Part 4

The next few years of the boy’s existence were passed almost entirely in the society of his father in the little room behind the shop. He attended no other school, but devoted many hours in the day to the faded and timeworn volumes which so seldom found a purchaser. He read deeply in books of all kinds, of all ages and countries, for his great hunger for information seemed to grow on what it fed. In the evening, when the shop was closed for the night, and his father came to bear him company, he would spend many hours in putting questions to him. To many of these his father would smile in the secret and beautiful manner of the aged school-master, but would vouchsafe no answer.

On high days and holy days they would walk abroad together. Sometimes they would explore the quarters of the great city; at other times they would seek the country lanes. The boy’s partiality was for these latter excursions. He could never divest himself of the nameless dread that seized him in mingling with these vast acres of bricks and mortar, of immitigable noise, of unfathomable dirt, and, above all, of his horror of the mighty multitude that rendered the streets so terrible. One day as their steps were pointed towards the heart of the great city, and he was filled with misgiving, he ventured to say, “How I wish, my father, we could walk always where we walked yesterday.”

“As it pleases you, beloved one,” said his father.

A little afterwards his father hailed an omnibus. They climbed together to the roof, and were borne away by the sturdy horses through nests of cheerless houses, and hives of dismal human creatures, until green fields and tall trees came into view. As they walked in these groves already spread in the mantle of spring, and their feet felt the sweet and bright earth responsive beneath them, the boy said, “Why is it, my father, that we sometimes choose the dirt, the noise, and the darkness, when fair Elysium is so close about us?”

“I have observed, beloved one,” said his father, “that you do not always turn to the easy and pleasant authors.”

The boy blushed vividly.

“How I wish,” he said, with vehement lips, “that I had never asked to come here! We will forsake these groves, my father, which are spread with flowers, which are quick with the songs of birds, and not return to them for many days.”

“As you will, Achilles,” said his father gently.

In the spring and summer months the boy sometimes rose at dawn to sally out alone into the streets. They were almost free of traffic and street-persons at this time, and when his courage mounted high he was not afraid to move among them. But later in the day, when the press became so great he could only move abroad mistrustfully, and when the darkness came he only dared to do so in his father’s company.

He determined to celebrate his fifteenth birthday with an adventure. On the eve of that anniversary he made up his mind that on the following morning he would buy a newspaper. When it came he went forth soon after dawn, and remained in the streets until nearly eight o’clock. Then it was he encountered a boy standing by the kerb with a newsbill spread out before it. He had a bundle of newspapers under his arm, and was bawling lustily. The boy approached with many misgivings, but finding that the newsboy was taller, and that his voice was louder than he had at first suspected, he moved away without venturing to speak to him. However, a little farther off was a second newsboy who was very ragged, who was not so tall, and whose voice was not so loud. This boy he spoke to with an inflexible determination in his heart.

“I-if you p-please for w-what p-piece of m-money will you give me one of your n-newspapers?” he said.

“Hay?” said the newsboy, looking at him in amazement.

With infinite difficulty the boy stammered through his question again.

“Why, a ha’penny, o’ course!” said the newsboy gruffly as he scratched his head, for an uneasy suspicion lurked in it that the question was a jest at his personal expense. “Did yer fink they was a quid apiece?”

“I--I w-will purchase one if you please,” said the boy. “T-this is a halfpenny, is it not?”

He produced a shilling, and handed it to the newsboy, who gave him a newspaper in exchange.

“I am much obliged to you,” said the boy, lifting his cap and moving away hurriedly.

The newsboy stared with open mouth after the rapidly receding figure. He then bit the shilling, spat on it, and inserted it carefully in a hole in his somewhat nondescript nether garment.

“Law lummy!” he said.

The boy hurried back to the little room with the newspaper. Within him was a glowing sense of physical achievement which he tried to repress. As he sat down to take breakfast with his father, he said excitedly, “Thou wilt never guess what I have done, O my father!”

“I am sure, Achilles, I cannot,” said his father; and he added, as he placed an arm round the fragile form that was all shaken with excitement, “Whatever you have done, beloved one, I pray that you have not overtaxed your strength.”

“I have purchased one of those newspapers they sell in the streets of the great city, my father,” said the boy. “See, it is here. I trust, my father, there is no reason why I should not address my mind to that which is written therein. I am fifteen years old to-day.”

“As you will, beloved one,” said his father sombrely.

