<h2><SPAN name="page141"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>XV.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">On</span> a Saturday afternoon about this
time, Uncle Isaac, in his best black suit and very tall hat, and
with the Turk’s-head walking-stick in his hand, started out
to see a foreman. Work was rather slack just now
(shipwrights’ work was slack everywhere), and the three
holidays a week that once were the glory and boast of a free and
independent shipwright, were now apt to be a woeful
compulsion. Uncle Isaac had been of late poorer (because
idler) than he liked, and in such case it was his way to seek the
chance of meeting his foreman out of hours, in order to a display
of rhetoric, oblique flattery, and dexterous suggestion, that
might influence a distribution of short time that would be more
favourable to the orator.</p>
<p>He had wondered much as to the fortunes of Nan and her
children, but as it has been said, his tenderness of heart kept
him as far as possible from what he believed must now be a scene
of sheer failure and destitution: if, indeed, the shop were not
abandoned; and he was by no means anxious that his poor relations
should discover his new lodgings. So now he picked his way
<SPAN name="page142"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>with
circumspection, and with careful cogitation of a mental map of
the streets; because a thoughtless straightforward journey would
take him much too near to Harbour Lane.</p>
<p>He crossed a swing bridge that gave access to a hundred and
fifty yards of roadway ending in another swing bridge. But
there was a crook in the road, and when he passed it he found
that the second bridge was open. Now in Blackwall an
“open” bridge did not mean one that the passenger
could cross; that was a “shut” bridge. The
“open” bridge was one swung aside to let a ship
through, as a pair of gates is opened for a carriage. So
Uncle Isaac resigned himself to wait, with an increasingly
impatient group, till the bridge should swing into place again
and give passage. He stood behind the chain that hung
across the road to check traffic, and meditatively rubbed his
nose with the Turk’s-head. Presently he grew
conscious of a rusty figure on his left, edging unsteadily a
little nearer.</p>
<p>“’Ow do, Mr. Mundy?” came a hoarse
whisper. And Mother Born-drunk, a trifle less drunk than
usual, but careful to grasp a post, leered a grimy leer and waved
her disengaged hand in his face, as one saluting a friend at a
great distance. Uncle Isaac emitted a non-committal
grunt—one that might be taken for an accidental cough by
the bystanders—and sidled a foot or two away. For he,
too, had known Emma Pacey in her more decent <SPAN name="page143"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>days, and,
with other acquaintances of that time, was sometimes put to
shifts to avoid her.</p>
<p>Mother Born-drunk left the post and followed her victim.
“Don’ run ’way,” she ejaculated,
unsteadily. “I’m ole pal. Mish’
Mundy!” She thrust out a foul paw, and dropped her
voice coaxingly. “Len’sh twopence!”
Uncle Isaac gazed uneasily in another direction, and took more
ground to the right. The waiting passengers, glad of a
little amusement, grinned one at another.</p>
<p>“J’year, Mr. Mundy!” This in a loud
voice, with an imperious gesture.
“J’year! Can’tche’ answer when a
lady speaks t’ye?”</p>
<p>“Go on, guv’nor!” said a boy encouragingly,
sitting on a post. “Where’s yer manners?
Take auf yer ’at to the laidy!” And there was a
snigger. Uncle Isaac shifted farther still, and put a group
of men between himself and his persecutor. But she was not
to be so easily shaken off. Drawing herself up with a
scornful majesty that was marred by an occasional lurch, and the
bobbing of the tangled bonnet hanging over one ear, she came
after Uncle Isaac through the passage readily made by the knot of
men.</p>
<p>“Ho! so it’s this, is it,” she declaimed,
with a stately backward sweep of the arm. “If a lady
asks a triflin’ favour you insult ’er. Ye low,
common, scoundrel!” This very slowly, with a deep
tragedy hiss and a long <SPAN name="page144"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>pause. Then with a piercing
note of appeal: “Mr. Mundy! I demand an answer!
Once more! <i>Will</i> you lend me twopence?”</p>
<p>The people (a small crowd by this time) forgot the troublesome
bridge, and turned to the new diversion. “Give the
laidy twopence!” roared the boy on the post, in a deep
bass. “’Arf a pint ’ud save ’er
life!”</p>
<p>Uncle Isaac looked desperately about him, but he saw no
sympathy. Dockmen, workmen, boys—all were agog to see
as much fun as possible in the time at disposal. The
pursuing harpy came a step nearer, and bawled again,
“<i>Will</i> you lend me twopence?”</p>
<p>“No!” cried Uncle Isaac, driven to bay at
last. “No, I won’t! Go away! Go
away, you—you infamious creacher!”</p>
<p>“You won’t?”</p>
<p>“No, not by no means. Go away. Y’ought
to be ashamed of yerself, you—you—you opstroperous
faggit!”</p>
<p>“Calls ’isself a gen’leman,” she said,
lifting her gaze to the clouds. “Calls ’isself
a gen’leman, an’ uses such language to a
lady!”</p>
<p>“Shockin’,” said one in the hilarious
crowd. “What a wicked ole bloke!”</p>
<p>Uncle Isaac gave another unquiet glance about him, and moved
another yard. The woman brought her eyes to earth again,
and: “Won’t gimme twopence,” she <SPAN name="page145"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>proclaimed,
“an’ I’m a orficer’s widow! Never
mind, len’ me a penny; on’y a penny, Mr. Mundy.
