The People of the Abyss E-Book

Jack London

• Herausgeber: ShadowPOET
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

But you can’t do it, you know,” friends said, to whom I applied for assistance in the matter of sinking myself down into the East End of London. “You had better see the police for a guide,” they added, on second thought, painfully endeavouring to adjust themselves to the psychological processes of a madman who had come to them with better credentials than brains.
“But I don’t want to see the police,” I protested. “What I wish to do is to go down into the East End and see things for myself. I wish to know how those people are living there, and why they are living there, and what they are living for. In short, I am going to live there myself.

Leseprobe

ThePeopleoftheAbyss

ByJackLondon

Publisher: ShadowPOET

THEPEOPLEOFTHEABYSS

CHAPTERI—THEDESCENT

“Butyoucan’tdoit,youknow,”friendssaid,towhomIappliedforassistancein the matter of sinking myself down into the East End of London. “You hadbetter see the police for a guide,” they added, on second thought, painfullyendeavouringtoadjustthemselvestothepsychologicalprocessesofamadmanwhohadcometothemwithbettercredentialsthanbrains.

“But I don’t want to see the police,” I protested. “What I wish to do is to godown into the East End and see things for myself. I wish to know how thosepeople are living there, and why they are living there, and what they are livingfor.Inshort,Iamgoingtolivetheremyself.”

“Youdon’twanttolivedownthere!”everybodysaid,withdisapprobationwritlargeupontheirfaces.“Why,itissaidthereareplaceswhereaman’slifeisn’tworthtu’pence.”

“TheveryplacesIwishtosee,”Ibrokein.

“Butyoucan’t,youknow,”wastheunfailingrejoinder.

“WhichisnotwhatIcametoseeyouabout,”Iansweredbrusquely,somewhatnettled by theirincomprehension. “Iamastrangerhere,andIwantyoutotell

mewhatyouknowoftheEastEnd,inorderthatImayhavesomethingtostarton.”

“ButweknownothingoftheEastEnd.Itisoverthere,somewhere.”Andtheywaved their hands vaguely in the direction where the sun on rare occasionsmaybeseentorise.

“ThenIshallgotoCook’s,”Iannounced.

“Ohyes,”theysaid,withrelief.“Cook’swillbesuretoknow.”

But O Cook, O Thomas Cook & Son, path-finders and trail-clearers, livingsign-poststoalltheworld,andbestowersoffirstaidtobewilderedtravellers

—unhesitatingly and instantly, with ease and celerity, could you send me toDarkest Africa or Innermost Thibet, but to the East End of London, barely astone’sthrowdistantfromLudgateCircus,youknownottheway!

“You can’t do it, you know,” said the human emporium of routes and fares atCook’sCheapsidebranch.“Itisso—hem—sounusual.”

“Consult the police,” he concluded authoritatively, when I had persisted. “Weare not accustomed to taking travellers to the East End; we receive no call totakethemthere,andweknownothingwhatsoeverabouttheplaceatall.”

“Never mind that,” I interposed, to save myself from being swept out of theoffice by his flood of negations. “Here’s something you can do for me. I wishyou to understand in advance what I intend doing, so that in case of troubleyoumaybeabletoidentifyme.”

“Ah, I see! should you be murdered, we would be in position to identify thecorpse.”

He said it so cheerfully and cold-bloodedly that on the instant I saw my starkandmutilatedcadaverstretcheduponaslabwherecoolwaterstrickleceaselessly, and him I saw bending over and sadly and patiently identifying itasthebodyoftheinsaneAmericanwhowouldseetheEastEnd.

“No, no,” I answered; “merely to identify me in case I get into a scrape withthe ’bobbies.’” This last I said with a thrill; truly, I was gripping hold of thevernacular.

“That,”hesaid,“isamatterfortheconsiderationoftheChiefOffice.”“Itissounprecedented,youknow,”headdedapologetically.

ThemanattheChiefOfficehemmedandhawed.“Wemakeitarule,”heexplained,“togivenoinformationconcerningourclients.”

“Butinthiscase,”Iurged,“itistheclientwhorequestsyoutogivetheinformationconcerninghimself.”

