MORE 
 LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS BURKE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS," ETC. 
 
 NEW ^taJr YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1921, 
 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
TO 
 
 WINIFRED 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I PAGE 
 
 THE YELLOW SCARF 11 
 
 II 
 A GAME OF POKER t . 33 
 
 III 
 
 KATIE THE KID ,., . .. 49 
 
 IV 
 
 THE HEART OF A CHILD . . . . -., . . 65 
 
 V 
 THE DUMB WIFE . 77 
 
 VI 
 BLUEBELL 95 
 
 VII 
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR . . 117 
 
 VIII 
 
 THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF FRANCES . . . . 133 
 
 IX 
 
 THE PERFECT GIRL . . . . . . . 143 
 
 vii 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE AFFAIR AT THE WAREHOUSE ., ., . . 155 
 
 XI 
 BIG BOY BLUE .171 
 
 XII 
 MAZURKA 185 
 
 XIII 
 THE SCARLET SHOES ........ 197 
 
 XIV 
 
 THE GOOD SAMARITANS ,. . 221 
 
 XV 
 
 TWELVE GOLDEN CURLS ....... 231 
 
 XVI 
 Miss PLUM-BLOSSOM ........ 245 
 
 XVII 
 THE CANE 259 
 
 xvin 
 
 THE SONG OF Ho LING 271 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 
 
I 
 
 THE YELLOW SCARF 
 
 THE shape and soul of Shadwell are reflected 
 in its name. Shadwell! Cold, grey, stony 
 syllables, without lustre or savour; flat to the eye and 
 the palate. It lies derelict between the river and 
 Commercial Road. Its main streets are forlorn and 
 bleak of aspect, and are named in cruel mockery 
 Formosa Terrace, Acacia Grove, Plum-tree Walk, 
 Laburnum Court. Its dominant odours are fried 
 fish and bilge-water. Its colour by day is of cobweb ; 
 by night, of the jungle. Its noise is persistent; a 
 brown drone overriden by intermittent crashes. It 
 is sliced at intervals by alleys without light, whose 
 silence is not peace, but silence so tense that one 
 knows it must soon be broken by some sound of 
 dread. On the flood-tide floats from Limehouse the 
 bitter-sweet alluring smell of Asia; and the spring > 
 comes slowly up this way. 
 
 It is a circus of harsh, unavailing endeavour. Here 
 wealth does not accumulate, though men decay. Its 
 people are casual labourers, outcasts, petty thieves, 
 ineffectual shopkeepers. They are for ever splash- 
 
 ii 
 
OUjjj : ..: /-.MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 ily busy, without aim or hope, in this and that puny 
 enterprise; and are perpetually harassed in chasing 
 the cocky and elusive one-and-sixpence. Their eve- 
 nings are as stressful as their days, for they bring 
 to the quest for entertainment the flurried zeal that 
 directs their businesses. In the beetling tenement 
 houses they set their gramophones buzzing. In the 
 mission halls venturesome voices lift the bathos of 
 hymn-tuns to tragedy. From dim-lit bars the de- 
 bilitated music of electric pianos brings ill-tidings of 
 the search for gaiety; and above them all blares the 
 band of the Salvation Army, strenuously wanton. 
 / In a minor street of this district stood once a small 
 shop with dim, reticent windows. Through these 
 dusty windows sniggering boys would peer, and 
 would nudge one another with furtive comment. 
 The stock, dusty as the windows, seemed to have 
 been thrown together by disdainful hands. There 
 were faded photographs of monster-limbed ac- 
 tresses, in tights ; a few books in paper covers, with 
 titles matching the maladroit archness of the photo- 
 graphs; some bottles of scent with variegated labels; 
 and little packets of toilet accessories. The ill-in- 
 formed might have assumed, from the style and con- 
 dition of the display, that the owner was letting his 
 r isiness run to ruin; while, in fact, he was doing 
 very well. /The goods in his window were not ex- 
 posed for sale; they were a nod and a wink to the 
 knowing ones that he had other tricks up his sleeve. 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 13 
 
