WITH THE BROKER’S MAN

Cromwell Argus, Volume L, Issue 2644, 13 October 1919, Page 7

WITH THE BROKER’S MAN

LITTLE THINGS THAT HAPPEN TO THE MAN IN POSSESSION. I learnt very little concerning the doings of the inhabitants of the great city of London until I became a broker’s man, and then I discovered many things. In the first place, I found, to my astonishment, that I had entered • a profession filled with educated as well as uneducated men. It may surprise you to know that ther® are bailifis in London who were educated 'at the universities, and who at one time held excellent positions in the world of commerce. For instance, one I became acquainted with was. less than-ten years ago, a shining light in the legal profession. Notwithstanding that the bailiff is invariably poorly supplied with this world's goods, the law gives him a | good deal of power, and that power | makes him an object of terror to j those who have the misfortune tc i stand on the brink of impecuniosity. PUTTING HIM OUT OP THE WAY. According to the statute relating to distraint, a landlord or his bailifi can under no circumstances enter a house by force, but once access has been obtained to premises, he is allowed by law, if circumstances render it necessary, to break open any door which debars or impedes fur* ther progress. Speaking of doors reminds m& of a strange thing that happened to me quite recently. I was told to take possession of a certain house, and when I arrived there I found that the front door was wide open. Congratulating myself on my luck, I walked boldly in and up the passage. Suddenly I heard a creeping sound behind me, but before I could turn round, my arms were roughly pulled to my back and a bag thrown over my head. A second or two later 3 was falling through space. When I picked myself up I, found myself in a cellar with no means of escape, as the door through which I had bean’ thrown had been locked and bolted from the outside. During my confinement—l escaped eventually by attracting the attention of a policeman—the: tenants marched off with all their goods and chattels, and were never seen again. UPS AND DOWNS. The war made a great change all round. Men and women who a. couple of years ago were continually having the brokers in now have real homes and pianos, gramophones, and all manner of luxuries. They were working on munitions, and reaping a harj Vest. But there are people among j the upper middle class who have been so badly hit by the war that they are unable to make both end? meet. Not long ago I was in possession of a smart little villa occupied by a solicitor, and there was not a shill-ings-worth of food in the place. He told me that the war had taken nearly all his income away from him, and that he was too proud to • ask his friends for assistance. He and his wife were doing their best to | hide their poverty until their luck j came back. His sad story so touchj ed me that I lent him a sovereign. I I then returned to my employer, and persuaded him to be a bit lienient for once in a way. You will probably raise your eyebrows when I tell you that one of the best times of the year for me is Christmas. Money circulates pretty freely during the festive season, and even the poorest of the poor generally manage to collect a little cash to pay the cost of a dinner on the 25th December. As a result, Yule often proves profitable for landlords with rent overdue, for all manner of creditors, and for moneylenders who do business in the poor districts of the metropolis. QUALIFICATIONS FOR THE JOB. The modern Shylock doesn’t think twice about putting “the screw’’ on at the year-end, for he knows well that if he presses for what is owing him his victims’ neighbours are most likely to go round with the hat and help the unfortunates out of their difficulties. It is by no means unusual for a broker’s man to be placed in possession of a house at Christmas with the sole purpose of “spotting” the presents that come in. It is an old dodge of the popr people’s landlord to partly rely on Yuletide’ gifts to settle the sums owing for rent. The broker’s man who has to “work” in the East End of London wants to be a bit of a prizefighter as well as armour-plated. In a house at Limehouse once I was set upon by a burly riverman and his wife, and they so severely maltreated me that I had to keep to my bed for nearly a month. The moment I entered the building in the usual manner allowed by law, through the front door, the pair caught me up in their arms, dropped me in a tubful of hot soapsuds, rammed my head up the kitchen chimney, and finally exhausted their energies by tossing me into the yard next door. —“Answers.”