Againhehemmedandhawed.

“Ofcourse,”Ihastilyanticipated,“Iknowitisunprecedented,but—”

“As I was about to remark,” he went on steadily, “it is unprecedented, and Idon’tthinkwecandoanythingforyou.”

However, I departed with the address of a detective who lived in the East End,and took my way to the American consul-general. And here, at last, I found amanwithwhomIcould“dobusiness.”Therewasnohemmingandhawing,noliftedbrows,openincredulity,orblankamazement.InoneminuteIexplained myself and my project, which he accepted as a matter of course. Inthe second minute he asked my age, height, and weight, and looked me over.Andinthethirdminute,asweshookhandsatparting,hesaid:“Allright,Jack.I’llrememberyouandkeeptrack.”

Ibreathedasighofrelief.Havingburntmyshipsbehindme,Iwasnowfreetoplungeintothathumanwildernessofwhichnobodyseemedtoknowanything.But at once I encountered a new difficulty in the shape of my cabby, a grey-whiskered and eminently decorous personage who had imperturbably drivenmeforseveralhoursaboutthe“City.”

“DrivemedowntotheEastEnd,”Iordered,takingmyseat.“Where,sir?”hedemandedwithfranksurprise.

“TotheEastEnd,anywhere.Goon.”

The hansom pursued an aimless way for several minutes, then came to apuzzled stop. The aperture above my head was uncovered, and the cabmanpeereddownperplexedlyatme.

“Isay,”hesaid,“wotplyceyerwantergo?”

“EastEnd,”Irepeated.“Nowhereinparticular.Justdrivemearoundanywhere.”

“Butwot’sthehaddress,sir?”

“Seehere!”Ithundered.“DrivemedowntotheEastEnd,andatonce!”

It was evident that he did not understand, but he withdrew his head, andgrumblinglystartedhishorse.

Nowhere in the streets of London may one escape the sight of abject poverty,while five minutes’ walk from almost any point will bring one to a slum; butthe region my hansom was now penetrating was one unending slum. Thestreetswerefilledwithanewanddifferentraceofpeople,shortofstature,andof wretched or beer-sodden appearance. We rolled along through miles ofbricks and squalor, and from each cross street and alley flashed long vistas ofbricks and misery. Here and there lurched a drunken man or woman, and theair was obscene with sounds of jangling and squabbling. At a market, totteryoldmenandwomenweresearchinginthegarbagethrowninthemudfor

rotten potatoes, beans, and vegetables, while little children clustered like fliesaround a festering mass of fruit, thrusting their arms to the shoulders into theliquid corruption, and drawing forth morsels but partially decayed, which theydevouredonthespot.

NotahansomdidImeetwithinallmydrive,whileminewaslikeanapparition from another and better world, the way the children ran after it andalongside. And as far as I could see were the solid walls of brick, the slimypavements, and the screaming streets; and for the first time in my life the fearof the crowd smote me. It was like the fear of the sea; and the miserablemultitudes,streetuponstreet,seemedsomanywavesofavastandmalodoroussea,lappingaboutmeandthreateningtowellupandoverme.

“Stepney,sir;StepneyStation,”thecabbycalleddown.

I looked about. It was really a railroad station, and he had driven desperatelytoitastheonefamiliarspothehadeverheardofinallthatwilderness.

“Well,”Isaid.

Hesplutteredunintelligibly,shookhishead,andlookedverymiserable.“I’mastrynger’ere,”hemanagedtoarticulate.“An’ ifyerdon’twantStepneyStation,I’mblessedifIknowwotcherdowant.”

“I’lltellyouwhatIwant,”Isaid.“Youdrivealongandkeepyoureyeoutforashop where old clothes are sold. Now, when you see such a shop, drive rightontillyouturnthecorner,thenstopandletmeout.”

I could see that he was growing dubious of his fare, but not long afterwards hepulled up to the curb and informed me that an old-clothes shop was to befoundabitofthewayback.

“Won’tcherpyme?”hepleaded.“There’ssevenan’sixowin’me.”“Yes,”Ilaughed,“anditwouldbethelastI’dseeofyou.”

