NO GARDEN
Joan sat up with little Tom till three in the morning, when she was relieved by Cissie. He had to be fed at intervals of half an hour with beef tea, and given his medicine periodically.
Had she not been sitting up, she could not have slept, owing to the noise in the adjoining house, that commenced at eleven, when Mr. Myatt returned to his family from the public-house in a hilarious condition.
The disturbance began at the moment when he tottered over the threshold, where he was met full face by a volley of reproaches from his wife, which he attempted to silence by butting at her with his bald head.
Then ensued a heated altercation upon the stairs, which he surmounted with difficulty and not without lapses, as his wife preceded him, retreating backwards, lashing at him with her tongue, and slapping at his bald pate with her hands, whilst Polly harassed his rear by dragging at his coat tails.
In time, by sheer weight and force, he succeeded in reaching the landing, where, taking advantage of the obfuscation of his mind, wife and daughter succeeded in inveigling him into Polly's room, and turning the key on him from the outside. Once within, however, the Myatt père awoke to the fact that he had been trapped, and rained kicks and blows with his fist on the door.
As these proved ineffectual, he next projected his person against the valve, and with a crash came out again on the landing. Whether he had actually burst the door from its hinges, or whether, fearing destruction of property, Mrs. Myatt had, at the supreme moment, unfastened the door, Joan was unable to decide.
Whichever way he obtained his liberation, the result was only reached by his prostration on the floor of the landing.
From this position Mr. Myatt succeeded in raising himself to a sitting posture, from which, like a howitzer, he discharged oaths and profanities at the heads of his wife and daughter, to which they replied with expletives in high-pitched tones.
This continued for many minutes, till it occurred to the gentleman to rise to his feet, which he did with considerable difficulty, and then, in despite of protest, entered his own sleeping apartment, which adjoined that of Joan, divided from it, as we know, by a single brick partition. When once there she heard every movement and every word with such distinctness, that Joan felt almost as if she were an eye-witness to the domestic broil.
Arrived in his own bedroom, Mr. Myatt, in the first place, proceeded to stretch himself and yawn vociferously, and then to get into bed with his boots on, and in a position the reverse of that usual, and to cross his feet with a grunt of satisfaction on the pillow.
Apparently the passionate longing of his soul was for sleep, and the efforts of his wife, ably seconded by his daughter, were directed towards making him do so in the approved position.
Thereupon ensued a momentary lull, during which Mrs. and Miss Myatt by signs concerted a surprise attack, and then, suddenly, the two precipitated themselves on his feet, and each laying hold of a leg, by a back rush carried him off the bed, and he fell on to the floor with a bump that shook the whole habitation and that adjoining it.
The storm now waxed more furious. To his deep bellows responded the shrill invectives of his wife and daughter. Joan caught her own name repeatedly employed, together with "shame," so that she discovered that she was being employed as a projectile to humble the common enemy. The resistance of Mr. Myatt became for a while weaker, as in being drawn off the bed he had apparently dragged blanket and coverlet along with him, and had involved himself in these wraps, which, getting at one moment about his head, muffled his voice, and at another about his feet, impeded action, and continuously engaged his hands in attempts to extricate himself.
Thus the contest proceeded, the fortunes alternating, till about two in the morning, when Mr. Myatt gained a complete triumph, in that he succeeded in expelling the women from his room, shutting them out, and fastening the door upon them, by dragging a chest of drawers against it. After that he flung himself with a crash upon the bed, and blew a flourish of victorious snorts.
During the progress of the conflict, Joan had repeatedly looked at the sick boy, in fear lest the riot should disturb his sleep, but he slumbered on in unconsciousness of the turmoil, to the like of which he was habituated.
In the morning, when Joan rose, Sibyll was still in bed. The day was Sunday. Had it been a common week-day, she would not have gone to work, for the necessity for so doing was at an end.
When Joan returned from church, she found that Sibyll had just risen—she was in high spirits at her approaching liberation, and much disposed to enlarge on the annoyance caused during the night by the disturbance in the adjoining house, for which she seemed, in a degree, to hold Joan responsible, because the Myatts were her friends.
