Part 47 (1/2)

'Was there not some lent to the man Merridew?'

'A trifle, Sir: a few hundreds only. No: it is all gone. My master and I must become beggars and go together into the workhouse.' He shook his poor old head and went his way.

Now this man had received the treatment of a dog. How long he had been with Probus: what was his previous history I never knew: it matters not: he had received the treatment of a dog and the wages of a galley slave: yet he was faithful and stood by his master--the only living thing who did--in his adversity as in his prosperity.

I next heard from Mr. Ramage that the Counting House was closed and the gates of the Quay locked: that Matthew had run away. Then that the unfortunate Alderman, partner in the House, had been arrested for debt and was taken to the Fleet Prison. After this, that Matthew had been arrested: that he was bankrupt: that he had been taken to the same prison: and that the whole amount of the liabilities was now so great that this meant certain imprisonment for life. By the custom of London, too, a creditor may, before the day of payment, arrest his debtor and oblige him to find sureties to pay the money on the day it shall become due. By this custom the whole of Jenny's liabilities became the cause of new detainers, so that I believe the total amount for which Matthew was imprisoned was not far short of 150,000. I conveyed this intelligence to my mistress.

'Misfortune,' she said, gravely, 'is falling upon all of us. Thou alone wilt survive--the triumph of virtue. Go, however, take the man something, or he will starve. Give it him from me, Will. Tell him--tell him'--She considered for a little. 'Tell him--as soon as I can forget, I will forgive. Not that he cares whether he is forgiven or not. A man, Will, I very truly believe, may be anything he pleases--drunkard--murderer--highwayman: yet something may still survive in him of human kindness. There will still be a place, perhaps, for compa.s.sion or for love. But for a gambler there is no compa.s.sion left.

He is more hardened than the worst villain in this wretched place: he has neither sense, nor pity, nor affection, nor anything. He is all gambler.'

'I will give him your money, Jenny. But not your message.'

She smiled sadly. 'Go, Will. The money will solace him as long as it lasts. Perhaps a quarter of an hour.'

I repaired without delay to the Fleet Prison. Those who walk up and down the Fleet market know of the open window in the wall and the grating, behind which stands a man holding a tin box which he rattles to attract attention while he repeats his parrot cry, 'Pity the Poor Prisoners!

Pity the Poor Prisoners!' This humiliation is imposed upon those of the Common side: they must beg or they must starve. What was my surprise and shame--who could believe that one of my family should fall so low?--to recognise in the prisoner behind these bars, my cousin Matthew! None other. His face was pale--it had always been pale: now it was white: his hand shook: he was unshaven and uncombed: I pretended not to notice him.

I entered the prison and was told that he was holding the plate, but would be free in half an hour. So I waited in the yard until he came out, being relieved of his task. I now saw that he was in rags. How can a man dressed as a substantial merchant fall into rags in a few days?

There was but one answer. The gambler can get rid of everything: Matthew had played for his clothes and lost.

I accosted him. At sight of me he fell into a paroxysm of rage. He reviled and cursed me. I had been the cause of all his misfortunes: he wept and sobbed, being weak for want of food and cold. So I let him go on until he stopped and sank exhausted upon the bench.

Then I told him that I had come to him from his wife. He began again to curse and to swear. It was Jenny now who was the cause of all his troubles: it was Jenny who refused to obey him: her liabilities alone had prevented him from weathering the storm: he should certainly have weathered the storm: and so on--foolish recrimination that meant nothing.

I made no answer until he had again exhausted his strength, but not his bitterness.

'Matthew,' I said, 'the woman against whom you have been railing sends you money. Here it is. Use it for living and not for gambling,' The money I gave him was five guineas.

The moment he had it in his hand he hurried away as fast as he could go.

I thought he ran away in order to conceal his agitation or shame at receiving these coals of fire. Not so, it was in order to find out someone who would sit down to play with him. Oh! It was a madness.

I watched him. He ran to the kitchen and bought some food. He swallowed it eagerly. Then he bent his steps to the coffee-room. I followed and looked in. He was already at a table opposite another man, and in his hands was a pack of cards. In a few hours or a few minutes--it mattered not which--Jenny's present of five guineas would be gone, and the man would be dest.i.tute again. Poor wretch! One forgave him all considering this madness that had fallen upon him.

'But,' said Jenny, 'he was bad before he was mad. He was bad when he married me: he is only worse: nothing more is the matter with him.'

But my uncle, the Alderman, also involved in the bankruptcy, had been carried to the same place, while his great house on Clapham Common, with all his plate and fine furniture, had been sold for the benefit of the creditors. Matthew had ruined all. I went to see him. He was on the Masters', not the common side. It was a most melancholy spectacle. For my own part I bore the poor man no kind of malice. He had but believed things told him concerning me. He gave me his hand.

'Nephew,' he said, his voice breaking, 'this is but a poor place for an Alderman: yet it is to be my portion for the brief remainder of my days.

What would my brother--your father--have said if he had known? But he could not even suspect: no one could suspect--'

'Nay, Sir,' I said, 'I hope that your creditors will give you a speedy release.'

'I doubt it, Will. They are incensed--and justly so--at their treatment by--by--Matthew. They reproach me with not knowing what was doing--why, Will, I trusted my son'--he sobbed--'my son--Absalom, my son--the steady sober son, for whom I have thanked G.o.d so often: Will, he made me believe evil things of thee: he accused thee of such profligacy as we dare not speak of in the City: profligacy such as young men of Quality may practise but not young men of the City. I dared not tell my brother all that he told me.'

'Indeed, Sir, I know how he persuaded not only you but my father as well--to my injury. In the end it was my own act and deed that drove me forth, because I would not give up my music.'

'If not that, then something else would have served his purpose. Alas!