“Lordlumme,butit’llbethelastIseeofyouifyerdon’tpyme,”heretorted.

But a crowd of ragged onlookers had already gathered around the cab, and Ilaughedagainandwalkedbacktotheold-clothesshop.

Here the chief difficulty was in making the shopman understand that I reallyandtrulywantedoldclothes.Butafterfruitlessattemptstopressuponmenewandimpossiblecoatsandtrousers,hebegantobringtolightheapsofoldones,looking mysterious the while and hinting darkly. This he did with the palpableintention of letting me know that he had “piped my lay,” in order to bulldoseme, through fear of exposure, into paying heavily for my purchases. A man introuble, or a high-class criminal from across the water, was what he took mymeasurefor—ineithercase,apersonanxioustoavoidthepolice.

ButIdisputedwithhimovertheoutrageousdifferencebetweenpricesand

values, till I quite disabused him of the notion, and he settled down to drive ahard bargain with a hard customer. In the end I selected a pair of stout thoughwell-worntrousers,afrayedjacketwithoneremainingbutton,apairofbrogans which had plainly seen service where coal was shovelled, a thinleather belt, and a very dirty cloth cap. My underclothing and socks, however,were new and warm, but of the sort that any American waif, down in his luck,couldacquireintheordinarycourseofevents.

“I must sy yer a sharp ’un,” he said, with counterfeit admiration, as I handedoverthetenshillingsfinallyagreeduponfortheoutfit.“Blimey,ifyouain’tbenupan’downPetticutLaneaforenow.Yertrouseysiswuthfivebobtohanyman,an’adocker’udgivetwoan’sixfortheshoes,tosynothin’ofthecoatan’capan’newstoker’ssingletan’hotherthings.”

“How much will you give me for them?” I demanded suddenly. “I paid youten bob for the lot, and I’ll sell them back to you, right now, for eight! Come,it’sago!”

But he grinned and shook his head, and though I had made a good bargain, Iwasunpleasantlyawarethathehadmadeabetterone.

I found the cabby and a policeman with their heads together, but the latter,after looking me over sharply, and particularly scrutinizing the bundle undermy arm, turned away and left the cabby to wax mutinous by himself. And nota step would he budge till I paid him the seven shillings and sixpence owinghim.Whereuponhewaswillingtodrivemetotheendsoftheearth,apologising profusely for his insistence, and explaining that one ran acrossqueercustomersinLondonTown.

But he drove me only to Highbury Vale, in North London, where my luggagewaswaitingforme.Here,nextday,Itookoffmyshoes(notwithoutregretfortheir lightness and comfort), and my soft, grey travelling suit, and, in fact, allmy clothing; and proceeded to array myself in the clothes of the other andunimaginablemen,whomusthavebeenindeedunfortunatetohavehadtopartwithsuchragsforthepitiablesumsobtainablefromadealer.

Insidemystoker’ssinglet,inthearmpit,Isewedagoldsovereign(anemergencysumcertainlyofmodestproportions);andinsidemystoker’ssingletIputmyself.AndthenIsatdownandmoraliseduponthefairyearsand fat, which had made my skin soft and brought the nerves close to thesurface; for the singlet was rough and raspy as a hair shirt, and I am confidentthat the most rigorous of ascetics suffer no more than I did in the ensuingtwenty-fourhours.

Theremainderofmycostumewasfairlyeasytoputon,thoughthebrogans,orbrogues, were quite a problem. As stiff and hard as if made of wood, it wasonlyafteraprolongedpoundingoftheupperswithmyfiststhatIwasableto

getmyfeetintothematall.Then,withafewshillings,aknife,ahandkerchief,and some brown papers and flake tobacco stowed away in my pockets, Ithumped down the stairs and said good-bye to my foreboding friends. As Ipaused out of the door, the “help,” a comely middle-aged woman, could notconquer a grin that twisted her lips and separated them till the throat, out ofinvoluntarysympathy,madetheuncouthanimalnoiseswearewonttodesignateas“laughter.”

