Love and Mr. Lewisham Read online

  CHAPTER XXV.

  THE FIRST BATTLE.

  Lewisham's inquiries for evening teaching and private tuition wereessentially provisional measures. His proposals for a more permanentestablishment displayed a certain defect in his sense ofproportion. That Melbourne professorship, for example, was beyond hismerits, and there were aspects of things that would have affected thewelcome of himself and his wife at Eton College. At the outset he wasinclined to regard the South Kensington scholar as the intellectualsalt of the earth, to overrate the abundance of "decent things"yielding from one hundred and fifty to three hundred a year, and todisregard the competition of such inferior enterprises as theuniversities of Oxford, Cambridge, and the literate North. But thescholastic agents to whom he went on the following Saturday did muchin a quiet way to disabuse his mind.

  Mr. Blendershin's chief assistant in the grimy little office in OxfordStreet cleared up the matter so vigorously that Lewisham was angered."Headmaster of an endowed school, perhaps!" said Mr. Blendershin'schief assistant "Lord!--why not a bishopric? I say,"--asMr. Blendershin entered smoking an assertive cigar--"one-and-twenty,_no_ degree, _no_ games, two years' experience as junior--wants aheadmastership of an endowed school!" He spoke so loudly that it wasinevitable the selection of clients in the waiting-room should hear,and he pointed with his pen.

  "Look here!" said Lewisham hotly; "if I knew the ways of the market Ishouldn't come to you."

  Mr. Blendershin stared at Lewisham for a moment. "What's he done inthe way of certificates?" asked Mr. Blendershin of the assistant.

  The assistant read a list of 'ologies and 'ographies. "Fiftyresident," said Mr. Blendershin concisely--"that's _your_figure. Sixty, if you're lucky."

  "_What_?" said Mr. Lewisham.

  "Not enough for you?"

  "Not nearly."

  "You can get a Cambridge graduate for eighty resident--and grateful,"said Mr. Blendershin.

  "But I don't want a resident post," said Lewisham.

  "Precious few non-resident shops," said Mr. Blendershin. "Preciousfew. They want you for dormitory supervision--and they're afraid ofyour taking pups outside."

  "Not married by any chance?" said the assistant suddenly, after anattentive study of Lewisham's face.

  "Well--er." Lewisham met Mr. Blendershin's eye. "Yes," he said.

  The assistant was briefly unprintable. "Lord! you'll have to keep thatdark," said Mr. Blendershin. "But you have got a tough bit of hoeingbefore you. If I was you I'd go on and get my degree now you're sonear it. You'll stand a better chance."

  Pause.

  "The fact is," said Lewisham slowly and looking at his boot toes, "Imust be doing _something_ while I am getting my degree."

  The assistant, whistled softly.

  "Might get you a visiting job, perhaps," said Mr. Blendershinspeculatively. "Just read me those items again, Binks." He listenedattentively. "Objects to religious teaching!--Eh?" He stopped thereading by a gesture, "That's nonsense. You can't have everything, youknow. Scratch that out. You won't get a place in any middle-classschool in England if you object to religious teaching. It's themothers--bless 'em! Say nothing about it. Don't believe--who does?There's hundreds like you, you know--hundreds. Parsons--all sorts. Saynothing about it--"

  "But if I'm asked?"

  "Church of England. Every man in this country who has not dissentedbelongs to the Church of England. It'll be hard enough to get youanything without that."

  "But--" said Mr. Lewisham. "It's lying."

  "Legal fiction," said Mr. Blendershin. "Everyone understands. If youdon't do that, my dear chap, we can't do anything for you. It'sJournalism, or London docks. Well, considering your experience,--saydocks."

  Lewisham's face flushed irregularly. He did not answer. He scowled andtugged at the still by no means ample moustache.

  "Compromise, you know," said Mr. Blendershin, watching himkindly. "Compromise."

  For the first time in his life Lewisham faced the necessity of tellinga lie in cold blood. He glissaded from, the austere altitudes of hisself-respect, and his next words were already disingenuous.

  "I won't promise to tell lies if I'm asked," he said aloud. "I can'tdo that."

  "Scratch it out," said Blendershin to the clerk. "You needn't mentionit. Then you don't say you can teach drawing."

  "I can't," said Lewisham.

  "You just give out the copies," said Blendershin, "and take care theydon't see you draw, you know."

  "But that's not teaching drawing--"

  "It's what's understood by it in _this_ country," said Blendershin."Don't you go corrupting your mind with pedagogueries. They're theruin of assistants. Put down drawing. Then there's shorthand--"

  "Here, I say!" said Lewisham.

