Читать книгу: «Novel Notes», страница 2

“His gratitude was touching. ‘Don’t you trouble to write no letters, sir,’ he said; ‘you just stick down “Julia” or “Hannah” on a bit of paper, and put it in an envelope. I shall know what it means, and that’s the one as I shall marry.’

“Then he gripped me by the hand and left me.

“I gave a good deal of thought to the selection of Josiah’s wife. I wanted him to be happy.

“Juliana was certainly very pretty. There was a lurking playfulness about the corners of Juliana’s mouth which conjured up the sound of rippling laughter. Had I acted on impulse, I should have clasped Juliana in Josiah’s arms.

“But, I reflected, more sterling qualities than mere playfulness and prettiness are needed for a wife. Hannah, though not so charming, clearly possessed both energy and sense – qualities highly necessary to a poor man’s wife. Hannah’s father was a pious man, and was ‘doing well’ – a thrifty, saving man, no doubt. He would have instilled into her lessons of economy and virtue; and, later on, she might possibly come in for a little something. She was the eldest of a large family. She was sure to have had to help her mother a good deal. She would be experienced in household matters, and would understand the bringing up of children.

“Julia’s father, on the other hand, was a retired sea-captain. Seafaring folk are generally loose sort of fish. He had probably been in the habit of going about the house, using language and expressing views, the hearing of which could not but have exercised an injurious effect upon the formation of a growing girl’s character. Juliana was his only child. Only children generally make bad men and women. They are allowed to have their own way too much. The pretty daughter of a retired sea-captain would be certain to be spoilt.

“Josiah, I had also to remember, was a man evidently of weak character. He would need management. Now, there was something about Hannah’s eye that eminently suggested management.

“At the end of two days my mind was made up. I wrote ‘Hannah’ on a slip of paper, and posted it.

“A fortnight afterwards I received a letter from Josiah. He thanked me for my advice, but added, incidentally, that he wished I could have made it Julia. However, he said, he felt sure I knew best, and by the time I received the letter he and Hannah would be one.

“That letter worried me. I began to wonder if, after all, I had chosen the right girl. Suppose Hannah was not all I thought her! What a terrible thing it would be for Josiah. What data, sufficient to reason upon, had I possessed? How did I know that Hannah was not a lazy, ill-tempered girl, a continual thorn in the side of her poor, overworked mother, and a perpetual blister to her younger brothers and sisters? How did I know she had been well brought up? Her father might be a precious old fraud: most seemingly pious men are. She may have learned from him only hypocrisy.

“Then also, how did I know that Juliana’s merry childishness would not ripen into sweet, cheerful womanliness? Her father, for all I knew to the contrary, might be the model of what a retired sea-captain should be; with possibly a snug little sum safely invested somewhere. And Juliana was his only child. What reason had I for rejecting this fair young creature’s love for Josiah?

“I took her photo from my desk. I seemed to detect a reproachful look in the big eyes. I saw before me the scene in the little far-away home when the first tidings of Josiah’s marriage fell like a cruel stone into the hitherto placid waters of her life. I saw her kneeling by her father’s chair, while the white-haired, bronzed old man gently stroked the golden head, shaking with silent sobs against his breast. My remorse was almost more than I could bear.

“I put her aside and took up Hannah – my chosen one. She seemed to be regarding me with a smile of heartless triumph. There began to take possession of me a feeling of positive dislike to Hannah.

“I fought against the feeling. I told myself it was prejudice. But the more I reasoned against it the stronger it became. I could tell that, as the days went by, it would grow from dislike to loathing, from loathing to hate. And this was the woman I had deliberately selected as a life companion for Josiah!

“For weeks I knew no peace of mind. Every letter that arrived I dreaded to open, fearing it might be from Josiah. At every knock I started up, and looked about for a hiding-place. Every time I came across the heading, ‘Domestic Tragedy,’ in the newspapers, I broke into a cold perspiration. I expected to read that Josiah and Hannah had murdered each other, and died cursing me.

“As the time went by, however, and I heard nothing, my fears began to assuage, and my belief in my own intuitive good judgment to return. Maybe, I had done a good thing for Josiah and Hannah, and they were blessing me. Three years passed peacefully away, and I was beginning to forget the existence of the Hacketts.