No sooner was I out on the streets than I was impressed by the difference instatuseffectedbymyclothes.Allservilityvanishedfromthedemeanourofthecommon people with whom I came in contact. Presto! in the twinkling of aneye, so to say, I had become one of them. My frayed and out-at-elbows jacketwas the badge and advertisement of my class, which was their class. It mademe of like kind, and in place of the fawning and too respectful attention I hadhithertoreceived,Inowsharedwiththemacomradeship.Themanincorduroy and dirty neckerchief no longer addressed me as “sir” or “governor.”It was “mate” now—and a fine and hearty word, with a tingle to it, and awarmth and gladness, which the other term does not possess. Governor! Itsmacksofmastery,andpower,andhighauthority—thetributeofthemanwhois under to the man on top, delivered in the hope that he will let up a bit andeasehisweight,whichisanotherwayofsayingthatitisanappealforalms.

This brings me to a delight I experienced in my rags and tatters which isdenied the average American abroad. The European traveller from the States,who is not a Croesus, speedily finds himself reduced to a chronic state of self-conscious sordidness by the hordes of cringing robbers who clutter his stepsfrom dawn till dark, and deplete his pocket-book in a way that puts compoundinteresttotheblush.

InmyragsandtattersIescapedthepestilenceoftipping,andencounteredmenonabasisofequality.Nay,beforethedaywasoutIturnedthetables,andsaid,most gratefully, “Thank you, sir,” to a gentleman whose horse I held, and whodroppedapennyintomyeagerpalm.

Other changes I discovered were wrought in my condition by my new garb. IncrossingcrowdedthoroughfaresIfoundIhadtobe,ifanything,morelivelyinavoiding vehicles, and it was strikingly impressed upon me that my life hadcheapenedindirectratiowithmyclothes.WhenbeforeIinquiredthewayofapoliceman, I was usually asked, “Bus or ’ansom, sir?” But now the querybecame, “Walk or ride?” Also, at the railway stations, a third-class ticket wasnowshovedouttomeasamatterofcourse.

But there was compensation for it all. For the first time I met the Englishlower classes face to face, and knew them for what they were. When loungersand workmen, at street corners and in public-houses, talked with me, theytalkedasonemantoanother,andtheytalkedasnaturalmenshouldtalk,

without the least idea of getting anything out of me for what they talked or thewaytheytalked.

And when at last I made into the East End, I was gratified to find that the fearof the crowd no longer haunted me. I had become a part of it. The vast andmalodorous sea had welled up and over me, or I had slipped gently into it, andthere was nothing fearsome about it—with the one exception of the stoker’ssinglet.

CHAPTERII—JOHNNYUPRIGHT

I shall not give you the address of Johnny Upright. Let it suffice that he livesinthemostrespectablestreetintheEastEnd—astreetthatwouldbeconsidered very mean in America, but a veritable oasis in the desert of EastLondon. It is surrounded on every side by close-packed squalor and streetsjammed by a young and vile and dirty generation; but its own pavements arecomparatively bare of the children who have no other place to play, while ithasanairofdesertion,sofewarethepeoplethatcomeandgo.

Each house in this street, as in all the streets, is shoulder to shoulder with itsneighbours. To each house there is but one entrance, the front door; and eachhouse is about eighteen feet wide, with a bit of a brick-walled yard behind,where,whenitisnotraining,onemaylookataslate-colouredsky.ButitmustbeunderstoodthatthisisEastEndopulencewearenowconsidering.Someofthepeopleinthisstreetareevensowell-to-doastokeepa“slavey.”JohnnyUprightkeepsone,asIwellknow,shebeingmyfirstacquaintanceinthisparticularportionoftheworld.

To Johnny Upright’s house I came, and to the door came the “slavey.” Now,mark you, her position in life was pitiable and contemptible, but it was withpity and contempt that she looked at me. She evinced a plain desire that ourconversation should be short. It was Sunday, and Johnny Upright was not athome,andthatwasalltherewastoit.ButIlingered,discussingwhetherornotitwasalltherewastoit,tillMrs.JohnnyUprightwasattractedtothedoor,where she scolded the girl for not having closed it before turning her attentiontome.

