches, 'she's fond of coincidences. We've got thirty-four cases and two or three odd ones for you, old man; sign for 'em on the sheet over there at the desk.'

'I'll load 'em up first.'

'As you like,' says the porter, 'only don't get me into a row by going away and forgettin' to sign.'

Alfred, his van loaded with the thirty-four cases of watches and the two or three odd ones, and the demure horse being relieved of the nose-bag, gives a bold signature, 'Thomas Jones,' on the delivery sheet; and the porter, declaring that now the name is before him he remembers Alfred clearly, accepts threepence with a hope that they may meet again. Driving out of the yard and complaining bitterly of the clumsiness of other drivers—this that he may not be suspected—Alfred catches sight of the cheerful clean-shaven railway inspector who once brought him a sum of money. He has no desire to see him now, and he bends his head down carefully in passing, affecting to be absorbed in the task of repairing his perfect whip.

Newgate again, with Old Bailey still taking up an inordinate amount of space and early arrivals waiting outside the door, so that they may have good seats for the entertainment within. Blackfriars Bridge, with more traffic, girls walking to business in rows of four with lunch in paper bulging from every skirt pocket, and all chattering breathlessly of their Sunday experiences; young men hurrying along, with less appearance of enjoyment, to begin their week's work in the City.

'Twen'y-five bob a week,' said Alfred, looking at them acutely, 'twen'y-five bob a week I'm told a lot of 'em get, and 'ere am I with three thousand pounds' worth of stuff that I've got in a quarter of an hour. That means five 'undred pound at the lowest reckonin', and no work for at least'

The Obelisk again, and the Elephant and New Kent Road and Old Kent Road—Old Kent Road quite awake now, with every shop open; windows being carefully set out and decorated by kneeling artists; the school for dancing dusting its statue of Minerva in the front garden. New Cross Road and High Street, and then at Deptford Green The Bishop, who had kept up a well-thought-out trot the whole of the distance, stopped, and backed the van through the side of Ladd's house against the door of the stable. The tail-board let down, the cases came out without possibility of observation from houses at the back. A jemmy—the one saved from drowning at Barnstaple—prized open lids of cases, cracking wax seals in doing so, and the cardboard boxes within were easily opened. Watches in every cardboard box; important-looking carriage-clocks at the bottom. In the others, watches and watches and watches, from the size of sixpence to the size of a five-shilling piece. He applied himself determinedly to the task of opening the cases, working in the dark as he had not worked for months; his face became wet, his hair dank. When he had finished he struck a match and held it up. The gold and silver watches, the carriage-clocks, the bracelet-watches, all in their brave newness, shone and sparkled. Furs and some satin made background.

'Bishop,' said Alfred to the horse exultantly, as, with sample watches in his pocket, he locked the stable, 'this looks very much like a little bit of all right.'

The Bishop coughed.