Do, there’sh a dear! O you <i>are</i> a ole
duck!” And Mother Born-drunk stumbled toward Uncle
Isaac with affectionately extended arms.</p>
<p>The crowd shrieked with joy, but Uncle Isaac turned and ran,
one hand clapped to the crown of his very tall hat. He
would wait for no bridge now, but get away as best he
could. The boys yelled and whistled, and kept up at an easy
trot with the quick scuttle of his short legs; behind them came
Mother Born-drunk, tripping and floundering, spurred to infuriate
chase by sight and sound of her unchanging enemies, the boys, and
growing at every step more desirous of clawing at one of them
than of catching Uncle Isaac.</p>
<p>As for him, he dropped his hat once, and nearly fell on it, in
looking behind. So he thrust it under his arm as he
scurried past the bend in the road; and there despair seized him,
for now the other bridge was open too. Which escape might
he make first? At the end from which he had turned back, a
great liner was being towed through at a snail’s pace,
funnels and masts scarce seeming to move across the street.
But at this end a small coaster went out briskly, and her mizzen
was more than half over now. The woman was less than twenty
yards off, but though she still staggered nearer, she was engaged
with boys. Uncle Isaac put <SPAN name="page146"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>panic aside, and resolved on
dignity. He took his hat from under his arm, and began to
brush it on his sleeve.</p>
<p>Mother Born-drunk was in the hands of her enemies, though
there were fewer than usual. She swore and swiped at them,
and they flung and yelled and danced. But they drew nearer
Uncle Isaac, for it was a new variation in the sport to involve
an old gentleman with his Sunday clothes on. Then shouted
the woman breathlessly: “P’lice! p’lice!
Mish’ Mundy, I’ll give y’ in charge for
annoyin’ me. ’J’ear!” She
came very near and made a catch at him, which he dodged without
regard to dignity. “Mish’ Mundy! Stand a
drop—just a little drop for ole times! If ye
don’t stand a drop I’ll give y’ in
charge!”</p>
<p>The coaster was through, and soon the bridge would shut.
Uncle Isaac moved up toward the chain amid shouts and
jibes. “Y’ought to be ashamed o’
yerself,” bawled the woman, “a ole man like you,
annoyin’ a lady!”</p>
<p>But the men were at the winch, and the bridge swung.
First of all the impatient passengers, Uncle Isaac sprang on the
moving iron and got across at peril of life and limb ere the
sections were still. He heard a louder shout of laughter
from behind, where Mother Born-drunk, forgetting the chain as she
made for the <SPAN name="page147"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
147</span>bridge, had sprawled over it where it hung low in the
middle; and he quickened his pace.</p>
<p>Now it chanced that Johnny May had been taken that week to his
first out-door job, on a large steamer; and, full of the wonders
of the ship, he had made interest with the “shippy”
(who was officially called the shipkeeper) to bring Bessy on
board on Saturday afternoon. The visit was a pure delight
for both, with more than a spice of danger for Bessy in climbing
gangways, companions, and greasy engine-room steps; indeed, the
“shippy” carried her down the lower flights of these
last. Johnny explained the prodigious engines with all the
extreme technicality of a new hand, and with much pride pointed
out the part whereon he (with the help of three or four
journeymen) had been at work. Bessy stared and marvelled,
and her admiration for her brother waxed into reverence.
For was he not an engineer, master of these massy, shining
immensities, so amazingly greater than any engines she had
dreamed of, so awful in their monstrous stillness? Bessy
peeped along the tunnel of the great shaft, and then, a minute
after, up into the towering complexities above, and she was
almost afraid—would have been afraid to stay there
alone.</p>
<p>They walked home gay and talkative, and Bessy’s face had
a light and a colour that it had lacked since Johnny and
gran’dad had seen it together. For she had <SPAN name="page148"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>seen great
things, and had walked in passenger saloons more wonderful than
all her palaces of romance. It struck Johnny, for the first
time in his life, that Bessy was rather pretty; and as to her
lameness though some would call it a blemish (as it certainly was
a misfortune), yet she carried it trimly, and he almost thought
it suited her.</p>
<p>And so they went till at a corner a hurried little man with a
moon-face ran into them, hat first,—for he was brushing it
again.</p>
<p>Now both Johnny and Bessy wore their best clothes, and both
looked happy and well, so at a glance Uncle Isaac guessed that
things had gone aright at Harbour Lane after all. Just as
distress troubled and repelled him, so good fortune pleased his
amiable genius and attracted his regards. So though he was
still a little flushed and uneasy, he was glad of the
encounter. He had been unwell, it seemed, and—and
busy, and all that. But how was trade at the shop?</p>
<p>Johnny and Bessy told the tale of the new ship-yard gate, and
of the cold bacon and the pickles and the new prosperity.
Uncle Isaac was greatly pleased. He was sorry, very sorry,
he said, that he had not been able to call lately, but he would
delay no longer—he would be round that very evening.
And, indeed, he came, and immensely approved of the bacon.
And he came again, and approved immensely of the cheese and <SPAN name="page149"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>the pickles
and whatever else there was for supper, and again after that, and
usually carried something home for trial in the calmer mood of
the morning. And thus family ties were made whole, and
avuncular love continued.</p>
<p>“Jest to think,” Uncle Isaac would say with a wave
of his fork, “what a quantity o’ blessin’s you
owe to my advice, Nan! What was my words o’ counsel
to you prefarrotory? ‘Enterprise,’ sez I.
‘Enterprise is what you want,’ I sez; there’s
alwis money in Enterprise! An’ what’s the
result? Enterprise, representin’ biled ’ock
o’ bacon, is done the trick wonderful. But, in
regards to enterprise, why not call it ’am?”</p>
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