No, Mr. Johnny Upright was not at home, and further, he saw nobody onSunday.Itistoobad,saidI.WasIlookingforwork?No,quitethecontrary;infact, I had come to see Johnny Upright on business which might be profitabletohim.

A change came over the face of things at once. The gentleman in question wasatchurch,butwouldbehomeinanhourorthereabouts,whennodoubthe

couldbeseen.

Would I kindly step in?—no, the lady did not ask me, though I fished for aninvitation by stating that I would go down to the corner and wait in a public-house.AnddowntothecornerIwent,but,itbeingchurchtime,the“pub”wasclosed.Amiserabledrizzlewasfalling,and,inlieuofbetter,Itookaseatonaneighbourlydoorstepandwaited.

And here to the doorstep came the “slavey,” very frowzy and very perplexed,totellmethatthemissuswouldletmecomebackandwaitinthekitchen.

“Somanypeoplecome’erelookin’forwork,”Mrs.JohnnyUprightapologeticallyexplained.“SoI’opeyouwon’tfeelbadthewayIspoke.”

“Notatall,notatall,”Irepliedinmygrandestmanner,forthenonceinvestingmy rags with dignity. “I quite understand, I assure you. I suppose peoplelookingforworkalmostworryyoutodeath?”

“That they do,” she answered, with an eloquent and expressive glance; andthereupon ushered me into, not the kitchen, but the dining room—a favour, Itookit,inrecompenseformygrandmanner.

This dining-room, on the same floor as the kitchen, was about four feet belowthe level of the ground, and so dark (it was midday) that I had to wait a spacefor my eyes to adjust themselves to the gloom. Dirty light filtered in through awindow, the top of which was on a level with a sidewalk, and in this light IfoundthatIwasabletoreadnewspaperprint.

And here, while waiting the coming of Johnny Upright, let me explain myerrand. While living, eating, and sleeping with the people of the East End, itwas my intention to have a port of refuge, not too far distant, into which couldrun now and again to assure myself that good clothes and cleanliness stillexisted. Also in such port I could receive my mail, work up my notes, andsallyforthoccasionallyinchangedgarbtocivilisation.

But this involved a dilemma. A lodging where my property would be safeimplied a landlady apt to be suspicious of a gentleman leading a double life;while a landlady who would not bother her head over the double life of herlodgerswouldimplylodgingswherepropertywasunsafe.Toavoidthedilemma was what had brought me to Johnny Upright. A detective of thirty-odd years’ continuous service in the East End, known far and wide by a namegiven him by a convicted felon in the dock, he was just the man to find me anhonest landlady, and make her rest easy concerning the strange comings andgoingsofwhichImightbeguilty.

His two daughters beat him home from church—and pretty girls they were intheir Sunday dresses; withal it was the certain weak and delicate prettinesswhichcharacterisestheCockneylasses,aprettinesswhichisnomorethana

promise with no grip on time, and doomed to fade quickly away like thecolourfromasunsetsky.

They looked me over with frank curiosity, as though I were some sort of astrange animal, and then ignored me utterly for the rest of my wait. ThenJohnny Upright himself arrived, and I was summoned upstairs to confer withhim.

“Speak loud,” he interrupted my opening words. “I’ve got a bad cold, and Ican’thearwell.”

Shades of Old Sleuth and Sherlock Holmes! I wondered as to where theassistant was located whose duty it was to take down whatever information Imight loudly vouchsafe. And to this day, much as I have seen of JohnnyUpright and much as I have puzzled over the incident, I have never been quiteable to make up my mind as to whether or not he had a cold, or had anassistant planted in the other room. But of one thing I am sure: though I gaveJohnnyUprightthefactsconcerningmyselfandproject,hewithheldjudgmenttill next day, when I dodged into his street conventionally garbed and in ahansom. Then his greeting was cordial enough, and I went down into thedining-roomtojointhefamilyattea.

“We are humble here,” he said, “not given to the flesh, and you must take usforwhatweare,inourhumbleway.”

