On the station platform at Dudley
Port, in the dusk of a February afternoon, half-a-dozen
people waited for the train to Birmingham. A
south-west wind had loaded the air with moisture, which
dripped at moments, thinly and sluggishly, from a
featureless sky. The lamps, just lighted, cast
upon wet wood and metal a pale yellow shimmer; voices
sounded with peculiar clearness; so did the rumble
of a porter’s barrow laden with luggage.
From a foundry hard by came the muffled, rhythmic
thunder of mighty blows; this and the long note of
an engine-whistle wailing far off seemed to intensify
the stillness of the air as gloomy day passed into
gloomier night.
In clear daylight the high, uncovered
platform would have offered an outlook over the surrounding
country, but at this hour no horizon was discernible.
Buildings near at hand, rude masses of grimy brick,
stood out against a grey confused background; among
them rose a turret which vomited crimson flame.
This fierce, infernal glare seemed to lack the irradiating
quality of earthly fires; with hard, though fluctuating
outline, it leapt towards the kindred night, and diffused
a blotchy darkness. In the opposite direction,
over towards Dudley Town, appeared spots of lurid
glow. But on the scarred and barren plain which
extends to Birmingham there had settled so thick an
obscurity, vapours from above blending with earthly
reek, that all tile beacons of fiery toil were wrapped
and hidden.
Of the waiting travellers, two kept
apart from the rest, pacing this way and that, but
independently of each other. They were men of
dissimilar appearance; the one comfortably and expensively
dressed, his age about fifty, his visage bearing the
stamp of commerce; the other, younger by more than
twenty years, habited in a way which made it; difficult
to as certain his social standing, and looking about
him with eyes suggestive of anything but prudence
or content. Now and then they exchanged a glance:
he of the high hat and caped ulster betrayed an interest
in the younger man, who, in his turn, took occasion
to observe the other from a distance, with show of
dubious recognition.
The trill of an electric signal, followed
by a clanging bell, brought them both to a pause,
and they stood only two or three yards apart.
Presently a light flashed through the thickening dusk;
there was roaring, grinding, creaking and a final
yell of brake-tortured wheels. Making at once
for the nearest third-class carriage, the man in the
seedy overcoat sprang to a place, and threw himself
carelessly back; a moment, and he was followed by
the second passenger, who seated himself on the opposite
side of the compartment. Once more they looked
at each other, but without change of countenance.
Tickets were collected, for there
would be no stoppage before Birmingham: then
the door slammed, and the two men were alone together.
Two or three minutes after the train
had started, the elder man leaned forward, moved slightly,
and spoke.
“Excuse me, I think your name must be Hilliard.”
“What then?” was the brusque reply.
“You don’t remember me?”
“Scoundrels are common enough,”
returned the other, crossing his legs, “but
I remember you for all that.”
The insult was thrown out with a peculiarly
reckless air; it astounded the hearer, who sat for
an instant with staring eyes and lips apart; then
the blood rushed to his cheeks.
“If I hadn’t just about
twice your muscle, my lad,” he answered angrily,
“I’d make you repent that, and be more
careful with your tongue in future. Now, mind
what you say! We’ve a quiet quarter of an
hour before us, and I might alter my mind.”
The young man laughed contemptuously.
He was tall, but slightly built, and had delicate
hands.
“So you’ve turned out
a blackguard, have you?” pursued his companion,
whose name was Dengate. “I heard something
about that.”
“From whom?”
“You drink, I am told. I suppose that’s
your condition now.”
“Well, no; not just now,”
answered Hilliard. He spoke the language of an
educated man, but with a trace of the Midland accent.
Dengate’s speech had less refinement.
“What do you mean by your insulting talk, then?
I spoke to you civilly.”
“And I answered as I thought fit.”
The respectable citizen sat with his
hands on his knees, and scrutinised the other’s
sallow features.
“You’ve been drinking,
I can see. I had something to say to you, but
I’d better leave it for another time.”
Hilliard flashed a look of scorn, and said sternly
“I am as sober as you are.”
“Then just give me civil answers to civil questions.”
“Questions? What right have you to question
me?”
“It’s for your own advantage.
You called me scoundrel. What did you mean by
that?”
“That’s the name I give
to fellows who go bankrupt to get rid of their debts.”
“Is it!” said Dengate,
with a superior smile. “That only shows
how little you know of the world, my lad. You
got it from your father, I daresay; he had a rough
way of talking.”
“A disagreeable habit of telling the truth.”
“I know all about it. Your
father wasn’t a man of business, and couldn’t
see things from a business point of view. Now,
what I just want to say to you is this: there’s
all the difference in the world between commercial
failure and rascality. If you go down to Liverpool,
and ask men of credit for their opinion about Charles
Edward Dengate, you’ll have a lesson that would
profit you. I can see you’re one of the
young chaps who think a precious deal of themselves;
I’m often coming across them nowadays, and I
generally give them a piece of my mind.”
Hilliard smiled.
“If you gave them the whole, it would be no
great generosity.”
“Eh? Yes, I see you’ve
had a glass or two, and it makes you witty. But
wait a bit I was devilish near thrashing you a few
minutes ago; but I sha’n’t do it, say
what you like. I don’t like vulgar rows.”
“No more do I,” remarked
Hilliard; “and I haven’t fought since I
was a boy. But for your own satisfaction, I can
tell you it’s a wise resolve not to interfere
with me. The temptation to rid the world of one
such man as you might prove too strong.”
There was a force of meaning in these
words, quietly as they were uttered, which impressed
the listener.
“You’ll come to a bad end, my lad.”
“Hardly. It’s unlikely that I shall
ever be rich.”