“Then he came again. I returned home from business one evening to find him waiting for me in the hall. The moment I saw him I knew that my worst fears had fallen short of the truth. I motioned him to follow me to my study. He did so, and seated himself in the identical chair on which he had sat three years ago. The change in him was remarkable; he looked old and careworn. His manner was that of resigned hopelessness.

“We remained for a while without speaking, he twirling his hat as at our first interview, I making a show of arranging papers on my desk. At length, feeling that anything would be more bearable than this silence, I turned to him.

“‘Things have not been going well with you, I’m afraid, Josiah?’ I said.

“‘No, sir,’ he replied quietly; ‘I can’t say as they have, altogether. That Hannah of yours has turned out a bit of a teaser.’

“There was no touch of reproach in his tones. He simply stated a melancholy fact.

“‘But she is a good wife to you in other ways,’ I urged. ‘She has her faults, of course. We all have. But she is energetic. Come now, you will admit she’s energetic.’

“I owed it to myself to find some good in Hannah, and this was the only thing I could think of at that moment.

“‘Oh yes, she’s that,’ he assented. ‘A little too much so for our sized house, I sometimes think.’

“‘You see,’ he went on, ‘she’s a bit cornery in her temper, Hannah is; and then her mother’s a bit trying, at times.’

“‘Her mother!’ I exclaimed, ‘but what’s she got to do with you?’

“‘Well, you see, sir,’ he answered, ‘she’s living with us now – ever since the old man went off.’

“‘Hannah’s father! Is he dead, then?’

“‘Well, not exactly, sir,’ he replied. ‘He ran off about a twelvemonth ago with one of the young women who used to teach in the Sunday School, and joined the Mormons. It came as a great surprise to every one.’

“I groaned. ‘And his business,’ I inquired – ‘the timber business, who carries that on?’

“‘Oh, that!’ answered Josiah. ‘Oh, that had to be sold to pay his debts – leastways, to go towards ’em.’

“I remarked what a terrible thing it was for his family. I supposed the home was broken up, and they were all scattered.

“‘No, sir,’ he replied simply, ‘they ain’t scattered much. They’re all living with us.’

“‘But there,’ he continued, seeing the look upon my face; ‘of course, all this has nothing to do with you sir. You’ve got troubles of your own, I daresay, sir. I didn’t come here to worry you with mine. That would be a poor return for all your kindness to me.’

“‘What has become of Julia?’ I asked. I did not feel I wanted to question him any more about his own affairs.

“A smile broke the settled melancholy of his features. ‘Ah,’ he said, in a more cheerful tone than he had hitherto employed, ‘it does one good to think about her, it does. She’s married to a friend of mine now, young Sam Jessop. I slips out and gives ’em a call now and then, when Hannah ain’t round. Lord, it’s like getting a glimpse of heaven to look into their little home. He often chaffs me about it, Sam does. “Well, you was a sawny-headed chunk, Josiah, you was,” he often says to me. We’re old chums, you know, sir, Sam and me, so he don’t mind joking a bit like.’

“Then the smile died away, and he added with a sigh, ‘Yes, I’ve often thought since, sir, how jolly it would have been if you could have seen your way to making it Juliana.’

“I felt I must get him back to Hannah at any cost. I said, ‘I suppose you and your wife are still living in the old place?’

“‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘if you can call it living. It’s a hard struggle with so many of us.’

“He said he did not know how he should have managed if it had not been for the help of Julia’s father. He said the captain had behaved more like an angel than anything else he knew of.

“‘I don’t say as he’s one of your clever sort, you know, sir,’ he explained. ‘Not the man as one would go to for advice, like one would to you, sir; but he’s a good sort for all that.’

“‘And that reminds me, sir,’ he went on, ‘of what I’ve come here about. You’ll think it very bold of me to ask, sir, but – ’

“I interrupted him. ‘Josiah,’ I said, ‘I admit that I am much to blame for what has come upon you. You asked me for my advice, and I gave it you. Which of us was the bigger idiot, we will not discuss. The point is that I did give it, and I am not a man to shirk my responsibilities. What, in reason, you ask, and I can grant, I will give you.’

“He was overcome with gratitude. ‘I knew it, sir,’ he said. ‘I knew you would not refuse me. I said so to Hannah. I said, “I will go to that gentleman and ask him. I will go to him and ask him for his advice.”’

“I said, ‘His what?’

