"Serve him----well right," said a second.
His mates were standing about him. He made an effort and sat up. He put his hand to the back of his head, and his hair was wet and full of cinders. A laugh greeted the gesture. His eye was partially closed. He perceived what had happened. His momentary antic.i.p.ation of a final victory had vanished.
"Looks surprised," said some one.
""Ave any more?" said a wit; and then, imitating Denton"s refined accent.
"No, thank you."
Denton perceived the swart man with a blood-stained handkerchief before his face, and somewhat in the background.
"Where"s that bit of bread he"s got to eat?" said a little ferret-faced creature; and sought with his foot in the ashes of the adjacent bin.
Denton had a moment of internal debate. He knew the code of honour requires a man to pursue a fight he has begun to the bitter end; but this was his first taste of the bitterness. He was resolved to rise again, but he felt no pa.s.sionate impulse. It occurred to him--and the thought was no very violent spur--that he was perhaps after all a coward. For a moment his will was heavy, a lump of lead.
""Ere it is," said the little ferret-faced man, and stooped to pick up a cindery cube. He looked at Denton, then at the others.
Slowly, unwillingly, Denton stood up.
A dirty-faced albino extended a hand to the ferret-faced man. "Gimme that toke," he said. He advanced threateningly, bread in hand, to Denton. "So you ain"t "ad your bellyful yet," he said. "Eh?"
Now it was coming. "No, I haven"t," said Denton, with a catching of the breath, and resolved to try this brute behind the ear before he himself got stunned again. He knew he would be stunned again. He was astonished how ill he had judged himself beforehand. A few ridiculous lunges, and down he would go again. He watched the albino"s eyes. The albino was grinning confidently, like a man who plans an agreeable trick. A sudden perception of impending indignities stung Denton.
"You leave "im alone, Jim," said the swart man suddenly over the blood-stained rag. "He ain"t done nothing to you."
The albino"s grin vanished. He stopped. He looked from one to the other.
It seemed to Denton that the swart man demanded the privilege of his destruction. The albino would have been better.
"You leave "im alone," said the swart man. "See? "E"s "ad "is licks."
A clattering bell lifted up its voice and solved the situation. The albino hesitated. "Lucky for you," he said, adding a foul metaphor, and turned with the others towards the press-room again. "Wait for the end of the spell, mate," said the albino over his shoulder--an afterthought.
The swart man waited for the albino to precede him. Denton realised that he had a reprieve.
The men pa.s.sed towards an open door. Denton became aware of his duties, and hurried to join the tail of the queue. At the doorway of the vaulted gallery of presses a yellow-uniformed labour policeman stood ticking a card. He had ignored the swart man"s haemorrhage.
"Hurry up there!" he said to Denton.
"h.e.l.lo!" he said, at the sight of his facial disarray. "Who"s been hitting _you_?"
"That"s my affair," said Denton.
"Not if it spiles your work, it ain"t," said the man in yellow. "You mind that."
Denton made no answer. He was a rough--a labourer. He wore the blue canvas. The laws of a.s.sault and battery, he knew, were not for the likes of him. He went to his press.
He could feel the skin of his brow and chin and head lifting themselves to n.o.ble bruises, felt the throb and pain of each aspiring contusion.
His nervous system slid down to lethargy; at each movement in his press adjustment he felt he lifted a weight. And as for his honour--that too throbbed and puffed. How did he stand? What precisely had happened in the last ten minutes? What would happen next? He knew that here was enormous matter for thought, and he could not think save in disordered s.n.a.t.c.hes.
His mood was a sort of stagnant astonishment. All his conceptions were overthrown. He had regarded his security from physical violence as inherent, as one of the conditions of life. So, indeed, it had been while he wore his middle-cla.s.s costume, had his middle-cla.s.s property to serve for his defence. But who would interfere among Labour roughs fighting together? And indeed in those days no man would. In the Underworld there was no law between man and man; the law and machinery of the state had become for them something that held men down, fended them off from much desirable property and pleasure, and that was all.
