A SYDNEY SOCIALIST.

Press, Volume L, Issue 8652, 29 November 1893, Page 3

A SYDNEY SOCIALIST.

By M.L.M. He was a red-hot Socialist, with a heart burning to. redress the wrongs of the oppressed in general and himself in particular. He had been out of work for eleven months, and it was not much wonder that the world seemed an unequal place to him, a place where one man starred while the next man was feasted. He had an idea, too, that there was no place so hard for working men to live in as Sydney. If he could only get away, he thought, to Parygay, or San 'Frisco, or Melbourne, or some of those places where money was flowing, and every man was each man's equal. He said so to his wife once. " I never !" she answered. " Every man equal I How would you like bein , set down equal with Hoeklns round the corner, who's never three weeks out of -gaol since he learned hisself to walk' Sich talk 1" She had no theories, poor woman. She hadnt time for them. She washed clothes all day long, and ironed shirts all the evening. She stayed ab home and fought the wolt, and her husband went about saying what a cruel wolf it was. One day (Monday) she sent him out to buy some blue. " And 'urry yerself," she said. " To-day's rent day, and we're all behind, and Mrs 'Arris 'as gave mc till seven o'clock to pay up in. There's all these tubs waitin' to be blued, and them dozen countypius to bo wrioged out; and you'll 'aye to take them ironed shirts baok and. get the money for them before 'Arris comes. So 'urry."

She didn't aak him to help her wring out, or move the heavy wastitubs, or carry the white laden baskets out to where the clothes-lines crossed and recrossed above their narrow little yard. That was woman's work, s>he said. She heard him say so.

Mrs Green next door called through the fence, •* Why don't you make 'im help 1" " Oh, no," ahe answered, " 'E'e gone a message."

" He's too proud, I s'pose," invidiously. " Taint Dride. It's just 'is 'igh good temper," filling her mouth with clothespegs, and doing her beat to stretch it out of respectable shape. He in the meanti.-ne, having gone out to buy blue, met a friend, wenc into town aud got drunk with the blue money and its change. He had a riotously happy afternoon. All the men he met seemed old friends. He loved them all, loved them dearly, and longed to shake their hands. His tongue was quick with eloquence. There was no theme under the skies upon which he could not have held forth, and thrown new and vivid lights. He had something to say about everything and everybody. Dibbs and Parkes—Sir George and old 'Enry—the Queen, the banks, capital and labour, he touched warmly and scatbiugly on them all. As for the workingman, the Reveller dressed him in clothes that he himself even would'never have recognised as his own. Soon he felt there was nothing in the wcrld like making speeches, and that Parliament was the place for him, and he imagined himself addressing his constituents, and melting all hearts by his irresistible eloquence and ennobling practicality.

So he was happy for a while, and for a while he forgob alike life's burdens and the blue he had been sent out to buy. The little washer felt the hours' slip by, and slip by with growing wonder and anger at her husband's non-appearance. She wanted the blue badly, too. Seven times did she slip out to the gate and look backwards and forwards along the narrow street, but the figure she looked for mas never there. She would have gone an eighth, but fear and shame of the tongue of Mrs Green over the fence kept her back. " He'll be here in a minute," she said at first, and later on she sighed, and had a bitter feeling in her heart. "A lot he carea," she said—he was then holding forth on the capital and labour question—the toilin' and elavin* and the men, what'll they do to 'elp ? Nob even buy your blue when you give them the money lor it ?"

A few tears fell into the tub. It was such a loos of time to have to leave her work, and put on hat and ulster, and so out for it herself. But there was nothing else for it. It was no good sending little Tom. She had sent him for soap once, and all che grocer could get out of him was "My mummy buy mc new 'at.". So she went; for it herself, and the washing seemed harder and she more tired than ever after her trip into the world outside her back gate.

" 'E 'as the best of it," she said bitterly; " goin , about wherever he likes and meeting his friends at all hours, and mc chained down like a dog to a stick. It's hard times that women have in this world. Ken only hope the nexb'll be better."

tine bared her arms and squeezed her blue bags, and sang under her breath and without much time, bub with deep heartfeeling, " 'Eve we suffer grief and pain," It was a relief to sing it—to have someone else put her thoughts into' words. "If he doesn'G come eoou," she said, when the verse was ended, "I'll have to let 'im know what he means by it. Them shirts must go before dark, or they won't be paid for, and there'll be no payincr Mr 'Juris. Where "as 'a got to on earth ?". But she felt nob quite so bitter as she had done before she sang her hymn.