After the meal, when the boy had removed the breakfast things from the table, had cleansed them and laid them by, he sat down to read the newspaper, full of an excited curiosity. As he did so a kind of proud bewilderment came over him that his own personal initiative had brought a thing of such mysterious import into the little room.

He began to read the newspaper at the first word of the first page, at the top corner of the left hand. He read slowly and carefully every word the page contained. He then turned to the next, and continued to go word by word through each one of the twelve pages. When he had finished, he found to his consternation that he had not been able to draw a single ray of meaning out of all that vast assemblage of words. After a period of reflection, in which he refrained zealously from mentioning the subject to his father, he proceeded very carefully to read it again. His failure to understand it proved just as lamentable. In his chagrin and dismay he read it a third time, and a fourth; he committed portions of it by heart; he committed other portions to paper. In the evening he said to his father, with a blank face, “Why, my father, dost thou know that I have not the strength of understanding to comprehend a phrase of what is written in the newspaper!”

His father smiled in his secret manner.

“Can it be, Achilles,” he said, “that here is a bow that you cannot bend?”

“My mind is as grass, my father, before the words in this newspaper,” said the boy woefully. “I am fifteen years old to-day; I have been able to gather the inmost meanings of some of the authors I have read, and even in diverse tongues, my father, from that which is spoken by you and me. For what reason is it that I do not gather that which is written in the newspapers the street-persons are always reading as they walk the streets of the great city?”

“Is it not, beloved one,” said his father, “that these newspapers are composed in the strange tongues of those curious beings who walk the streets of the great city?”

“You would say, my father,” said the boy, “that only street-persons can comprehend that which is written in these newspapers of theirs?”

“At least, beloved one,” said his father, “to comprehend their newspapers we must become familiar with their language, their nature, and their ideas.”

“How I wish,” cried the boy, “that I had never purchased a newspaper! How I wish I had never dared to bring it into this little room of ours!”

With a curious repugnance in his face, the boy rent the newspaper in the middle.

This, however, was not the conclusion of the matter. Although the boy did not refer again to the subject for three days, it was constantly in his thoughts. At the end of that period he said, “He that has a passion, my father, to understand all things, must even understand the contents of a newspaper, must he not? Yet, if he would understand that, must he not first learn all that these street-persons, who darken the great city, are doing and thinking and talking about?”

“The penalty is dire, beloved one,” said his father softly, “for all passions that are imperious.”

“And why these street-persons walk so fast, my father,” said the boy, “and why they look so cruel?”

“He who would converse with the book of their wisdom must not shrink from their knowledge, beloved one,” said his father.

“Yet one such as I must learn to understand all things, my father, must he not?”

“Truly, Achilles,” said his father, “the god-like one who aspires to enfold himself in the mantle of heroes must wear the robe of a wide and deep knowledge of all that is under the sun.”

“I knew it, my father, I knew it!” cried the boy with gaunt eyes.

He sank his head to the table, breathing heavily.

V

In the afternoon of the next day a slight and forlorn figure left the precincts of the little room. Alone the boy stole out of the shop, that _via media_ to the great world out of doors. Timorous of aspect he entered the ever-moving throng in the streets of the great city. At first he hardly dared to look at the faces of the street-persons or to listen to their words; for he was clad in a kind of fear; he was about to pluck the fruit of mysterious knowledge. After awhile, however, he took a little courage. Covertly, and in dread lest his woeful ignorance should be discovered, he began to mark the faces of the street-persons, and to listen that he might hear their words. He even grew so bold as to follow two street-persons whose voices were audible in discourse. Others, whom he observed to be lingering in talk on the pavement, he would approach warily. But in spite of this eager pursuit of knowledge he was obliged to confess that the conversation of these street-persons was as unintelligible as their newspapers.

In the course of his wanderings among the streets of the great city, the boy’s attention was at last attracted by the most beautiful creature he had ever seen outside his dreams and the pages of the ancient authors. She was just a common woman street-person in a particularly gay and handsome dress, yet her skin shone like marble, and her hair was dark and glossy like the plumage of some wonderful bird. A little girl, also dressed in great beauty, was at her side. She had an aureole of golden curls, which to the boy seemed all woven of sunbeams and gossamer. They were walking in an opposite direction to that in which he was going, but in a sudden transport of delight at their appearance he turned and followed them.