  "There's shorthand, French, book-keeping, commercial geography, landmeasuring--"

  "But I can't teach any of those things!"

  "Look here," said Blendershin, and paused. "Has your wife or you aprivate income?"

  "No," said Lewisham.

  "Well?"

  A pause of further moral descent, and a whack against an obstacle."But they will find me out," said Lewisham.

  Blendershin smiled. "It's not so much ability as willingness to teach,you know. And _they_ won't find you out. The sort of schoolmaster wedeal with can't find anything out. He can't teach any of these thingshimself--and consequently he doesn't believe they _can_ be taught.Talk to him of pedagogics and he talks of practical experience. But heputs 'em on his prospectus, you know, and he wants 'em on histime-table. Some of these subjects--There's commercial geography, forinstance. What _is_ commercial geography?"

  "Barilla," said the assistant, biting the end of his pen, and addedpensively, "_and_ blethers."

  "Fad," said Blendershin, "Just fad. Newspapers talk rot aboutcommercial education, Duke of Devonshire catches on and talksditto--pretends he thought it himself--much _he_ cares--parents gethold of it--schoolmasters obliged to put something down, consequentlyassistants must. And that's the end of the matter!"

  "_All_ right," said Lewisham, catching his breath in a faint sob ofshame, "Stick 'em down. But mind--a non-resident place."

  "Well," said Blendershin, "your science may pull you through. But Itell you it's hard. Some grant-earning grammar school may wantthat. And that's about all, I think. Make a note of the address...."

  The assistant made a noise, something between a whistle and the word"Fee." Blendershin glanced at Lewisham and nodded doubtfully.

  "Fee for booking," said the assistant; "half a crown, postage--inadvance--half a crown."

  But Lewisham remembered certain advice Dunkerley had given him in theold Whortley days. He hesitated. "No," he said. "I don't pay that. Ifyou get me anything there's the commission--if you don't--"

  "We lose," supplied the assistant.

  "And you ought to," said Lewisham. "It's a fair game."

  "Living in London?" asked Blendershin.

  "Yes," said the clerk.

  "That's all right," said Mr. Blendershin. "We won't say anything aboutthe postage in that case. Of course it's the off season, and youmustn't expect anything at present very much. Sometimes there's ashift or so at Easter.... There's nothing more.... Afternoon. Anyoneelse, Binks?"

  Messrs. Maskelyne, Smith, and Thrums did a higher class of work thanBlendershin, whose specialities were lower class privateestablishments and the cheaper sort of endowed schools. Indeed, sosuperior were Maskelyne, Smith, and Thrums that they enraged Lewishamby refusing at first to put him on their books. He was interviewedbriefly by a young man dressed and speaking with offensive precision,whose eye adhered rigidly to the waterproof collar throughout theinterview.

  "Hardly our line," he said, and pushed Lewisham a form to fillup. "Mostly upper class and good preparatory schools here, you know."

  As Lewisham filled up the form with his multitudinous "'ologies" and"'ographies," a youth of ducal appearance entered and greeted theprecise young man in a friendly way. Lewisham, bending down to write,perceived
that this professional rival wore a very long frock coat,patent leather boots, and the most beautiful grey trousers. Hisconceptions of competition enlarged. The precise young man by a motionof his eyes directed the newcomer's attention to Lewisham's waterproofcollar, and was answered by raised eyebrows and a faint tightening ofthe mouth. "That bounder at Castleford has answered me," said thenew-comer in a fine rich voice. "Is he any bally good?"

  When the bounder at Castleford had been discussed Lewisham presentedhis paper, and the precise young man with his eye still fixed on thewaterproof collar took the document in the manner of one who reachesacross a gulf. "I doubt if we shall be able to do anything for you,"he said reassuringly. "But an English mastership may chance to bevacant. Science doesn't count for much in _our_ sort of schools, youknow. Classics and good games--that's our sort of thing."

  "I see," said Lewisham.

  "Good games, good form, you know, and all that sort of thing."

  "I see," said Lewisham.

  "You don't happen to be a public-school boy?" asked the precise youngman.

  "No," said Lewisham.

  "Where were you educated?"

  Lewisham's face grew hot. "Does that matter?" he asked, with his eyeon the exquisite grey trousering.

  "In our sort of school--decidedly. It's a question of tone, you know."