The afternoon waned towards evening. The lamps were lib at the street corners; the lights that the wintry sunset: had lit in the house windows over in Dariinghurst and the heights beyond along the harbour's edges wenb out slowly; a purplish blue mist came stealing down upon the city, and the feet of the workers began to turn towards- their homes. East and west, and north and south, to boat, and train, and tram, and 'bus, the people hastened in their evening exodus.

In the breast of the Reveller a feeling of animosity had awakened, and mankind— his love just now—became his enemy. All the warmth was faded, tho eloquence spent. Life was a* grievous burden to bear, and the upward alope of King street was a monster mountain that his feet were •orely pressed to climb. He rested a while at the top, where the people stood waiting for their trams. Just in front of where he stood there was a young man, looking out for a Faddington tram, with pale, brown eyes, and brown hair, and light-brown whiskers, a big brown hat, and a little brown overcoat. There was something amiable in which hie eyes and hair and hat and whiskers and overcoat all matched each other.

You couldn't have imagined him killing even a mosquito. He had a faint, pink in either cheek, and vras carrying carefully a paper bag with the legend " .Florists" on the outside, and the scent of sweet flowers witbla. fie was taking them to a friend who was going to a dance that night, and be felt just as happy and important and harmless as he looked. - The Reveller Jooked at him, saw him happy, and felt maddened. He had a dim idea that be had seen him before, and he longed to insult somebody. This mao looked happy. He should be his victim. " Ere, you," said a loud, rude voice in the young man's ear. *'I know you. Scandin , waitin' 'ere for your tram aa i£ you was somebody, and never pays your debts. I know all about you." The young man's flush buret into a painful, vivid red. He realised at once that the voice was addressing him, but he looked straight in front of him. and setting his little feet together, hoped, oh how he hoped, that nobody had heard. •■• "Sea," went on the Reveller, growing louder and more abusive, " spendin' money 'ere and there like a lord, and never pay your debts." Hβ liked the sound of the last words, so he shouted them again ** Never pay your debts." The young man thought of all the stories he had ever heard about the earth openiDg and swallowing people up. He stared down wildly ac the ground, bat no merciful cracks or fissures made their appearance there. His brow grew damp. He knew the people round were listening. They might perhaps believe what this dreadful man was sayi&g. Iα all his amiable

twenty-nine rears he had never wronged ft fellow-creature by as much a> a farthing* Yet, here he was. picked out from * hundred others, to be openly shamed and insulted. If only a tram Would run over the man, or a dog bite him. or somebody knock him down, or something happen to distract him from his victim 1 fie, himself, did not dare to move an eyelash* And there was the voice again.

"Thietia , from ua poor," ifc anil.—Everybody. But the young man Interrupted him here. Unable to bear it another second* and maddened by the sound of a girl laugh behind him, he tore off his hat, and threw it to the right, (lung his flower* to Che left, and with doubled nets and flashing ore* turned upon hie enemy. The Revefior was head and shoulders above him, bub those little fists were lrou-llke In their goaded rage; they beat upon him like stinging hull, and the Reveller's lurching sweeps with legs and arms did little to defend himself.

It was a sight for the gods; but it came to the common conclusion. A man Iα blue walked up. The little vlctimjMd man, seizing his hat, and forgetting his flowers, which, indeed, a newsboy had already sold for threepence round the corner, rushed madly to a tram, hopped In, and disappeared. " What's all this?" said the man in blue. " 1 ain't doin' uothin'." said the.Revellw. sullenly. " Goin' to Crowush-atreet. I'm goin , to Crownsh-street." " Well, go on, then, go on," said the defender of peace; bo he moved away. A boy was singing " Home, sweet Home," and the Reveller echoed him uncon* sciously. " Iheresh no place like "ome," he said, and started off towards his own at DwpHnghurst. He had forgotten all about t£e blue, but he had had a magnificent after* noon. - • The washer was wiping the last aude from hor hands as he came in. " You've come home," she eald. " Where's the blue ?" She saw at a glance what had happened, but she was a patient woman, and curbed her tongue a space. "I duuno," eaid the Reveller. "Ain't we goin' to 'aye any teat" •'You're not," she said. " Not till you're taken the shirts back and got the money for them. You take them this minute, and if you don't bring back 11s owed for four weeks, Mc Harris can't be paid. It'e our last chance, he says, and If we don't pay to-night we'll 'aye to go to-morrow." The Revellef dared not rebel, so he took the bundle of finely-ironed ahirts, and the greasy bio of paper on which «ho had written, "Ploaae mum give him the monney. eleven thillinga aud aevenpenoe* Youra, &c. Mrs Butler," and went away. Half an hour after he came back with the shifts and without the money. , " The missus was out." he aaid. " They wouldn't pay mc, so 1 wouldn't leave the shirts."

