Part 28 (2/2)
”Poor soul! poor soul! And--now my Arvie's gone. Whatever will me and the children do? Whatever will I do? Whatever will I do? My G.o.d! I wish I was under the turf.”
”Cheer up, mum!” said Bill. ”It's no use frettin' over what's done.”
He wiped some tobacco-juice off his lips with the back of his hand, and regarded the stains reflectively for a minute or so. Then he looked at Arvie again.
”You should ha' tried cod liver oil,” said Bill.
”No. He needed rest and plenty of good food.”
”He wasn't very strong.”
”No, he was not, poor boy.”
”I thought he wasn't. They treated him bad at Grinder Brothers: they didn't give him a show to learn nothing; kept him at the same work all the time, and he didn't have cheek enough to arsk the boss for a rise, lest he'd be sacked. He couldn't fight, an' the boys used to tease him; they'd wait outside the shop to have a lark with Arvie. I'd like to see 'em do it to me. He couldn't fight; but then, of course, he wasn't strong. They don't bother me while I'm strong enough to heave a rock; but then, of course, it wasn't Arvie's fault. I s'pose he had pluck enough, if he hadn't the strength.” And Bill regarded the corpse with a fatherly and lenient eye.
”My G.o.d!” she cried, ”if I'd known this, I'd sooner have starved than have my poor boy's life tormented out of him in such a place. He never complained. My poor, brave-hearted child! He never complained! Poor little Arvie! Poor little Arvie!”
”He never told yer?”
”No--never a word.”
”My oath! You don't say so! P'raps he didn't want to let you know he couldn't hold his own; but that wasn't his fault, I s'pose. Y'see, he wasn't strong.”
An old print hanging over the bed attracted his attention, and he regarded it with critical interest for awhile:
”We've got a pickcher like that at home. We lived in Jones's Alley wunst--in that house over there. How d'yer like livin' in Jones's Alley?”
”I don't like it at all. I don't like having to bring my children up where there are so many bad houses; but I can't afford to go somewhere else and pay higher rent.”
”Well, there _is_ a good many night-shops round here. But then,” he added, reflectively, ”you'll find them everywheres. An', besides, the kids git sharp, an' pick up a good deal in an alley like this; 'twon't do 'em no harm; it's no use kids bein' green if they wanter get on in a city. You ain't been in Sydney all yer life, have yer?”
”No. We came from the bush, about five years ago. My poor husband thought he could do better in the city. I was brought up in the bush.”'
”I thought yer was. Well, men are sick fools. I'm thinking about gittin'
a billet up-country, myself, soon. Where's he goin' ter be buried?”
”At Rookwood, to-morrow.”
”I carn't come. I've got ter work. Is the Guvmint goin' to bury him?”
”Yes.”
Bill looked at the body with increased respect. ”Kin I do anythin' for you? Now, don't be frightened to arsk!”
”No. Thank you very much, all the same.”
”Well, I must be goin'; thank yer fur yer trouble, mum.”
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