 The shop bore no name on the front, but it was 
 known to be the property of one Mr. Bronsden. He 
 was a most worthy man. He kept himself to him- 
 self; and in England there is no more certain way of 
 winning the respect of one's neighbours. He was 
 a large man. His visage was sour; his complexion 
 sanguine, ytiis head was thatched with a mass of 
 beer-coloured hair. His clothes and linen were al- 
 ways soiled, and he kept himself in tune with them, 
 and walked with humility in side streets. Sour as 
 his visage was, he could, on occasion, be jocose, and 
 was so with esteemed customers; but jocosity came 
 heavily from him, and his jokes were as sour and 
 muddy as the lips over which they crawled. 
 / This Bronsden owned, besides a comfortable little 
 business, a wife. Few people had seen her. Few 
 people indeed had even had sight of his private 
 apartments. He was not a man who took pride or 
 joy in his possessions. Though the wife was a recent 
 acquisition, he took less account of her than some 
 of his customers took of their home-made rabbit- 
 hutches. Perhaps he was justified, for he had picked 
 her off the streets/ This is an action whose merit 
 cannot be denied/ for he found her when she had 
 been but a few days in that situation, and, by his in- 
 tervention, she was snatched from its attendant c? 
 lamities. Beaten and broken she was wandering 
 about the streets, when he came across her, and lis- 
 
14. MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 tened perfunctorily to her bitter words that were 
 half appeal and half defiance. 
 
 Without any clear motive, he gave her shelter. 
 Then he dismissed the old woman who played at 
 attending him and robbed him of food and money, 
 and installed Hetty in her place, and married her. 
 The contract was plainly set forth; she entered his 
 establishment as indoor servant, with duties, per- 
 sonal cash allowance, household allowance, and 
 reasonable freedom of movement. Her position 
 only differed from that x>f the ordinary domestic 
 help by her being joined in holy matrimony to her 
 employer: a rite upon which he had insisted so that 
 she should be his fixed property. 
 rNow should she have been proud of the dignity 
 conferred upon her a wastrel of the alleys; and 
 for a few weeks she was. Then, being a servant in 
 a good home ceased to content her. She wanted to 
 stir delight in the muffled heart of Bronsden, and^ 
 found that it was not in her power to do so. In her 
 company, or without it, he was passive; her flutter- 
 ing gesture and gamesome eye drew no response or 
 quickening of the blood from him. He accepted 
 her, as he accepted his pipe. Yet beauty rested in 
 her weary face and her flowing figure, and she knew 
 it and longed for its recognition. Because he was 
 oblivious of her charms, she began to hate him land 
 because, to her honest mind, this neglect afforded 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 15 
 
 no proper reason for hatred, she began to cast about 
 for a reason. 
 
 She v soon found one. Her distaste for her situa- 
 tion developed rapidly. I think she was not a 
 woman of normal sensibilities. Though he was a 
 strong, silent man, she could not reverence him. 
 Though he was hard and heavy with his tongue, she 
 did not admire the brute. She was foolish enough 
 to want things to which she was not entitled : gentle 
 hands, and respect, and little courtesies. Bronsden 
 looked down to her from stony heights, but she did 
 not look up to him. He had taken her from the 
 streets in his big, abstracted way, on her first journey 
 of misery, and had made her respectable. He had 
 given her money for frocks and chocolates and knick- 
 knacks.^ By Shadwell standards, he was the perfect 
 husbangiJ^He was kind, in his aloof way, and oc- 
 casionally sportive. She was indeed in a position 
 to be envied. But ... he was her rescuer, her 
 benefactor. By all human ideas he was entitled to 
 her gratitude and her service. In the eyes of the 
 world she was deep in his debt. It was this fact 
 that bit and burned her heart night and dayy Here- 
 in she found good and sufficient reason for hatred. 
 