His wife gave a little cry. A sudden fire blazed tup in her poor pale even, anA sne clenched her rough Beamed hands together, and throw back her head. " Oh," sire said, bitterly. " You—you— What have you brought mc to ? You, wUb your strikes, and your talk about 'Frisco, and men bein , equal, and you won't work for this, and you won't work for that—not good enough wages for a gent'eman like you, and work lv the tuiues and places goin' beggin , . 'Tis just you and your likes that ruins the country, and stops the industries, and gets us women that works our fingers to the bone for you turned out) of 'ouee and 'ome. Now, I'll tell yon I You'll see Mr 'Arris. You'll make explain to him. You'll say, *Mr 'Arris, we 'aven't got the rent,' and if he says why, you'll say 'cause I'm a great laay good-for-noehink lout, and wouldn't come home in time to go with the shirts and get the money. Tell 'im you went and dranked yesself away." She slammed the door behind her and left him to his shame.

After this the Reveller felt very sad. <9>e went down to the waeuouee and eat uown by the fire under the copper. Hie heart was heavy within him, and his head was even heavier upon his shoulders, He thought dimly that he was a miserable and ill-used man, and that he had a dreadful ordeal before him that night.

When the knock he wne expocting came at their little front door he waited thinking she might perhaps relent atad help him to meet the foe. He let the knock repeat itself three times. Then he cilgbed, rose heavily, and, taking a candle with bin, went inside to meet his i'ate. He shuffled, down the narrow passage, paused there a minute to think what he was going to say, but being able to think of nothing beyond Sir'Enery Parkes and blue bags, opened door boldly, and stood face to face with the landlord. "The rent, please," said an amiable voice. ■•

44 Well," began the Reveller, desperately, •• we 'aven't got it. . The missus—' He stopped suddenly and started no vio* lently that the candle fell down from hie hand and went out. Then he heard a match struck and saw, almost without looking, a face that glared Into hie own, and made hie heart to quake and hie knew to tremble. The horrible truth cub through him like a knife.

Mr 'Arris and the young man were one and the same I

It was his landlord he had insulted, his landlord he had called names, his landlord he had fought, and his own throat he baa cutl

There was a painful scene. The Revelltr ■ who had been in court—the Less said of thai the kinder—tried to soften him by calling him " Your Honour." ,

" I never pay my debts," said Mr Harris, sarcastically. " I never knowed you, your 'crnour," said the Reveller.

•'I am a thief and en extortioner," said the young man. " It was the whiskey, your 'onour." But all his tears and meekness were in vain. Mr 'Arris was no longer an amiable end sweet-tempered young man. - He was a fiery little martinet with a deadly insult burning at his breast, and his enemy at his sword's point. When an amiable young man really hardens his heart the heart of the always hard man is as mud to it. a " You shall be sold off first thing in the morning," were Mr Harris's final words. The Reveller went back to the wash* house and wept. Hβ even had a dark thought or two of poison, but; he had no money. He might have drowned himself perhaps if it hadn't been so cold. His heart was full of a great wonder as to why he had ever been born.

However, when, next morning, the poor little washer met Mr 'Arris outside his gate und pleaded with him Tilth tears in her brave eyes to Rive him just one day more, and then would surely pay him, his innate sweetness and sofbheartednee overcame his mangled feelings, and after a few pompous sentences by way of giving in, he said, " That's all right. Don't you fret," and hurried himself away lest he should tell her not to trouble to pay him at all. •»•

It was that same day that the Reveller took to helping his wife, emptying her tubs, keeping up her fires, and doing woman's work generally till something worthy of his sex turned up. He had resigned his position as a socialist for ever.— Sydney Daily Telegraph.