Presently the beautiful woman street-person and the little girl stayed their steps to look in the window of a huge and brilliantly decorated shop. The interior seemed so dazzling to the boy that it might have been the palace of a magician. While he stood a little way off observing street-beauty preoccupied with the street-beautiful--and he was fain to confess that when closely observed the street-beautiful seemed much nearer to the beautiful of rare and strange authenticity with which he held constant intercourse, than he had ever suspected--a handsome man street-person, wearing fine clothes, sauntered towards the woman and the little girl.

This man also stayed to look in the bright windows of the shop. To the great surprise and curiosity of the boy, who was observing him closely, although this man spoke neither to the woman nor the little girl nor claimed their attention in any way, his hand entered the woman’s pocket and took out some article which he transferred to his own pocket in his closed fist. Then, without in any way attracting the regard of the woman and the little girl, this handsome and finely-dressed male street-person sauntered away from the shop in just the same careless and leisurely fashion in which he had come near it.

A little while afterwards the woman and the little girl entered the shop. Although the boy was awed by the superb nature of its precincts, his timidity was overcome by the most powerful impulse that had ever been excited in him. It was too potent to resist. Therefore he followed the woman and the little girl into the gorgeous interior, devouring them with his gaze.

A second tall and handsome male street-person, also dressed finely, came forward to greet the woman and the little girl. He bowed to them with graceful deference.

“Let me look at one of those _peignoirs_ you have in the window,” said the woman.

The sound of her voice was so loud and harsh that a cold thrill went through the boy’s veins.

“Certainly, madam,” said the tall man. “Will you kindly go forward? Straight on up the stairs.”

In the middle of the great shop was a broad flight of richly carpeted stairs. The woman, the little girl, and the tall man ascended these. Involuntarily, as if drawn by a magnet, the boy followed them up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs was another great and glittering room. Here were counters and chairs, resplendent articles of wearing apparel strewn all about; and some other women street-persons, who wore no hats, yet very good to look upon and dressed in neat black clothes. The beautiful woman sank languidly upon a chair. The little girl with the golden curls began to roam about the great room.

Quite suddenly the little girl chanced to see the boy, who stood gazing at her with rapture in his eyes. She walked up to him fearlessly as though he were one of her chief friends. She looked upon him in such a manner of artless simplicity that his cheeks began to burn with gladness.

“I yike oo,” said the little girl in a voice so loud and clear that it could be heard all over the great room. “Would oo yike to kiss me?”

The woman half-turned in her chair and looked at the boy coldly and steadily. As his eyes met hers the blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins.

“Come here immediately,” she said to the little girl in the loud tone she had used down-stairs to the tall man. “What a horrid-looking boy! He has a sore on his face.”

The boy grew petrified with fear and distress. As he reeled against one of the counters, with no more life in him than a stone, one of the women in black came up to him.

“You have no right whatever to be here,” she said roughly. “How dare you come in!”

The boy, numb with terror, could hardly apprehend that he was being addressed.

“Miss Sharp,” said the woman in black, turning to one who was similarly attired, “fetch Mr. Parley. This boy has no right whatever to be here.”

The tall man came up.

“Mr. Parley,” said the woman in black, “this boy has been found in this department. Oughtn’t he to be searched?”

“What do you mean by coming into this shop?” said the tall man, turning to the boy very roughly.

“I--I--I d-don’t think I know, sir,” the boy stammered in a voice that was not audible.

The woman with the little girl rose from her chair suddenly.

“Why, where is my purse!” she cried in a tone of angry surprise.

A great outcry seemed to arise all at once. Excited street-persons sprang into being on this side and that. They emerged from behind curtains, doorways and recesses; they came pressing forward until they formed a circle of startled faces around the boy. One and all seemed to be staring with incredulous dismay at an object in their midst.

When the boy had recovered a little from the shock of being addressed in a public manner by street-persons, he began to look about him with a sense of bewilderment, which, however, was quite impersonal. He appeared to be standing in the centre of some strange incident, yet seek as he might he could not discern its nature. The buzz of eager tongues all around seemed to be discussing, that is as far as he could apprehend the queer language that they spoke, some remarkable creature who in sober verity did not appear to be present at all.

“How shocking it is to see crime stamped on such a young face!” he could distinguish as the indignantly spoken words of the street-woman who had lost her purse.

“I do hope the police won’t be long,” said one of the women in black.

“You are sure, Miss Sharp, you saw no confederates?” he heard the tall man say.

“There were no confederates,” said an angular woman with great impressiveness.

“Ah!” said another woman, drawing a breath of relief, “here’s the police.”