“‘His advice,’ repeated Josiah, apparently surprised at my tone, ‘on a little matter as I can’t quite make up my mind about.’

“I thought at first he was trying to be sarcastic, but he wasn’t. That man sat there, and wrestled with me for my advice as to whether he should invest a thousand dollars which Julia’s father had offered to lend him, in the purchase of a laundry business or a bar. He hadn’t had enough of it (my advice, I mean); he wanted it again, and he spun me reasons why I should give it him. The choice of a wife was a different thing altogether, he argued. Perhaps he ought not to have asked me for my opinion as to that. But advice as to which of two trades a man would do best to select, surely any business man could give. He said he had just been reading again my little book, How to be Happy, etc., and if the gentleman who wrote that could not decide between the respective merits of one particular laundry and one particular bar, both situate in the same city, well, then, all he had got to say was that knowledge and wisdom were clearly of no practical use in this world whatever.

“Well, it did seem a simple thing to advise a man about. Surely as to a matter of this kind, I, a professed business man, must be able to form a sounder judgment than this poor pumpkin-headed lamb. It would be heartless to refuse to help him. I promised to look into the matter, and let him know what I thought.

“He rose and shook me by the hand. He said he would not try to thank me; words would only seem weak. He dashed away a tear and went out.

“I brought an amount of thought to bear upon this thousand-dollar investment sufficient to have floated a bank. I did not mean to make another Hannah job, if I could help it. I studied the papers Josiah had left with me, but did not attempt to form any opinion from them. I went down quietly to Josiah’s city, and inspected both businesses on the spot. I instituted secret but searching inquiries in the neighbourhood. I disguised myself as a simple-minded young man who had come into a little money, and wormed myself into the confidence of the servants. I interviewed half the town upon the pretence that I was writing the commercial history of New England, and should like some particulars of their career, and I invariably ended my examination by asking them which was their favourite bar, and where they got their washing done. I stayed a fortnight in the town. Most of my spare time I spent at the bar. In my leisure moments I dirtied my clothes so that they might be washed at the laundry.

“As the result of my investigations I discovered that, so far as the two businesses themselves were concerned, there was not a pin to choose between them. It became merely a question of which particular trade would best suit the Hacketts.

“I reflected. The keeper of a bar was exposed to much temptation. A weak-minded man, mingling continually in the company of topers, might possibly end by giving way to drink. Now, Josiah was an exceptionally weak-minded man. It had also to be borne in mind that he had a shrewish wife, and that her whole family had come to live with him. Clearly, to place Josiah in a position of easy access to unlimited liquor would be madness.

“About a laundry, on the other hand, there was something soothing. The working of a laundry needed many hands. Hannah’s relatives might be used up in a laundry, and made to earn their own living. Hannah might expend her energy in flat-ironing, and Josiah could turn the mangle. The idea conjured up quite a pleasant domestic picture. I recommended the laundry.

“On the following Monday, Josiah wrote to say that he had bought the laundry. On Tuesday I read in the Commercial Intelligence that one of the most remarkable features of the time was the marvellous rise taking place all over New England in the value of hotel and bar property. On Thursday, in the list of failures, I came across no less than four laundry proprietors; and the paper added, in explanation, that the American washing industry, owing to the rapid growth of Chinese competition, was practically on its last legs. I went out and got drunk.

“My life became a curse to me. All day long I thought of Josiah. All night I dreamed of him. Suppose that, not content with being the cause of his domestic misery, I had now deprived him of the means of earning a livelihood, and had rendered useless the generosity of that good old sea-captain. I began to appear to myself as a malignant fiend, ever following this simple but worthy man to work evil upon him.

“Time passed away, however; I heard nothing from or of him, and my burden at last fell from me.

“Then at the end of about five years he came again.

“He came behind me as I was opening the door with my latch-key, and laid an unsteady hand upon my arm. It was a dark night, but a gas-lamp showed me his face. I recognised it in spite of the red blotches and the bleary film that hid the eyes. I caught him roughly by the arm, and hurried him inside and up into my study.

“‘Sit down,’ I hissed, ‘and tell me the worst first.’

“He was about to select his favourite chair. I felt that if I saw him and that particular chair in association for the third time, I should do something terrible to both. I snatched it away from him, and he sat down heavily on the floor, and burst into tears. I let him remain there, and, thickly, between hiccoughs, he told his tale.