“Oh! you’re one of that
sort, are you? I’ve come across Socialistic
fellows. But look here. I’m talking
civilly, and I say again it’s for your advantage.
I had a respect for your father, and I liked your
brother I’m sorry to hear he’s
dead.”
“Please keep your sorrow to yourself.”
“All right, all right!
I understand you’re a draughtsman at Kenn and
Bodditch’s?”
“I daresay you are capable of understanding
that.”
Hilliard planted his elbow in the
window of the carriage and propped his cheek on his
hand.
“Yes; and a few other things,”
rejoined the well-dressed man. “How to
make money, for instance. Well, haven’t
you any insult ready?”
The other looked out at a row of flaring
chimneys, which the train was rushing past: he
kept silence.
“Go down to Liverpool,”
pursued Dengate, “and make inquiries about me.
You’ll find I have as good a reputation as any
man living.”
He laboured this point. It was
evident that he seriously desired to establish his
probity and importance in the young man’s eyes.
Nor did anything in his look or speech conflict with
such claims. He had hard, but not disagreeable
features, and gave proof of an easy temper.
“Paying one’s debts,”
said Hilliard, “is fatal to reputation.”
“You use words you don’t
understand. There’s no such thing as a debt,
except what’s recognised by the laws.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if
you think of going into Parliament. You are just
the man to make laws.”
“Well, who knows? What
I want you to understand is, that if your father were
alive at this moment, I shouldn’t admit that
he had claim upon me for one penny.”
“It was because I understood
it already that I called you a scoundrel.”
“Now be careful, my lad,”
exclaimed Dengate, as again he winced under the epithet.
“My temper may get the better of me, and I should
be sorry for it. I got into this carriage with
you (of course I had a first-class ticket) because
I wanted to form an opinion of your character.
I’ve been told you drink, and I see that you
do, and I’m sorry for it. You’ll
be losing your place before long, and you’ll
go down. Now look here; you’ve called me
foul names, and you’ve done your best to rile
me. Now I’m going to make you ashamed of
yourself.”
Hilliard fixed the speaker with his
scornful eyes; the last words had moved him to curiosity.
“I can excuse a good deal in
a man with an empty pocket,” pursued the other.
“I’ve been there myself; I know how it
makes you feel how much do you earn, by
the bye?”
“Mind you own business.”
“All right. I suppose it’s
about two pounds a week. Would you like to know
what my in come is? Well, something like
two pounds an hour, reckoning eight hours as the working
day. There’s a difference, isn’t
there? It comes of minding my business, you see.
You’ll never make anything like it; you find
it easier to abuse people who work than to work yourself.
Now if you go down to Liverpool, and ask how I got
to my present position, you’ll find it’s
the result of hard and honest work. Understand
that: honest work.”
“And forgetting to pay your
debts,” threw in the young man.
“It’s eight years since
I owed any man a penny. The people I did
owe money to were sensible men of business all
except your father, and he never could see things
in the right light. I went through the bankruptcy
court, and I made arrangements that satisfied my creditors.
I should have satisfied your father too, only he died.”
“You paid tuppence ha’penny in the pound.”
“No, it was five shillings,
and my creditors sensible men of business were
satisfied. Now look here. I owed your father
four hundred and thirty-six pounds, but he didn’t
rank as an ordinary creditor, and if I had paid him
after my bankruptcy it would have been just because
I felt a respect for him not because he
had any legal claim. I meant to pay him understand
that.”
Hilliard smiled. Just then a
block signal caused the train to slacken speed.
Darkness had fallen, and lights glimmered from some
cottages by the line.
“You don’t believe me,” added Dengate.
“I don’t.”
The prosperous man bit his lower lip,
and sat gazing at the lamp in the carriage. The
train came to a standstill; there was no sound but
the throbbing of the engine.
“Well, listen to me,”
Dengate resumed. “You’re turning out
badly, and any money you get you’re pretty sure
to make a bad use of. But” he
assumed an air of great solemnity “all
the same now listen ”
“I’m listening.”
“Just to show you the kind of
a man I am, and to make you feel ashamed of yourself,
I’m going to pay you the money.”
For a few seconds there was unbroken
stillness. The men gazed at each other, Dengate
superbly triumphant, Hilliard incredulous but betraying
excitement.
“I’m going to pay you
four hundred and thirty-six pounds,” Dengate
repeated. “No less and no more. It
isn’t a legal debt, so I shall pay no interest.
But go with me when we get to Birmingham, and you shall
have my cheque for four hundred and thirty-six pounds.”
The train began to move on. Hilliard
had uncrossed his legs, and sat bending forward, his
eyes on vacancy.
“Does that alter your opinion of me?”
asked the other.
“I sha’n’t believe it till I have
cashed the cheque.”
“You’re one of those young
fellows who think so much of themselves they’ve
no good opinion to spare for anyone else. And
what’s more, I’ve still half a mind to
give you a good thrashing before I give you the cheque.
There’s just about time, and I shouldn’t
wonder if it did you good. You want some of the
conceit taken out of you, my lad.”
Hilliard seemed not to hear this.
Again he fixed his eyes on the other’s countenance.
“Do you say you are going to
pay me four hundred pounds?” he asked slowly.
“Four hundred and thirty-six.
You’ll go to the devil with it, but that’s
no business of mine.”
“There’s just one thing
I must tell you. If this is a joke, keep out of
my way after you’ve played it out, that’s
all.”
“It isn’t a joke.
And one thing I have to tell you. I reserve
to myself the right of thrashing you, if I feel in
the humour for it.”
Hilliard gave a laugh, then threw
himself back into the corner, and did not speak again
until the train pulled up at New Street station.