The burly forms of two extremely dignified and curiously dressed street-persons, whom the boy’s knowledge of the practical sciences enabled him to identify as police constables, appeared through the ring of excited faces. After they had held some little intercourse with the bystanders, which to the boy was not intelligible, to his astonishment and great consternation one police constable seized him by the right arm, the other by the left. With much celerity they turned out all his pockets and exposed their content to view. Then they began to pull him about in a most curious and alarming manner. They twisted his body this way and that. They gripped him, and shook him, and punched him, and pressed him. They took off his boots and looked into his mouth. The only articles they found in his possession were a handkerchief, fourpence in coppers, and an elzevir volume of Sophocles printed at Düsseldorf in 1640.

“We can’t find no purse, ma’am,” said the more burly of the two police constables, speaking slowly and heavily, “but no doubt you’ll hidentify this?”

He offered the owner of the missing purse the volume of Sophocles.

“I shall identify nothing of the kind,” said the woman angrily. “I want my purse; I can’t live without it,” and then she said with a cold vehemence, “If my purse is not restored to me immediately it will be most serious for everybody. My husband is a member of the Government.”

At this announcement a profound sigh appeared to escape the ever-increasing circle of spectators. The excitement depicted in their faces deepened perceptibly.

“Might I ask for the name of your husband, madam?” said the tall man, with a very grave air.

“My husband,” said the woman in a tone which was quite fit to address a mass meeting, “is Lord Pomeroy, the President of the Board of Public Enlightenment.”

“Then your ladyship is the Countess of Pomeroy!” said the tall man in a voice of awe.

“I have that misfortune,” said the woman, in a tone still louder than any she had used before. As she spoke she looked round at all about her, and in the act of so doing her eyes seemed to bulge out of her head like those of a reptile.

Each police constable saluted respectfully.

“Miss Sharp,” said the tall man, “fetch the manager at once.”

The woman in black tore her skirt and knocked down a china ornament, owing to the expedition with which she went forth to do so.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” said the more amply nourished of the two constables, “but I’m afeared we must ax you to prefer a charge.”

“I have nothing whatever to do with the charges,” said the woman tartly. “I merely ask for my purse; I can’t live without it.”

“Well, my lady,” said the fatter of the two constables, “we can’t do nothing unless you prefers a charge.”

“These people are concerned with the charges,” said the woman, including all present by a comprehensive wave of the hand. “The charges are _entirely_ their affair. They must pay all costs. I hold them _entirely_ responsible for the loss of my purse.”

“Well, your ladyship----”

“Please don’t be stupid, constable,” said the woman. “One feels it is trying you highly. But if these people prove unreasonable you had better communicate with Lord Pomeroy at 220, Carlton House Terrace.”

The throng seemed to grow greater about the boy. The voices of the street-persons seemed to increase in volume and earnestness. By this he was divested of every tremor of fear. All his emotions were merged in wonder and bewilderment, and an overpowering desire to know what would happen next.

An obese and bald-headed man, with superb side-whiskers, who wore a white waistcoat and very bright boots, came forward. His air was a singular admixture of authority and deference. The woman who had lost her purse was now rating the fatter of the two police constables at the top of her voice. The man in the white waistcoat appeared to develop a cough as he stood listening. Once or twice he glanced round at the onlookers, yet affected that he had not done so.

In the meantime the only person on the huge premises who did not seem to be ministering to this spectacle was the little girl with the golden curls. She had strayed away behind one of the counters farther up the room, and was engaged in ransacking several boxes of dolls. Those which particularly appealed to her fancy she stuffed in the pockets of her coat.

After a good deal of argument between the woman who had lost her purse and the more amply nourished of the two police constables, in the course of which the woman said some extremely rude things in an extremely loud voice, all of which were received with much deference, especially by those to whom they were not addressed, she called to the little girl. Cramming another doll in her pocket that fairy-like creature ran to her mother just as that person, somewhat hoarse and red in the face, led the way down-stairs accompanied by the tall man and the manager, each of whom, for a quarter of an hour past, had been issuing somewhat irrelevant instructions to the woman in black and other subordinates.

Behind these three Olympian figures, yet at an effective interval, came the scarcely less Olympian figures of the two official representatives of law and order, whose portliness of aspect, dignity of bearing, and magnificent self-possession were enhanced by the fact that a frail, bewildered and anæmic-looking boy was in their concentrated clutch. A somewhat incongruous but profoundly impressed assemblage brought up the rear of the procession.