 In a room at the rear of his shop, looking on to 
 a blank wall, he had fixed a laboratory, and there 
 he toiled by day and increased the wadded brown 
 smell of Shadwell as he compounded his dreadful 
 medicines and surgical goods. To the shop would 
 
16 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 come often men of horrid aspect and slinking de- 
 meanour. They would murmur diffident words to 
 Bronsden and would follow him through the living- 
 room to the laboratory at the back; and there the 
 two would remain in murmurous confabulation, with 
 interjected sniggers. And in the living-room Hetty 
 would sit and feed upon her hate.^5^ 
 
 Now all men are not so impervious to the graces 
 of woman as this Bronsden. Tom the Toff was an 
 inflammable young man; what is known, in certain 
 circles, as a warm member. One glance from bright 
 eyes would set him alight. He was as combustible 
 as powder. And when, one morning, he passed 
 Hetty in St. George's, her eyes applied the match. 
 He followed her. He noted where she lived, and 
 hung about each morning to watch for her appear- 
 ance on the street with market basket. Time was 
 his own; for he was Tom the Toff, a free-lance, who 
 worked West End crowds for purses and handbags. 
 He had an easy conquest. She was as ripe for the 
 bold smile of this debonair philanderer as he for her 
 sidelong glances. 
 
 He 'found early occasion for visiting the morose 
 Bronsden in the way of business./He had a long 
 talk with Bronsden. He told a tale, and listened to 
 Bronsden expatiating on the merits of his remedies. 
 Then he mentioned casually that he had a good deal 
 of business in the West End; it might be worth 
 Bronsden's considering whether he, Tom the Toff, 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 17 
 
 could work an agency for him among West End 
 gentlemen. This proposal Bronsden considered, and 
 it became necessary that Tom the Toff should visit 
 the shop many times for conferences and discussion 
 of terms. Within a week, Tom the Toff's presence 
 in the shop was accepted as casually as the presence 
 of a partner. 
 
 f. And Hetty no more sulked and gnawed herself 
 in the living-room. A light step on the threshold of 
 the shop filled her with music and laughter. Youth 
 leapt to youth. And when Bronsden was busy in 
 the laboratory, and could not be disturbed, there 
 were delicious minutes when they stood in each 
 other's presence, and looked and talked oh, any 
 kind of talk, but a very special kind of look. / It was 
 inevitable that she should turn to him. For he had 
 nothing to give her, in the way of material comforts. 
 His West End raids were intermittent, and yielded 
 a precarious income. It was, this time, for her, to 
 give ; and she gave him with both hands the gift of 
 her love. 
 
 Tom the Toff felt the frigid atmosphere with 
 which Bronsden filled the house, and knew its effect 
 on a limber-hearted girl. At first, in her presence, 
 he was shy and diffident, dropping his easy, non- 
 chalant air, and becoming awkward. By this Hetty 
 knew that their hearts were beating in tune, and by 
 exquisite gesture and significant attitude, sharper 
 messengers than any words, they made mutual dis- 
 
18 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 covery. The barriers went down, then; and they 
 discoursed freely, as though there were no Bronsden 
 bulking between them. 
 
 But Bronsden was still there. Others knew it, 
 if Tom and Hetty forgot it. Tom's father knew it, 
 and said so. 
 
 "Wodyeh think yer up to?" he would inquire. 
 "Eh? Going into business as a dealer in trouble 
 or what? This kind o' thing's going to be a lot o' 
 use to you, ain't it? Messin' yesself up with another 
 chap's wife. And what a wife ! Yeh know where 
 'e found 'er, doncher? Remember I'm yer father. 
 I seen more o' the world'n what you 'ave Besides, 
 there's 'im. 'E ain't a man what says much, but, 
 begor, I wouldn't like to be on the wrong side of 
 'im. Them quiet kind, when they breaks out, they 
 breaks out. And Gawd 'elp the one they breaks 
 
 on." 
 
 But Tom paid little heed to dad's garrulous ad- 
 monitions. He had heard of dreadful things hap- 
 pening to other people, but it had never seemed likely 
 that dreadful things could happen to him. 
 