Violence, that ocean in which the brutes live for ever, and from which a thousand d.y.k.es and contrivances have won our hazardous civilised life, had flowed in again upon the sinking underways and submerged them. The fist ruled. Denton had come right down at last to the elemental--fist and trick and the stubborn heart and fellowship--even as it was in the beginning.
The rhythm of his machine changed, and his thoughts were interrupted.
Presently he could think again. Strange how quickly things had happened!
He bore these men who had thrashed him no very vivid ill-will. He was bruised and enlightened. He saw with absolute fairness now the reasonableness of his unpopularity. He had behaved like a fool. Disdain, seclusion, are the privilege of the strong. The fallen aristocrat still clinging to his pointless distinction is surely the most pitiful creature of pretence in all this clamant universe. Good heavens! what was there for him to despise in these men?
What a pity he had not appreciated all this better five hours ago!
What would happen at the end of the spell? He could not tell. He could not imagine. He could not imagine the thoughts of these men. He was sensible only of their hostility and utter want of sympathy. Vague possibilities of shame and violence chased one another across his mind.
Could he devise some weapon? He recalled his a.s.sault upon the hypnotist, but there were no detachable lamps here. He could see nothing that he could catch up in his defence.
For a s.p.a.ce he thought of a headlong bolt for the security of the public ways directly the spell was over. Apart from the trivial consideration of his self-respect, he perceived that this would be only a foolish postponement and aggravation of his trouble. He perceived the ferret-faced man and the albino talking together with their eyes towards him. Presently they were talking to the swart man, who stood with his broad back studiously towards Denton.
At last came the end of the second spell. The lender of oil cans stopped his press sharply and turned round, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes had the quiet expectation of one who seats himself in a theatre.
Now was the crisis, and all the little nerves of Denton"s being seemed leaping and dancing. He had decided to show fight if any fresh indignity was offered him. He stopped his press and turned. With an enormous affectation of ease he walked down the vault and entered the pa.s.sage of the ash pits, only to discover he had left his jacket--which he had taken off because of the heat of the vault--beside his press. He walked back. He met the albino eye to eye.
He heard the ferret-faced man in expostulation. ""E reely ought, eat it," said the ferret-faced man. ""E did reely."
"No--you leave "im alone," said the swart man.
Apparently nothing further was to happen to him that day. He pa.s.sed out to the pa.s.sage and staircase that led up to the moving platforms of the city.
He emerged on the livid brilliance and streaming movement of the public street. He became acutely aware of his disfigured face, and felt his swelling bruises with a limp, investigatory hand. He went up to the swiftest platform, and seated himself on a Labour Company bench.
He lapsed into a pensive torpor. The immediate dangers and stresses of his position he saw with a sort of static clearness. What would they do to-morrow? He could not tell. What would Elizabeth think of his brutalisation? He could not tell. He was exhausted. He was aroused presently by a hand upon his arm.
He looked up, and saw the swart man seated beside him. He started.
Surely he was safe from violence in the public way!
The swart man"s face retained no traces of his share in the fight; his expression was free from hostility--seemed almost deferential. ""Scuse me," he said, with a total absence of truculence. Denton realised that no a.s.sault was intended. He stared, awaiting the next development.
It was evident the next sentence was premeditated.
"Whad--I--was--going--to say--was this," said the swart man, and sought through a silence for further words.
"Whad--I--was--going--to say--was this," he repeated.
Finally he abandoned that gambit. "_You"re_ aw right," he cried, laying a grimy hand on Denton"s grimy sleeve. "_You"re_ aw right. You"re a ge"man. Sorry--very sorry. Wanted to tell you that."
Denton realised that there must exist motives beyond a mere impulse to abominable proceedings in the man. He meditated, and swallowed an unworthy pride.
"I did not mean to be offensive to you," he said, "in refusing that bit of bread."
"Meant it friendly," said the swart man, recalling the scene; "but--in front of that blarsted Whitey and his sn.i.g.g.e.r--Well--I _"ad_ to sc.r.a.p."
"Yes," said Denton with sudden fervour: "I was a fool."
"Ah!" said the swart man, with great satisfaction. "_That"s_ aw right.