  "I see," said Lewisham, beginning to realise new limitations. Hisimmediate impulse was to escape the eye of the nicely dressedassistant master. "You'll write, I suppose, if you have anything," hesaid, and the precise young man responded with alacrity to hisdoor-ward motion.

  "Often get that kind of thing?" asked the nicely dressed young manwhen Lewisham had departed.

  "Rather. Not quite so bad as that, you know. That waterproofcollar--did you notice it? Ugh! And--'I see.' And the scowl and theclumsiness of it. Of course _he_ hasn't any decent clothes--he'd goto a new shop with one tin box! But that sort of thing--and boardschool teachers--they're getting everywhere! Only the otherday--Rowton was here."

  "Not Rowton of Pinner?"

  "Yes, Rowton of Pinner. And he asked right out for a boardschoolmaster. He said, 'I want someone who can teach arithmetic.'"

  He laughed. The nicely dressed young man meditated over the handle ofhis cane. "A bounder of that kind can't have a particularly nicetime," he said, "anyhow. If he does get into a decent school, he mustget tremendously cut by all the decent men."

  "Too thick-skinned to mind that sort of thing, I fancy," said thescholastic agent. "He's a new type. This South Kensington place andthe polytechnics an turning him out by the hundred...."

  Lewisham forgot his resentment at having to profess a religion he didnot believe, in this new discovery of the scholastic importance ofclothing. He went along with an eye to all the shop windows thatafforded a view of his person. Indisputably his trousers _were_ungainly, flapping abominably over his boots and bagging terribly atthe knees, and his boots were not only worn and ugly but extremely illblacked. His wrists projected offensively from his coat sleeves, heperceived a huge asymmetry in the collar of his jacket, his red tiewas askew and ill tied, and that waterproof collar! It was shiny,slightly discoloured, suddenly clammy to the neck. What if he didhappen to be well equipped for science teaching? That was nothing. Hespeculated on the cost of a complete outfit. It would be difficult toget such grey trousers as those he had seen for less than sixteenshillings, and he reckoned a frock coat at forty shillings atleast--possibly even more. He knew good clothes were veryexpensive. He hesitated at Poole's door and turned away. The thing wasout of the question. He crossed Leicester Square and went downBedford Street, disliking every well-dressed person he met.

  Messrs. Danks and Wimborne inhabited a bank-like establishment nearChancery Lane, and without any conversation presented him with formsto fill up. Religion? asked the form. Lewisham paused and wrote"Church of England."

  Thence he went to the College of Pedagogues in Holborn. The College ofPedagogues presented itself as a long-bearded, corpulent, comfortableperson with a thin gold watch chain and fat hands. He wore giltglasses and had a kindly confidential manner that did much to healLewisham's wounded feelings. The 'ologies and 'ographies were takendown with polite surprise at their number. "You ought to take one ofour diplomas," said the stout man. "You would find no difficulty. Nocompetition. And there are prizes--several prizes--in money."

  Lewisham was not aware that the waterproof collar had found asympathetic observer.

  "We give courses of lectures, and have an examination in the theoryand practice of education. It is the only examination in the theoryand practice of education for men engaged in middle and upper classteaching in this country. Except the Teacher's Diploma. And so fewcome--not two hundred a year. Mostly governesses. The men prefer toteach by rule of thumb, you know. English characteristic--rule ofthumb. It doesn't do to say anything of course--but there's bound tobe--something happen--something a little disagreeable--somewhen ifthings go on as they do. American schools keep on gettingbetter--German too. What used to do won't do now. I tell this to you,you know, but it doesn't do to tell everyone. It doesn't do. Itdoesn't do to do anything. So much has to be considered. However... But you'd do well to get a diploma and make yourselfefficient. Though that's looking ahead."

  He spoke of looking ahead with an apologetic laugh as though it was anamiable weakness of his. He turned from such abstruse matters andfurnished Lewisham with the particulars of the college diplomas, andproceeded to other possibilities. "There's private tuition," hesaid. "Would you mind a backward boy? Then we are occasionally askedfor visiting masters. Mostly by girls' schools. But that's for oldermen--married men, you know."

  "I am married," said Lewisham.

  "_Eh_?" said the College of Pedagogues, startled.

  "I _am_ married," said Lewisham.

  "Dear me," said the College of Pedagogues gravely, and regardingMr. Lewisham over gold-rimmed glasses. "Dear me! And I am more thantwice your age, and I am not married at all. One-and-twenty! Haveyou--have you been married long?"

  "A few weeks," said Lewisham.