“The laundry had gone from bad to worse. A new railway had come to the town, altering its whole topography. The business and residential portion had gradually shifted northward. The spot where the bar – the particular one which I had rejected for the laundry – had formerly stood was now the commercial centre of the city. The man who had purchased it in place of Josiah had sold out and made a fortune. The southern area (where the laundry was situate) was, it had been discovered, built upon a swamp, and was in a highly unsanitary condition. Careful housewives naturally objected to sending their washing into such a neighbourhood.

“Other troubles had also come. The baby – Josiah’s pet, the one bright thing in his life – had fallen into the copper and been boiled. Hannah’s mother had been crushed in the mangle, and was now a helpless cripple, who had to be waited on day and night.

“Under these accumulated misfortunes Josiah had sought consolation in drink, and had become a hopeless sot. He felt his degradation keenly, and wept copiously. He said he thought that in a cheerful place, such as a bar, he might have been strong and brave; but that there was something about the everlasting smell of damp clothes and suds, that seemed to sap his manhood.

“I asked him what the captain had said to it all. He burst into fresh tears, and replied that the captain was no more. That, he added, reminded him of what he had come about. The good-hearted old fellow had bequeathed him five thousand dollars. He wanted my advice as to how to invest it.

“My first impulse was to kill him on the spot. I wish now that I had. I restrained myself, however, and offered him the alternative of being thrown from the window or of leaving by the door without another word.

“He answered that he was quite prepared to go by the window if I would first tell him whether to put his money in the Terra del Fuego Nitrate Company, Limited, or in the Union Pacific Bank. Life had no further interest for him. All he cared for was to feel that this little nest-egg was safely laid by for the benefit of his beloved ones after he was gone.

“He pressed me to tell him what I thought of nitrates. I replied that I declined to say anything whatever on the subject. He assumed from my answer that I did not think much of nitrates, and announced his intention of investing the money, in consequence, in the Union Pacific Bank.

“I told him by all means to do so, if he liked.

“He paused, and seemed to be puzzling it out. Then he smiled knowingly, and said he thought he understood what I meant. It was very kind of me. He should put every dollar he possessed in the Terra del Fuego Nitrate Company.

“He rose (with difficulty) to go. I stopped him. I knew, as certainly as I knew the sun would rise the next morning, that whichever company I advised him, or he persisted in thinking I had advised him (which was the same thing), to invest in, would, sooner or later, come to smash. My grandmother had all her little fortune in the Terra del Fuego Nitrate Company. I could not see her brought to penury in her old age. As for Josiah, it could make no difference to him whatever. He would lose his money in any event. I advised him to invest in Union Pacific Bank Shares. He went and did it.

“The Union Pacific Bank held out for eighteen months. Then it began to totter. The financial world stood bewildered. It had always been reckoned one of the safest banks in the country. People asked what could be the cause. I knew well enough, but I did not tell.

“The Bank made a gallant fight, but the hand of fate was upon it. At the end of another nine months the crash came.

“(Nitrates, it need hardly be said, had all this time been going up by leaps and bounds. My grandmother died worth a million dollars, and left the whole of it to a charity. Had she known how I had saved her from ruin, she might have been more grateful.)

“A few days after the failure of the Bank, Josiah arrived on my doorstep; and, this time, he brought his families with him. There were sixteen of them in all.

“What was I to do? I had brought these people step by step to the verge of starvation. I had laid waste alike their happiness and their prospects in life. The least amends I could make was to see that at all events they did not want for the necessities of existence.

“That was seventeen years ago. I am still seeing that they do not want for the necessities of existence; and my conscience is growing easier by noticing that they seem contented with their lot. There are twenty-two of them now, and we have hopes of another in the spring.

“That is my story,” he said. “Perhaps you will now understand my sudden emotion when you asked for my advice. As a matter of fact, I do not give advice now on any subject.”

* * * * *

I told this tale to MacShaughnassy. He agreed with me that it was instructive, and said he should remember it. He said he should remember it so as to tell it to some fellows that he knew, to whom he thought the lesson should prove useful.

