A Second Coming. Marsh Richard

the free, where people slave and slave-for one-and-nine.'

      Mr. Davis seemed conscious that the conclusion of his sentence was slightly impotent, and spat on the floor as if to signify his regret.

      ''Tain't much slaving you do, anyhow.'

      'No, nor it ain't much I'm likely to do; I'm no servile wretch; I'm free-born.'

      'Prefers to make your living off me, you do.'

      'Well, and why not? Ain't woman the inferior animal? Didn't Nature mean it to be her pride to minister to man? Ain't it only the false veneer of a rotten civilization what's upset all that? If I gives my talents for the good of the species, as I do do, as is well known I do do, ain't it only right that you should give me something in return, if it's only a crust and water? Ain't that law and justice- natural law, mind you, and natural justice?'

      'I don't know nothing about law, natural or otherwise, but I do know it ain't justice.'

      Mr. Davis looked at his wife, more in sorrow than in anger. He was silent for some seconds, as if meditating on the peculiar baseness of human nature. When he spoke there was a whine in his raucous voice, which was, perhaps, meant to denote his consciousness of how much he stood in need of sympathy.

      'I'm sorry, Matilda, to hear you talk to me like that, because it forces me to do something what I shouldn't otherwise have done. Give me them coats.'

      She had just finished packing up the coats in the linen wrapper, and was pinning up one end. Snatching up the parcel, she clasped it to her bosom as if it had been some precious thing.

      'No, Tommy, not the coats!'

      'Matilda, once more I ask you to give me them coats.'

      'What do you want them for?'

      'Once more, Matilda, I ask you to give me them coats.'

      'No, Tommy, that I won't-never! not if you was to kill me! You know what happened the last time, and all I had to go through; and you promised you'd never do it again, and you shan't, not while I can help it-no, that you shan't!'

      Clasping the parcel tightly to her, she drew back towards a corner of the room, like some wild creature standing at bay. Mr. Davis, advancing towards the table, leaned on it, addressing her as if he desired to impress her with the fact that he was endeavouring not to allow his feelings to get the better of his judgment.

      'Listen to me, Matilda. I'm soft and tender, as well you know, and should therefore regret having to start knocking you about; but want is want, and I want 'arf a sovereign this day, and have it I must.'

      'What do you want it for?'

      Mr. Davis brought his clenched fist sharply down upon the table-possibly by way of a hint.

      'Never you mind what I want it for. I do want it, and that's enough for you. You trouble yourself with your own affairs, and don't poke your nose into mine, my girl; you'll find it safest.'

      'I'll try to get it for you, Tommy.'

      Mr. Davis was scornful.

      'Oh, you will, will you! How are you going to set about getting 'arf a sovereign? Perhaps you'll be so good as to let me know. Because if you can lay hands on 'arf a sovereign whenever one's wanted, it's a trick worth knowing. You're such a clever one at getting 'old of the pieces, you are, and always have been.'

      The man's irony seemed to cause the woman to wince. She drew a little farther back towards her corner.

      'I don't rightly know how I shall get hold of it, not just now, I don't; but I daresay I shall manage somehow.'

      'Oh, you do, do you? Shall I tell you how you'll manage? You listen to me. You'll go to them there slave-drivers with them two coats, and they'll keep you waiting for two mortal hours or more. Then they'll dock sixpence for fines-you're always getting fined; you 'ardly ever take anything in without you're fined; you're a slovenly workwoman, that's what you are, my lass, and that's the truth! – you'll come away with three bob, and spend 'arf a crown on rent, or some such silly nonsense; and then when it comes to me, you'll start snivelling, and act the crybaby, and I shall have to treat you to a kicking, and find myself further off my 'arf sovereign than ever I was. I don't want no more of your nonsense. Give me them two coats!'

      'You'll pawn 'em if I do.'

      'Of course I'll pawn 'em. What do you suppose I'm going to do with them-eat 'em, or give them to the Queen?'

      'You'll get me into trouble again! They're due in to-day. You know what happened last time. If they lock me up again, I'll be sent away.'

      'Then be sent away, and be 'anged to you for a nasty, mean, snivelling cat! Why don't you earn enough to keep your 'usband like a gentleman? If you don't, it's your fault, isn't it? Give me them two coats!'

      'No, Tommy, I won't!'

      He went closer to her.

      'For the last time; will you give me them two coats?'

      'No!'

      She hugged the parcel closer, and she closed her eyes, so that she should not see him strike her. He hit her once, twice, thrice, choosing his mark with care and discretion. Under the first two blows she reeled; the last sent her in a heap to the floor. When she was down he kicked her in a business-like, methodical fashion, then picked up the parcel which had fallen from her grasp.

      'You've brought it on yourself, as you very well know. It's the kind of thing I don't care to have to do. I'm not like some, what's always spoiling to knock their wives about; but when I do have to do it, there's no one does it more thorough, I will say that.'

      He left her lying in a heap on the boards. On his way to the pawnbroker's he encountered a friend, Joe Cooke. Mr. Cooke stopped and hailed him.

      'What yer, Tommy! Are you coming along with us to-night on that there little razzle?'

      'Of course I am. Didn't I say I was? And when I say I'm coming, don't I always come?'

      'All right, old coxybird! Keep your 'air on! No one said you didn't. Got the rhino?'

      'I have. Leastways, I soon shall have, when I've turned this little lot into coin of the realm.'

      He pointed to the bundle which he bore beneath his arm. Mr. Cooke grinned.

      'What yer got there?'

      'I've got a couple of coats what my wife's been wearing out her eyes on for a set of slave-driving sweaters. Three-and-six they was to pay her for them. I rather reckon that I'll get more than three-and-six for them, unless I'm wrong. And when I have melted 'em, Joe, I don't mind if I do you a wet.'

      Joe did not mind, either. The two fell in side by side. Mr. Cooke drew his hand across his mouth.

      'Ever since my old woman died I've felt I ought to have another-a good one, mind you. There's nothing like having someone to whom you can turn for a bob or so.'

      'It's more than a bob or so I get out of my old woman, you may take my word. If she don't keep me like a gentleman, she hears of it.'

      Mr. Cooke regarded his friend with genuine admiration.

      'Ah! but we're not all so fly as you, Tommy, nor yet so lucky.'

      'Perhaps not-not, mind you, that that's owing to any fault of yours. It's as we're made.'

      Mr. Davis, with the bundle under his arm, bore himself with an air of modest pride, as one who appreciated his natural advantages.

      They reached the pawnbroker's. The entrance to the pledge department was in a little alley leading off the main street. As Mr. Davis stood at the mouth of this alley to say a parting word to his friend as a prelude to the important business of the pledging, someone touched him on the arm.

      A voice accosted him.

      'What is it that you would do?'

      Mr. Davis spun round like a teetotum. He stared at the Stranger.

      'Hollo, matey! Who are you?'

      'I am He that you know not of.'

      Mr. Davis drew a little back, as if a trifle disconcerted. His voice was huskier than even it was wont to be.

      'What's