  "That's very remarkable," said the College of Pedagogues. "Veryinteresting.... _Really!_ Your wife must be a very courageous youngperson.... Excuse me! You know--You will really have a hard fight fora position. However--it certainly makes you eligible for girls'schools; it does do that. To a certain extent, that is."

  The evidently enhanced respect of the College of Pedagogues pleasedLewisham extremely. But his encounter with the Medical, Scholastic,and Clerical Agency that holds by Waterloo Bridge was depressingagain, and after that he set out to walk home. Long before he reachedhome he was tired, and his simple pride in being married and in activegrapple with an unsympathetic world had passed. His surrender on thereligious question had left a rankling bitterness behind it; theproblem of the clothes was acutely painful. He was still far from afirm grasp of the fact that his market price was under rather thanover one hundred pounds a year, but that persuasion was gaining groundin his mind.

  The day was a greyish one, with a dull cold wind, and a nail in one ofhis boots took upon itself to be objectionable. Certain wild shotsand disastrous lapses in his recent botanical examination, that he hadmanaged to keep out of his mind hitherto, forced their way on hisattention. For the first time since his marriage he harbouredpremonitions of failure.

  When he got in he wanted to sit down at once in the little creakychair by the fire, but Ethel came flitting from the newly boughttypewriter with arms extended and prevented him. "Oh!--it _has_ beendull," she said.

  He missed the compliment. "_I_ haven't had such a giddy time that youshould grumble," he said, in a tone that was novel to her. Hedisengaged himself from her arms and sat down. He noticed theexpression of her face.

  "I'm rather tired," he said by way of apology. "And there's aconfounded nail I must hammer down in my boot. It's tiring workhunting up these agents, but of course it's better to go and seethem. How have you been getting on?"

  "All right," she said, re
garding him. And then, "You _are_ tired.We'll have some tea. And--let me take off your boot for you, dear.Yes--I will."

  She rang the bell, bustled out of the room, called for tea at thestaircase, came back, pulled out Madam Gadow's ungainly hassock andbegan unlacing his boot. Lewisham's mood changed. "You _are_ a trump,Ethel," he said; "I'm hanged if you're not." As the laces flicked hebent forward and kissed her ear. The unlacing was suspended and therewere reciprocal endearments....

  Presently he was sitting in his slippers, with a cup of tea in hishand, and Ethel, kneeling on the hearthrug with the firelight on herface, was telling him of an answer that had come that afternoon to heradvertisement in the _Athenaeum_.

  "That's good," said Lewisham.

  "It's a novelist," she said with the light of pride in her eyes, andhanded him the letter. "Lucas Holderness, the author of 'The Furnaceof Sin' and other stories."

  "That's first rate," said Lewisham with just a touch of envy, and bentforward to read by the firelight.

  The letter was from an address in Judd Street, Euston Road, written ongood paper and in a fair round hand such as one might imagine anovelist using. "Dear Madam," said the letter, "I propose to send you,by registered letter, the MS. of a three-volume novel. It is about90,000 words--but you must count the exact number."

  "How I shall count I don't know," said Ethel.

  "I'll show you a way," said Lewisham. "There's no difficulty inthat. You count the words on three or four pages, strike an average,and multiply."

  "But, of course, before doing so I must have a satisfactory guaranteethat my confidence in putting my work in your hands will not bemisplaced and that your execution is of the necessary high quality."

  "Oh!" said Lewisham; "that's a bother."

  "Accordingly I must ask you for references."

  "That's a downright nuisance," said Lewisham. "I suppose that ass,Lagune ... But what's this? 'Or, failing references, for a deposit...' That's reasonable, I suppose."

  It was such a moderate deposit too--merely a guinea. Even had thedoubt been stronger, the aspect of helpful hopeful little Ethel eagerfor work might well have thrust it aside. "Sending him a cheque willshow him we have a banking account behind us," said Lewisham,--hisbanking was still sufficiently recent for pride. "We will send him acheque. That'll settle _him_ all right."

  That evening after the guinea cheque had been despatched, things werefurther brightened by the arrival of a letter of atrociouslyjellygraphed advices from Messrs. Danks and Wimborne. They allreferred to resident vacancies for which Lewisham was manifestlyunsuitable, nevertheless their arrival brought an encouragingassurance of things going on, of shifting and unstable places in thedefences of the beleaguered world. Afterwards, with occasionalendearments for Ethel, he set himself to a revision of his last year'snote-books, for now the botany was finished, the advanced zoologicalcourse--the last lap, as it were, for the Forbes medal--wasbeginning. She got her best hat from the next room to make certainchanges in the arrangement of its trimmings. She sat in the littlechair, while Lewisham, with documents spread before him, sat at thetable.