The girls were flushed and embarrassed at greeting me, while he did not makeitanytheeasierforthem.

“Ha! ha!” he roared heartily, slapping the table with his open hand till thedishes rang. “The girls thought yesterday you had come to ask for a piece ofbread!Ha!ha!ho!ho!ho!”

This they indignantly denied, with snapping eyes and guilty red cheeks, asthough it were an essential of true refinement to be able to discern under hisragsamanwhohadnoneedtogoragged.

Andthen,whileIatebreadandmarmalade,proceededaplayatcrosspurposes, the daughters deeming it an insult to me that I should have beenmistaken for a beggar, and the father considering it as the highest complimentto my cleverness to succeed in being so mistaken. All of which I enjoyed, andthe bread, the marmalade, and the tea, till the time came for Johnny Upright tofind me a lodging, which he did, not half-a-dozen doors away, in his ownrespectable and opulent street, in a house as like to his own as a pea to itsmate.

CHAPTERIII—MYLODGINGANDSOMEOTHERS

FromanEastLondonstandpoint,theroomIrentedforsixshillings,oradollarand a half, per week, was a most comfortable affair. From the Americanstandpoint, on the other hand, it was rudely furnished, uncomfortable, andsmall. By the time I had added an ordinary typewriter table to its scantyfurnishing, I was hard put to turn around; at the best, I managed to navigate itby a sort of vermicular progression requiring great dexterity and presence ofmind.

Having settled myself, or my property rather, I put on my knockabout clothesand went out for a walk. Lodgings being fresh in my mind, I began to lookthem up, bearing in mind the hypothesis that I was a poor young man with awifeandlargefamily.

My first discovery was that empty houses were few and far between—so farbetween, in fact, that though I walked miles in irregular circles over a largearea,Istillremainedbetween.NotoneemptyhousecouldIfind—aconclusiveproofthatthedistrictwas“saturated.”

It being plain that as a poor young man with a family I could rent no houses atall in this most undesirable region, I next looked for rooms, unfurnishedrooms, in which I could store my wife and babies and chattels. There were notmany,butIfoundthem,usuallyinthesingular,foroneappearstobeconsidered sufficient for a poor man’s family in which to cook and eat andsleep. When I asked for two rooms, the sublettees looked at me very much inthemanner,Iimagine,thatacertainpersonagelookedatOliverTwistwhenheaskedformore.

Not only was one room deemed sufficient for a poor man and his family, but Ilearned that many families, occupying single rooms, had so much space tospare as to be able to take in a lodger or two. When such rooms can be rentedfor from three to six shillings per week, it is a fair conclusion that a lodgerwith references should obtain floor space for, say, from eightpence to ashilling. He may even be able to board with the sublettees for a few shillingsmore.This,however,Ifailedtoinquireinto—areprehensibleerroronmypart,consideringthatIwasworkingonthebasisofahypotheticalfamily.

Not only did the houses I investigated have no bath-tubs, but I learned thatthere were no bath-tubs in all the thousands of houses I had seen. Under thecircumstances,withmywifeandbabiesandacoupleoflodgerssufferingfrom the too great spaciousness of one room, taking a bath in a tin wash-basinwould be an unfeasible undertaking. But, it seems, the compensation comes inwiththesavingofsoap,soall’swell,andGod’sstillinheaven.

However, I rented no rooms, but returned to my own Johnny Upright’s street.Whatwithmywife,andbabies,andlodgers,andthevariouscubby-holesinto

which I had fitted them, my mind’s eye had become narrow-angled, and Icould not quite take in all of my own room at once. The immensity of it wasawe-inspiring. Could this be the room I had rented for six shillings a week?Impossible!Butmylandlady,knockingatthedoortolearnifIwerecomfortable,dispelledmydoubts.

“Oh yes, sir,” she said, in reply to a question. “This street is the very last. Allthe other streets were like this eight or ten years ago, and all the people werevery respectable. But the others have driven our kind out. Those in this streetaretheonlyonesleft.It’sshocking,sir!”

And then she explained the process of saturation, by which the rental value ofaneighbourhoodwentup,whileitstonewentdown.