CHAPTER II

I can’t honestly say that we made much progress at our first meeting. It was Brown’s fault. He would begin by telling us a story about a dog. It was the old, old story of the dog who had been in the habit of going every morning to a certain baker’s shop with a penny in his mouth, in exchange for which he always received a penny bun. One day, the baker, thinking he would not know the difference, tried to palm off upon the poor animal a ha’penny bun, whereupon the dog walked straight outside and fetched in a policeman. Brown had heard this chestnut for the first time that afternoon, and was full of it. It is always a mystery to me where Brown has been for the last hundred years. He stops you in the street with, “Oh, I must tell you! – such a capital story!” And he thereupon proceeds to relate to you, with much spirit and gusto, one of Noah’s best known jokes, or some story that Romulus must have originally told to Remus. One of these days somebody will tell him the history of Adam and Eve, and he will think he has got hold of a new plot, and will work it up into a novel.

He gives forth these hoary antiquities as personal reminiscences of his own, or, at furthest, as episodes in the life of his second cousin. There are certain strange and moving catastrophes that would seem either to have occurred to, or to have been witnessed by, nearly every one you meet. I never came across a man yet who had not seen some other man jerked off the top of an omnibus into a mud-cart. Half London must, at one time or another, have been jerked off omnibuses into mud-carts, and have been fished out at the end of a shovel.

Then there is the tale of the lady whose husband is taken suddenly ill one night at an hotel. She rushes downstairs, and prepares a stiff mustard plaster to put on him, and runs up with it again. In her excitement, however, she charges into the wrong room, and, rolling down the bedclothes, presses it lovingly upon the wrong man. I have heard that story so often that I am quite nervous about going to bed in an hotel now. Each man who has told it me has invariably slept in the room next door to that of the victim, and has been awakened by the man’s yell as the plaster came down upon him. That is how he (the story-teller) came to know all about it.

Brown wanted us to believe that this prehistoric animal he had been telling us about had belonged to his brother-in-law, and was hurt when Jephson murmured, sotto voce, that that made the twenty-eighth man he had met whose brother-in-law had owned that dog – to say nothing of the hundred and seventeen who had owned it themselves.

We tried to get to work afterwards, but Brown had unsettled us for the evening. It is a wicked thing to start dog stories among a party of average sinful men. Let one man tell a dog story, and every other man in the room feels he wants to tell a bigger one.

There is a story going – I cannot vouch for its truth, it was told me by a judge – of a man who lay dying. The pastor of the parish, a good and pious man, came to sit with him, and, thinking to cheer him up, told him an anecdote about a dog. When the pastor had finished, the sick man sat up, and said, “I know a better story than that. I had a dog once, a big, brown, lop-sided – ”

The effort had proved too much for his strength. He fell back upon the pillows, and the doctor, stepping forward, saw that it was a question only of minutes.

The good old pastor rose, and took the poor fellow’s hand in his, and pressed it. “We shall meet again,” he gently said.

The sick man turned towards him with a consoled and grateful look.

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” he feebly murmured. “Remind me about that dog.”

Then he passed peacefully away, with a sweet smile upon his pale lips.

Brown, who had had his dog story and was satisfied, wanted us to settle our heroine; but the rest of us did not feel equal to settling anybody just then. We were thinking of all the true dog stories we had ever heard, and wondering which was the one least likely to be generally disbelieved.

MacShaughnassy, in particular, was growing every moment more restless and moody. Brown concluded a long discourse – to which nobody had listened – by remarking with some pride, “What more can you want? The plot has never been used before, and the characters are entirely original!”

Then MacShaughnassy gave way. “Talking of plots,” he said, hitching his chair a little nearer the table, “that puts me in mind. Did I ever tell you about that dog we had when we lived in Norwood?”

“It’s not that one about the bull-dog, is it?” queried Jephson anxiously.

“Well, it was a bull-dog,” admitted MacShaughnassy, “but I don’t think I’ve ever told it you before.”

We knew, by experience, that to argue the matter would only prolong the torture, so we let him go on.

“A great many burglaries had lately taken place in our neighbourhood,” he began, “and the pater came to the conclusion that it was time he laid down a dog. He thought a bull-dog would be the best for his purpose, and he purchased the most savage and murderous-looking specimen that he could find.

“My mother was alarmed when she saw the dog. ‘Surely you’re not going to let that brute loose about the house!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’ll kill somebody. I can see it in his face.’

“‘I want him to kill somebody,’ replied my father; ‘I want him to kill burglars.’