  Presently she looked up from an experimental arrangement of hercornflowers, and discovered Lewisham, no longer reading, but staringblankly at the middle of the table-cloth, with an extraordinary miseryin his eyes. She forgot the cornflowers and stared at him.

  "Penny," she said after an interval.

  Lewisham started and looked up. "_Eh_?"

  "Why were you looking so miserable?" she asked.

  "_Was_ I looking miserable?"

  "Yes. And _cross_!"

  "I was thinking just then that I would like to boil a bishop or so inoil."

  "My dear!"

  "They know perfectly well the case against what they teach, they knowit's neither madness nor wickedness nor any great harm, to others notto believe, they know perfectly well that a man may be as honest asthe day, and right--right and decent in every way--and not believe inwhat they teach. And they know that it only wants the edge off a man'shonour, for him to profess anything in the way of belief. Justanything. And they won't say so. I suppose they want the edge offevery man's honour. If a man is well off they will truckle to him noend, though he laughs at all their teaching. They'll take gold platefrom company promoters and rent from insanitary houses. But if a manis poor and doesn't profess to believe in what some of them scarcelybelieve themselves, they wouldn't lift a finger to help him againstthe ignorance of their followers. Your stepfather was right enoughthere. They know what's going on. They know that it means lying andhumbug for any number of people, and they don't care. Why shouldthey? _They've_ got it down all right. They're spoilt, and whyshouldn't we be?"

  Lewisham having selected the bishops as scapegoats for his turpitude,was inclined to ascribe even the nail in his boot to their agency.

  Mrs. Lewisham looked puzzled. She realised his drift.

  "You're not," she said, and dropped her voice, "an _infidel_?"

  Lewisham nodded gloomily. "Aren't you?" he said.

  "Oh no," said Mrs. Lewisham.

  "But you don't go to church, you don't--"

  "No, I don't," said Mrs. Lewisham; and then with more assurance, "ButI'm not an infidel."

  "Christian?"

  "I suppose so."

  "But a Christian--What do you believe?"

  "Oh! to tell the truth, and do right, and not hurt or injure peopleand all that."

  "That's not a Christian. A Christian is one who believes."

  "It's what _I_ mean by a Christian," said Mrs. Lewisham.

  "Oh! at that rate anyone's a Christian," said Lewisham. "We all thinkit's right to do right and wrong to do wrong."

  "But we don't all do it," said Mrs. Lewisham, taking up thecornflowers again.

  "No," said Lewisham, a little taken aback by the feminine method ofdiscussion. "We don't all do it--certainly." He stared at her for amoment--her head was a little on one side and her eyes on thecornflower--and his mind was full of a strange discovery. He seemed onthe verge of speaking, and turned to his note-book again.

  Very soon the centre of the table-cloth resumed its sway.

  * * * * *

  The following day Mr. Lucas Holderness received his cheque for aguinea. Unhappily it was crossed. He meditated for some time, and thentook pen and ink and improved Lewisham's careless "one" to "five" andtouched up his unticked figure one to correspond.

  You perceive him, a lank, cadaverous, good-looking man with long blackhair and a semi-clerical costume of quite painful rustiness. He madethe emendations with grave carefulness. He took the cheque round tohis grocer. His grocer looked at it suspiciously.

  "You pay it in," said Mr. Lucas Holderness, "if you've any doubtsabout it. Pay it in. _I_ don't know the man or what he is. He may be aswindler for all I can tell. _I_ can't answer for him. Pay it in andsee. Leave the change till then. I can wait. I'll call round in a fewdays' time."

  "All right, wasn't it?" said Mr. Lucas Holderness in a casual tone twodays later.

  "Quite, sir," said his grocer with enhanced respect, and handed himhis four pounds thirteen and sixpence change.

  Mr. Lucas Holderness, who had been eyeing the grocer's stock with acurious intensity, immediately became animated and bought a tin ofsalmon. He went out of the shop with the rest of the money in hishand, for the pockets of his clothes were old and untrustworthy. Atthe baker's he bought a new roll.

  He bit a huge piece of the roll directly he was out of the shop, andwent on his way gnawing. It was so large a piece that his gnawingmouth was contorted into the ugliest shapes. He swallowed by aneffort, stretching his neck each time. His eyes expressed an animalsatisfaction. He turned the corner of Judd Street biting again at theroll, and the reader of this story, like the Lewishams, hears of himno more.