“You see, sir, our kind are not used to crowding in the way the others do. Weneed more room. The others, the foreigners and lower-class people, can getfive and six families into this house, where we only get one. So they can paymore rent for the house than we can afford. It is shocking, sir; and just tothink, only a few years ago all this neighbourhood was just as nice as it couldbe.”

Ilookedather.Herewasawoman,ofthefinestgradeoftheEnglish

working-class, with numerous evidences of refinement, being slowly engulfedby that noisome and rotten tide of humanity which the powers that be arepouringeastwardoutofLondonTown.Bank,factory,hotel,andofficebuildingmustgoup,andthecitypoorfolkareanomadicbreed;sotheymigrateeastward,waveuponwave,saturatinganddegradingneighbourhoodbyneighbourhood,drivingthebetterclassofworkersbeforethemtopioneer,ontherimofthecity,ordraggingthemdown,ifnotinthefirstgeneration,surelyinthesecondandthird.

ItisonlyaquestionofmonthswhenJohnnyUpright’sstreetmustgo.Herealisesithimself.

“In a couple of years,” he says, “my lease expires. My landlord is one of ourkind.Hehasnotputuptherentonanyofhishouseshere,andthishasenabledus to stay. But any day he may sell, or any day he may die, which is the samething so far as we are concerned. The house is bought by a money breeder,whobuildsasweatshoponthepatchofgroundattherearwheremygrapevine is, adds to the house, and rents it a room to a family. There you are,andJohnnyUpright’sgone!”

And truly I saw Johnny Upright, and his good wife and fair daughters, andfrowzy slavey, like so many ghosts flitting eastward through the gloom, themonstercityroaringattheirheels.

But Johnny Upright is not alone in his flitting. Far, far out, on the fringe of thecity,livethesmallbusinessmen,littlemanagers,andsuccessfulclerks.They

dwell in cottages and semi-detached villas, with bits of flower garden, andelbow room, and breathing space. They inflate themselves with pride, andthrow out their chests when they contemplate the Abyss from which they haveescaped, and they thank God that they are not as other men. And lo! downuponthemcomesJohnnyUprightandthemonstercityathisheels.Tenementsspring up like magic, gardens are built upon, villas are divided and subdividedinto many dwellings, and the black night of London settles down in a greasypall.

CHAPTERIV—AMANANDTHEABYSS

“Isay,canyouletalodging?”

These words I discharged carelessly over my shoulder at a stout and elderlywoman, of whose fare I was partaking in a greasy coffee-house down near thePoolandnotveryfarfromLimehouse.

“Oh yus,” she answered shortly, my appearance possibly not approximatingthestandardofaffluencerequiredbyherhouse.

Isaidnomore,consumingmyrasherofbaconandpintofsicklyteainsilence.Nor did she take further interest in me till I came to pay my reckoning(fourpence), when I pulled all of ten shillings out of my pocket. The expectedresultwasproduced.

“Yus, sir,” she at once volunteered; “I ’ave nice lodgin’s you’d likely tyke afancyto.Backfromavoyage,sir?”

“Howmuchforaroom?”Iinquired,ignoringhercuriosity.

She looked me up and down with frank surprise. “I don’t let rooms, not to myreg’larlodgers,muchlesscasuals.”

“ThenI’llhavetolookalongabit,”Isaid,withmarkeddisappointment.

But the sight of my ten shillings had made her keen. “I can let you have a nicebedinwithtwohothermen,”sheurged.“Good,respectablemen,an’steady.”

“ButIdon’twanttosleepwithtwoothermen,”Iobjected.

“You don’t ’ave to. There’s three beds in the room, an’ hit’s not a very smallroom.”

“Howmuch?”Idemanded.

“’Arf a crown a week, two an’ six, to a regular lodger. You’ll fancy the men,I’m sure. One works in the ware’ouse, an’ ’e’s been with me two years now.An’ the hother’s bin with me six—six years, sir, an’ two months comin’ nex’Saturday.’E’sascene-shifter,”shewenton.“Asteady,respectableman,never