A Commentary — Key Ideas to Explore

hair was white, and she had little bright grey eyes and a wart on one nostril. A dirty shawl was pinned across her chest; this, with an old skirt and vest, seemed all her clothing. The third finger of her left hand was encircled by a broad gold ring. There were two chairs, and the old man placed the other one for me, having rubbed it with his sleeve. My dog lay with his chin pressed to the ground, for the sights and scents of poverty displeased him.

“I’m afraid you’re down on your luck.”

“Yes, sir, we are down.”

Seated on the border of the bed, he was seen to be a man with features coloured greyish-dun by lack of food; his weak hair and fringe of beard were touched with grey; a dumb, long-suffering man from whom discouragement and want had planed away expression.

“How have you got into this state?”

“The winter an’ my not gettin’ work.”

A whisper came from the old lady by the hearth:

“Father can work, sir; oh! ’e can work!”

“Yes, I can work; I’m good for a day’s work at any time.”

“I’m afraid you don’t look it!”

His hand was shaking violently, and he tried to stop its movement.

“It’s a bit chilly; I feels well enough in meself.”

More confidential came the old lady’s whisper:

“Father’s very good ’ealth, sir; oh! ’e can work. It’s not ’avin’ any breakfast that makes ’im go like that this weather.”

“But how old are you?”

“Father’s seventy-one, sir, and I’m the same. Born within two months of each other--wasn’t we, Father?”

“Forgive my saying so, Mr. White, but, with all this competition, is there much chance of your getting work at that age? What _are_ you?”

“Painter I am, sir; take any work--I’m not particular. Mr. Williams gives me a bit when times are good, but the winter----”

“Father can work, sir; oh! ’e can work!”

“Thirty-three years I worked for one firm--thirty-three years.”

“What firm was that?”

“Thirty-three years--till they gave up business----”

“Answer the gentleman’s question. Father’s very slow, sir.”

“Scotter’s, of John Street, that was--thirty-three years. Now they’ve given up.”

“How long since they gave up?”

“And how have you managed since?”

“Just managed along--get some jobs in the summer--just managed along.”

“You mustn’t mind Father, sir. Why don’t you tell the gentleman? Just managed along, as you see, sir--everything’s gone now.”

She passed her hand over her mouth, and the sound of her whisper was more intimate than ever:

“Dreadful things we’ve suffered in this room, sir; dreadful! I don’t like to speak of ’em, if you’ll believe me.”

And, with that almost soundless whisper, that stealthy movement of her hand before her mouth, all those things she spoke of seemed to be happening in their deadly privacy to those two old people behind their close-shut door.

There was a silence; my dog spoke with his eyes: “Master, we have been here long enough; I smell no food; there is no fire!”

“You must feel the cold dreadfully this weather?”

“We stays in bed as long as we can, sir--to keep warm, you know--to keep warm.”

The old man nodded from the black ruin of a bed.

“But I see you have no blankets.”

“All gone, sir--all gone.”

“Had you no savings out of that thirty-three years?”

“Family, sir--family; four sons an’ two daughters; never more than thirty shillin’s a week. He always gave me his wages--Father always gave me his wages.”

“I never was one to drink.”

“Sober man, Father; an’ now he’s old. But ’e can work, sir; ’e can work.”

“But can’t your sons help you?”

“One’s dead, sir; died of fever. And one”--her withered finger touched her forehead--“not quite--you know, not quite----”

“The one I saw last night, I suppose?”

“Not quite--not since he was in the Army. A bit--” Again she touched her forehead.

“Good sons, sir; but large families, you know. Not able----”

“One’s dead, sir; the other’s married--away.”

“Haven’t you any one to fall back on?”

The old man interrupted heavily:

“No, sir; we haven’t.”

“Father doesn’t put things right, sir--let me speak to the gentleman! Tell you the truth, never ’ad the habit, sir; not accustomed to ask for things; never done it--couldn’t!”

The old man spoke again: