THE MODEL "NEW CHUM." A Story of Real Life.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 131, 5 December 1885, Page 3

THE MODEL "NEW CHUM." A Story of Real Life.

(By Arjaka.)

" What is the matter, George ? why don' you get your tea, and not sit mopiug lik that till it gets cold ?" " All right, Emily. " But it's not all right. I believe there i something really the matter with you ; yoi act so queerly. Are you ill ? What is it ?' •J Well, Emily, if you must know, and : suppose you muat sooner or later, I havi lost my place." • l What !" I' l have lost my place." ••Why?" "I don't know why, any more than the governor, when he paid me my salary, tole me he would not need my services aftei next Saturday." " But did he give no reason ?" "Yes. He said times were getting sc dull, and business was falling off. He promises me a character, but of what use is that ? I know it is only too truetimes are hard and business is dull, and mj chance of getting employment is slim enough, God knows." And then they sat down and talked it over. George Haney had his tea, but he scarcely knew it. Losing his position to him— a clerkship in a paper merchant's office in the city road— meant an unknown quantity of trouble, and perhaps privation and want. During the time he had been in work, a period of some four and a half years, on a salary of £80 per year, he had managed to save about £35, and this now represented all he had in the world. He was a Good Templar, and a good worker in the Order, but the Good Templars were not a benefit society, and from them he had no hope of help except good wishes. He had no relations who had any money to share if he got out, nor any who had influence to get him any other position, and what to do he was sorely troubled. The talk that night was long, and when midnight arrived the problem as to what they should do was still unsolved. George's sleep was restless and broken — dreams in which various hard possibilities of poverty were presented to him, and he more than once woke up in distress only to find the waking gave him little solace. The next week went by, but he could hear of no opening for him, and Saturday night found him with a good character in his pocket, but out of emp'oyment. Another week went by, and although George had hunted all he knew, the only result was the cry of hard times ; business men were thinking of discharging their employees rather than having places for others, and their little saving was less by one week's expenditure, and so pa*sed two or three more "weeks, and matters grew no better. He had answered ad vertiaement* till he was tired. There were hundreds of applications for every chance and vacancy ; scores with credentials as good as his. He found University men applying for common clerkohipsof2ssand 30s per week. The world seemed to be changing to him. People he had previously met now seemed to rather avoid him. He /was "out of collar," and that even in his walk of life told. He was more amongst the ranks of the needy than at all able to do others a good turn. He began to get disheartened, a little disparing, and a trifle reckless. Talked of "going to the devil " and the Workhouse. One Saturday night, late in November, he accidentally picked up a sheet of the "Christian World," which had corneas butter wrapping from the grocers, and his eye caught' an article written by a correspondent in New Zealand describing the country, etc , and speaking very hopefully of its future. George began to think, and then to talk. " I believe England is played out." " Why is it ?" said his wifo. " Oh, there are so many out of work, and things generally seem to be going to the dogs ; at least so far as the people are concerned." (They were no worse than they had been for two or three yeara previously, only Haney saw it clearer now he was among the ranks of tho unemployed.) "Now here is an article I have been reading in the paper here about New Zealand, a place I once came very near going to j before we were married. I read a lot j about it then— enouth to make me feel like trying it ; but somehow I did not get off. If I was not married " He broke off, for the inherent selfishness of the idea presented itself to his mind before he finished his remarks, and he added haltingly and disconnectedly -- "I might get over there; but I could not leave you and the boy, Emily," and he felt mean as he said it, for he knew what he had come very near blurting out. His wife, however, got an idea of his hesitating speech and what it meant -that he half felt her an incumbrance, but like the girl that she was, she determined to prove to him he was mistaken. "George," she said, "go without me. You have money enough to get over, and when you have saved enough you can send for us." "Yea, but how are you to live ineanwhilo?" , „„,., "Oh, I'll get along somehow. 11l take in needlework, or do washing." "No i no ! Emily. That is a little too tough for you, who have never been used to such work, at least to that extent. It's one thing to wash for a family like our selves, but it is a different thing when you have to pet bread and butter and rent by it. I never gave a thought to the poor women who lose their husbands and have to do it before now, and your words sound something like retribution. As for needlework, I think there is even Jess to be made at that, to say nothing of health, if 1 may judge of the sewing girls I have seen going into the city. No. Emily, we will sink or swim together. We'll go together or stay together." They then began to think and talk of where they could borrow enough to make up money to take them over. They had thirty pounds left, and the fare a^ne was thirty-six. Their wits, however, could not solve that six pounds and the little added that would be wanted on the other side. True their household goods should fetch something, but selling one's furniture, they knew, by auctions they had attended, meant too often giving them away, and they dared not risk it. During the next week Haney said to one or two friends that he would go to New Zealand if he could borrow about ten or fifteen pounds, but could get no idea where such a loan, on the security of his word only, could be got, and he only got more moody and hopeless. He seemed hedged in, and there was no way out. He bad been a good worker in his lodge, and this New Zealand idea struck one or two of the moving spirits of the lodge as a good means to give him a testimonial. A subscription paper was put quietly round the membership in the Holloway district, and an entertainment, with a threepenny admission, was resolved on. Of the object of thiß Haney was kept in the dark. "Good of Order" was the reason given to him. The entertainment came off, and George contributed by giving a couple of readings from Sims's poems—" Billey s Rose" and a "Last Interview." Haney was pleased with the reception he got, and the cheerlessness of his life was

brightened by the cheers his readings wer received with, but he could not understan< why he was encored so loudly. Nor did h< understand till the next meeting of the lodge when, after the ordinary business wai over, the Chief Templar rose and saic the lodge had alittle pleasing personal mattei to come before it, and called on tha oldesi member present to bring it forward. Th< oldest member happened to be an elderlj lady, and she responded by rising and walk ing up to the astonished Haney and putting into his hand a purse, amidst the cheers ol the whole lodge, and stating that it contained eighteen pounds, and was a testimonial from the lodge to him for his hard and faithful work in connection therewith. They knew he was out of employment, and had heard he desired to emigrate to New Zealand, and needed only gome ten pounds to make up the amount necessary for the trip. They regretted to lose him, but they believed his prospects were better in a new country like New Zealand than in over-crowded London. Haney was dazed. His face became red, and then turned white, as the thought of what the gift meant flashed through his mind. He tried to speak— rose, faltered out something,, but the applause drowned it, and he sank back unheard. How it finished he scarcely remen?bered, nor did he remember much of what he met on his way homo. But when he laid the purse down before his wife, and told her how it came to be his, she sat down and shed tears of joy. One of the happiest homes in London that night was that of George Haney. Such was the contrast between his previous melancholy and his newly obtained prospects. New Zealand looked to him the daystar of a future prosperity, and as he and his wife sat dia cussing their plans, the castle- building that makes a part of all lives at one time or another was begun. Haney was a new man. Next morning he early went out and bought a " Tele.." and found a ship advertised in it to sail in the course of about ten days, just giving him time to dispose of his home effects. These did not realise overmuch, and they caused many a pang in the parting with. Breaking up home sales to emigrate ia very like the old slave sales of America. Our little belongings seem like part of ourselves, and we part with many a fond memento and little remembrancer never to see it more. The days slipped by, and one wet, drizzling, gloomy morn in December saw George Haney and his wife standing on the deck of the steamer Waitaha, waving adieus to friends on shore, and outward bound for Auckland. One by one the old familiar faces slipped by. Greenwich, with visions of the park and memories of blackheath, Woolwich marshes, Tillbury Fort and Gravesend, all vanished in the cold dull air of the morning, and in a few short hours the nor' lightship was abreast, dropped astern, and darkness came on. With it came a rolling sea and keen wind down the German Ocean, and thoughts of home and friends left behind were made the more intense by the qualms of sea sickness we all know so well. The trip was a fair one, excepting the channel and a gale in Biscay's troubled bay, and one bright summer day in early February the shores of New Zealand roee before them like a land of promise. A httle patient waiting and the Auckland pilot was taken on board, and the beiuty of tho sea suburbs of our city was calling forth expressions of delight from every mouth. A couple of hours and the North Head was rounded, the harbour entered, and the ship safely berthod at the wharf head. The Haneys had been anxious to sea Auckland. They felt repaid when they got their first glimpso, for from the heights of Parnell, the city in the foreground, with the windmill slowly turning in the faint summer breeze, to the verdure clad villas of Ponsonby, the picture seemed full of promise, and hope beat strong in their hearts. The necessity of employment was soon made apparent to George, however, and ib came just in the shape of a few days' bill for board, also in the price of rents. He had first got a room at one of the four shilling per day boarding-houses, and next, after much hunting, had secured half an unfurnished house in Newton. A very little furniture reduced his stock of money to six pounds, and then he began his search for work. But, a fctrantjsr in a strange land, Haney found he was met with unconcern. He looked out for advertisements, he tried the offices, but no opening. He advertised with no result. At the end of the month be was Btill unemployed, and about thirty shillings were all that was left him. Another week went by, and again he was almost moneyless— worse off than in London. Ab he began to think, the prospect seemed no better, and he began to be found amongst the sad hearts so frequent around the Free Library tables. At home things began to look bare, and his wife's eager look of anxious expectancy began to give way to a weariness of disappointment and deferred hope " Emily, we have spent our last shilling. We have a home secured to us for five days, and bread for perhaps threo After that— I don't know." " Well, wo must hope on to the last. We must not give way. But it does seem hard to have left all our friends behind, and then to be reduced to the last loaf, without knowing where the next is to come from, in a country liko thte. Then there seems no poverty here like we saw in London. It seems to me everybody is doing well but us." '< Ah ! that is where you are mistaken. There are hundreds of fellows who are hard up. The difference is that here, when a man gets out of work, he put 3 on his best clothes, smartens himself up, and walks about the streets. He ia all the same to all intents and purposes labelled as 'out,' and might as well go around, as they did at Holloway, pinging 'I've got no work to do-o-o.' The clothes are not shabby, but we cannot tell how the stomach is I believe many an empty belly is covered up "vith a good coat right here in Auckland, in this land of promise When you get hungry you must not beg here, or you'il get run in. They consider it a crime to be hungry hei c. So it is, but the criminal is not the fellow who is hungry. Where everybody is so well off, a very little from each would start a place of some kind where ♦new chuma,' as they call us, could work at something, enough to get -enough to sustain us, and yet a place we would all try to leave to get something better. The only place of the sort at all is the Salvation Army Barracks. I'll give them credit for one thing here - they are practical. They are not all boisterous shoutings like we used to see them at home." " Well, is there no work you can getnone at all, of any sort ?" "It doesn't seem so. When I first came, I thought, of course, I'd get clerking, but I soon found out that « amateur gentlemen's trades' were full to the top,, and that if I intended to do aught at all I would not have to wait till I got a clerkship, but go at anything. I have been this morning trying to get a berth as a navvy, but when 1 asked they looked at me, and neaily laughed in my face. You see, Em., I don't look like a navvy at all." " I should think not, indeed. "Ah, Em. You must get over those ideas here, We're not in England, and although care does prevail to a certain extent

even here, yet the working man is the most solid business man in the colony. I only wish I'd a trade, if it was only a tinker c. I could make money mending pots and kettles, I believe, but I'm a clerk, with white soft hands, and working men look down on me as being a useless thing. " George, why can't you learn a trade?, " Why ? Because I'm too old to be an apprentice, and you must remember we would need money to keep us during such an apprenticeship." , 4< Then I'll tell you what I think ought to ba done, George. I don't believe much in workhouses, or those places where they give food away, You know how it is at home, but if the rich people of Auckland were to establish schools to teach men trades, men like you, willing to work, and wanting work, not charity, and farms where farm work could be taught in the same way, they would do the very thing needed.' " You are like ali the women. You grow enthusiastic over an idea, although your idea is a good one if it could be carried out. But of its being practical I've a doubt." " Well, anyway, I suppose it cannot be carried out soon enough to help us. We need help now. What is that Young Men's Christian Association? Don't they help to get men places there ?" " Well, I don't know. I suppose they may, but I went there one day, and the man to whom I spoko about work seemed more anxious to convert me. He wanted to talk to me about my soul most of the time. Now I'm not religious, and I'm not going to pretend to be to get work. I admire honest religion, but I cannot think much about my soul when I think you and the boy may soon be hungry." "Perhaps you mistake them. Try again." " Well, I may do so, but anyway, I'm hungry now, I suppose we have a meal or two yet ?" " Oh, yes, for a day or two, and then there is ray watch— and yours— but I never thought it would come to that in Hew Zealand." Next morning Haney went to the Young Men's Christian Association, but with very little heart. He sat down in the readingroom and picked up the paper. He had been reading for about halfan-hour, when the same man whom he had spoken of as wanting to talk religion came in, and looking across at Haney, moved towards him. " Ah ! here comes some more goody-goody talk," thought Haney. " Did you not tell me you were looking for work ?" " Yes, sir ; but it seems to be no use." " What kind of work do you want ?" " The kind of work that will feed my wife and child and myself." " You have a wife then ?" "Yes." " Hum ! I thought you were single. I have been spoken to about a single man to go into the country. Can you milk ?" 11 No. I have lived the greater part of my life in London, and was a clerk there. But I'll do anything now." " Well, this place won't suit you. They want a man who can milk. ' But I'll bear you in mind. Call again. Give me your name and address.— Stay, now. I suppose your wite would go into the country ?" " She'd go anywhere where we can get a living." II If she would, I think perhapg we can place you. Call here at four o'clock tonight, will you ?" " Yes, sir, and thank you for your interest in me," said Haney, considerably more prepossessed in the stranger than he had been. "Meanwhile, look round, and in your spare moments here is a little pamphlet you can read. Are you a Christian ?" " Well, lam and lam not. I was brought up to be, but as I grew up I letjgo." Well, don't let it go much longer. The risks are too big, young man. Religion is a good thing to live by as well as to die by. " "I'll read the tract. But if we begin to talk religion it will take some time to convert mo. To tell you the truth, I'm a bit of a Freethinker." " I don't want to preach to you, but as you have thanked me for my interest in you, will you do me a favour ?" "I'll try. What is it?" " Will you promise me to read up on Christianity, and investigate it ? Not only read, but try to find out what it is, and whether there ia any reality in it. Freethought in so far as it means infidelity, materialism, rationalism, or whatever name it may go under, believe me, is a mistake. You know it has been said 'The natural man receivefch not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him ; neither can he know them, for they are spritually discerned.' Jesus said, 'If any man w illeth to do His will, he shall know of the teaohings.' The mistake these Freethinkers make ia in refusing to receive spiritual truths because they cannot be demonstrated to them in some sort of mathematical manner. The intellect is one thing, the heart another. Love, kindliness, charity are not matters to argue about, but to be practised. You may dispute from now till doomsday and not get religion, or love, or charity thereby. But I will not preach. As I said before, promise me you will carefully read and study 'Paley's Evidences of Christianity' and c Butler's Analogy,' and then when you have done that you will, I think, feel like reading more. And njw good morning." " Good morning, sir I'll read both as honestly as I'm able." When Haney went home to dinner he told his wife of the conversation. "I felt almost like apologising to him. He might almost have listened to what J said laet night. I hope he'll get me something, anyway." Four o'clock found Haney at the Rooms again, and in about fifteen minutes his morning aquaintance' came in. " Well, I've got you a position, such as it is. It's not a clerkship, but a porter or general help in warehouse in Highstreet. The wages are twenty-five shillings for the first month, till you learn the ways of the place and see if you suit, and after that you'll get increased as you please them. Will you take it ?" ' ' Why, certainly. I'll take anything that will put bread and butter in the cupboard. I'm too poor to refuse offers." " Well you are to begin next Monday, but I gave your name, and if I were you I'd report to-morrow morning, just to say you'll be on hand on Monday." " Thank you, I'll do so, and let me again thank you for what you have done for me." "That's all right. Remember your promise about reading, and here, to start with, here's a ticket for the library for three months. You can get one of the books out now, Take Faley, to begin." Haney took the advice, and reported next morning, and the firm, pleased with his looks and manner, told him he might as well begin at once. He did so, and did his duties so satisfactorily that he was retained on better wages. He continued with the firm for several yeare, and only left them to take tho management of another business in which he had an interest. George Haney now owns his own house and lot, and is a prosperous man. Probably most of the readers of the Stab have met or seen him at one time or another. He. has long ago recouped the Lodge in England its gift, and he always remembers his own experiences when a new chum * 4 wants work."