“‘I don’t like to hear you talk like that, Thomas,’ answered the mater; ‘it’s not like you. We’ve a right to protect our property, but we’ve no right to take a fellow human creature’s life.’

“‘Our fellow human creatures will be all right – so long as they don’t come into our kitchen when they’ve no business there,’ retorted my father, somewhat testily. ‘I’m going to fix up this dog in the scullery, and if a burglar comes fooling around – well, that’s his affair.’

“The old folks quarrelled on and off for about a month over this dog. The dad thought the mater absurdly sentimental, and the mater thought the dad unnecessarily vindictive. Meanwhile the dog grew more ferocious-looking every day.

“One night my mother woke my father up with: ‘Thomas, there’s a burglar downstairs, I’m positive. I distinctly heard the kitchen door open.’

“‘Oh, well, the dog’s got him by now, then,’ murmured my father, who had heard nothing, and was sleepy.

“‘Thomas,’ replied my mother severely, ‘I’m not going to lie here while a fellow-creature is being murdered by a savage beast. If you won’t go down and save that man’s life, I will.’

“‘Oh, bother,’ said my father, preparing to get up. ‘You’re always fancying you hear noises. I believe that’s all you women come to bed for – to sit up and listen for burglars.’ Just to satisfy her, however, he pulled on his trousers and socks, and went down.

“Well, sure enough, my mother was right, this time. There was a burglar in the house. The pantry window stood open, and a light was shining in the kitchen. My father crept softly forward, and peeped through the partly open door. There sat the burglar, eating cold beef and pickles, and there, beside him, on the floor, gazing up into his face with a blood-curdling smile of affection, sat that idiot of a dog, wagging his tail.

“My father was so taken aback that he forgot to keep silent.

“‘Well, I’m – ,’ and he used a word that I should not care to repeat to you fellows.

“The burglar, hearing him, made a dash, and got clear off by the window; and the dog seemed vexed with my father for having driven him away.

“Next morning we took the dog back to the trainer from whom we had bought it.

“‘What do you think I wanted this dog for?’ asked my father, trying to speak calmly.

“‘Well,’ replied the trainer, ‘you said you wanted a good house dog.’

“‘Exactly so,’ answered the dad. ‘I didn’t ask for a burglar’s companion, did I? I didn’t say I wanted a dog who’d chum on with a burglar the first time he ever came to the house, and sit with him while he had supper, in case he might feel lonesome, did I?’ And my father recounted the incidents of the previous night.

“The man agreed that there was cause for complaint. ‘I’ll tell you what it is, sir,’ he said. ‘It was my boy Jim as trained this ’ere dawg, and I guess the young beggar’s taught ’im more about tackling rats than burglars. You leave ’im with me for a week, sir; I’ll put that all right.’

“We did so, and at the end of the time the trainer brought him back again.

“‘You’ll find ’im game enough now, sir,’ said the man. ‘’E ain’t what I call an intellectual dawg, but I think I’ve knocked the right idea into ’im.’

“My father thought he’d like to test the matter, so we hired a man for a shilling to break in through the kitchen window while the trainer held the dog by a chain. The dog remained perfectly quiet until the man was fairly inside. Then he made one savage spring at him, and if the chain had not been stout the fellow would have earned his shilling dearly.

“The dad was satisfied now that he could go to bed in peace; and the mater’s alarm for the safety of the local burglars was proportionately increased.

“Months passed uneventfully by, and then another burglar sampled our house. This time there could be no doubt that the dog was doing something for his living. The din in the basement was terrific. The house shook with the concussion of falling bodies.

“My father snatched up his revolver and rushed downstairs, and I followed him. The kitchen was in confusion. Tables and chairs were overturned, and on the floor lay a man gurgling for help. The dog was standing over him, choking him.

“The pater held his revolver to the man’s ear, while I, by superhuman effort, dragged our preserver away, and chained him up to the sink, after which I lit the gas.

“Then we perceived that the gentleman on the floor was a police constable.

“‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed my father, dropping the revolver, ‘however did you come here?’

“‘’Ow did I come ’ere?’ retorted the man, sitting up and speaking in a tone of bitter, but not unnatural, indignation. ‘Why, in the course of my dooty, that’s ’ow I come ’ere. I see a burglar getting in through the window, so I just follows and slips in after ’im.’