The boy Tom was better. The surgeon came and pronounced favourably.
Presently Polly looked in, and beckoned to Joan that she wished to speak with her in private. Joan at once went into the street with her.
"It's about father," explained the girl. "He's as meek and lowly as you could desire, and has a bump as big as a goose's egg on his head. It's a real pleasure to 'ave 'im break out now and again, he is so placable and sweet after it, and he's promised mother a new bonnet and me a parasol lined with rose colour. Think of that! Father wants terrible bad to speak with you. He's a bit shy coming round to No. 16, and I don't think he could get his hat to sit on his head with that potato of a lump on it—and all blue, moreover. If you wouldn't mind stepping in?"
"Not in the least," said Joan, and she followed Polly into the Myatt residence.
Mr. Myatt sat by the fire in the front kitchen, that was also a parlour. His wife was engaged in the rear, and thither to assist in the preparation of the Sunday dinner Polly also went. It was understood that the father desired to eat his humble pie, and objected to doing so in the presence of his wife and daughter.
"How do you do?" was his salutation. "A fine morning for the season of the year"— there was falling rain mingled with sleet—"very glad to have a little talk with you. I had a small difference with my wife last night, and I daresay we both raised our voices, and continued the argiment till late— which I'm sorry for, as it may have disturbed your rest. But it shan't 'appen again. You see, I was at the Blue Boar last evening, and we was engaged in a political discussion, and that 'eated our blood, and when I came home I wanted to continue it with the missus."
"I'll bring you down the pillow, and show you what he have done to that with his boots," said Mrs. Myatt, opening the kitchen door and thrusting in her head. She was, however, at once withdrawn by Polly's hand laid on her shoulder. Then the door was again shut.
"I was trying to demonstrate the political situation by drawing a diagram on the pillow cover," explained Mr. Myatt; "but, bless you! some women have no heads for politics, and social economy is Chinese to 'em. But it shan't 'appen again. Knowing as I now does the limited range of her interjects, I won't try to argy with my wife any more."
"Now look here!" Mrs. Myatt's head again appeared. "Wot's all that about my range? It's a good range, and your dinner'll be cooked on it. You won't put in another under eight pound, and it's the landlord as ort to do it—not you." Again Mrs. Myatt's head was withdrawn compulsorily.
"We were thrashing out the great question of capital and labour," said Mr. Myatt. "Let us take the case of competition among workers—lowering the wages."
"Oh, if you please, Mr. Myatt, I am quite incompetent to understand theories—I like to devote my attention to practice," said Joan.
"Ah!" said Mr. Myatt, "women, I daresay, never can be got to interest themselves in the great questions of the day. I can't say myself that I was much taken up with political and social economy till I came to live in Fennings' Row. Formerly I was up over the hill and had a nice little bit of a garden, and I was tremenjious took up with that. Now it's a lovely and an entertaining pursuit of a night to go out aslugging with a pail of soapy water. Lord! I've had the pleasure of gathering as many as a hundred and twenty of an evening, and some of 'em woppers. And then to put cabbage leaves and a bit of turnip, and see how they come under and over them. Bless you! it lifted up the heart of a man and made him 'appy. Couldn't fail to do so. What with sowing seed, and watering, and weeding, and, above all, slugging, at that time I'd no thought for political economy and the Blue Boar. But that was too far from my work, and I 'ad to give it up and come down 'ere. And 'ere the slugs have it all their own way, except as, bless your soul! I never saw any green thing grown as they could eat, so what they come for here I can't guess. If one can't go after slugs, one must be down on capitalists—and I'm arter them now. Well, I tell you, I respects you greatly, and as to my Polly—Lord! if a dozen policemen were pursuing you to captivate you, she'd never allow one near you—though she's got but one hand good for much. And missus, with her temper and tongue"—
"Now, Peter!"
Mrs. Myatt's head and shoulders reappeared, and were as rapidly withdrawn.
"Well, give me your hand. Say you'll overlook it this once if I wor on the political rampage last night. I respects you tremenjious."