Part 49 (1/2)
”I am starving.”
With the words, the scarlet spots in his cheeks deepened to a fiercer hue, and he hung his head like one abruptly overwhelmed with shame.
”For G.o.d's sake give me something!” he muttered. ”I've--I've never done this before.”
Horace's hand went to his waistcoat pocket, but before he could take out a coin Mrs. Errington had decisively intervened.
”Horace, I forbid you,” she said.
”Mater!”
”Understand--I forbid you.”
She took his arm and they walked on, leaving the man standing by the water-side. He did not follow them or repeat his dismal statement, only let his head drop forward on his bosom, while his fingers twisted themselves convulsively together.
Meanwhile a hot argument was proceeding between Mrs. Errington and Horace. For once it seemed that the boy was inclined to defy his mother.
”Let me give him something--only a few coppers,” he said.
”No; beggars ought not to be encouraged.”
”That chap isn't a regular beggar. I'll wager anything it's true. He is starving.”
”Nonsense! They always say so.”
”Mater--stop! I must----”
Horace paused resolutely and looked round. In the distance the man could still be seen standing where they had left him, his head drooped, his narrow shoulders hunched slightly forward.
”Let me run back,” the boy went on; ”I won't be a minute.”
But Mrs. Errington's curious parsimony was roused now to full activity.
”I will not allow it,” she said; ”the man is probably a thief and a drunkard. Hyde Park swarms with bad characters.”
”Bad character or not, he's starving. Anyone can see that.”
”Then let him starve. It's his own fault. Let him starve! n.o.body need unless they have committed some folly, or, worse, some crime. There's bread enough for all who deserve to live. I have no sympathy with all this preposterous pauperising which goes by the name of charity. It's a fad, a fas.h.i.+on--nothing more.”
She forced her son to walk on. As they went he cast a last glance back at the beggar.
”Mater, you're cruel!” he said, moved by a strength of emotion that was unusual in him--”hard and cruel!”
Mrs. Errington made no reply. She had gained her point, and cared for little else.
”You'll repent this some day,” Horace continued.
He was in a pa.s.sion, and scarcely knew what he was saying. Strings seemed drawn tightly round his heart, and angry tears rose to his eyes.
”You'll repent it, I bet!” he added.