 "I warn yeh!" went on dad. "I warn yeh. If 
 anything comes o' this, yeh can't say I 'aven't 
 warned yeh." 
 
 "No, yer right there," replied the respectful son. 
 "I couldn't truthfully say that, considering yer at it 
 morning and night. Yeh got a nice pleasant voice, 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 19 
 
 dad, but I wonder yeh don't sometimes get a bit 
 tired of 'earing it. I do." 
 
 In the living-room at evenings, Hetty would be 
 notably vivacious and happy-eyed. Springtide hung 
 about her and moved with her; but the satunne 
 Bronsden ate his supper and saw nothing. Until, 
 reckoning too boldly on his obtuseness, /Tom the 
 Toff presented Hetty with a yellow silk scarf And 
 Hetty, drunk with glamour, wore it. 
 
 At supper on the night of its presentation, Brons- 
 den noticed it. Only deliberately could he have 
 ignored it. It was a brilliant yellow hue, with a long 
 silk fringe. With it about her shoulders Hetty could 
 have been picked up at a mile distant. 
 
 "Where d'you get that?" 
 
 "Thai scarf ya 
 
 "Oh, that?" airily. "Oh, Tom the Toff give me 
 
 om the Toff gave you that ? Whaffor?" 
 "Oh, just a sort of present, like. Sort of acknowl- 
 edgment of what he's made out of placing your 
 stuff^up there." 
 
 it to me," he said gently. 
 "What?" 
 
 "Take it off and give it to me." 
 ir 7 haffor?" 
 
 [is eyes snapped. His voice rose. "Never mind 
 what for. Give it to me." 
 
20 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "Of course I shan't. It was given to me." 
 
 He stretched a hand, and spoke gently. "Give 
 me that scarf." 
 
 "Shan't." 
 
 In one movement his great form rose from the 
 table and came to her. With a twitch of the hand 
 he snatched it from her shoulders, crumpled it into 
 a ball, and thrust it into his pocket. 
 
 "Understand, girl, that you're my wife. I don't 
 let my wife have presents from other men. See? 
 Understand that?" 
 
 Hetty shrank back. The shock of his action had 
 
 staggered herj? "Wha wha wha " Then 
 
 tears came, and sobs, and she beat herself with her 
 fists, unable to beat him. Then words came. 
 
 "You beast! You brute. Gimme back my scarf. 
 I'm not your slave. I ain't going to be crushed like 
 this. You stifle me. You treat me like dirt. Gimme 
 my scarf." 
 
 "My wife won't take presents from other men. 
 Understand?" 
 
 "No, I don't. % If I am your wife, I'm a human 
 being. I got a right to live, ain't I^kOh, I know. 
 . . . You think 'cos you played the Good Samari- 
 tan, you can dp what you like with me. But you 
 can't. You can't. I'll show you you can't." 
 
 "Now, Hetty, why talk like that? It isn't true. 
 You know it isn't. Have I ever once thrown it up 
 to you about where I found you? Have I?" 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 21 
 
 She knew he had not, and the fact angered her 
 more. She went on in a torrent of words: 
 
 "You crush me. You never speak a word to me. 
 One wouldn't know you got a tongue. It's like 
 living with the deaf and dumb. You you you're 
 fat, y you're old. You make me sick the way you 
 treat me. 'Cos you're dull yesself, you, want to make 
 me as dull. But I won't be dull. .There! I'll do 
 what I like. I bin a good wife to "you you can't 
 say I ain't and I alwis looked after you proper. 
 Why shouldn't I talk to Tom the Toff, if I want to? 
 Where's the harm in that? If you won't talk to me, 
 you can't stop me" talking to someone else who's 
 who's bright and and lively and and got a bit 
 of go in him." 
 
 "Now, Hetty. Now, girl. What's the matter 
 with me, exactly? Where am I wrong? He sought 
 to soothe her with his voice, tolerantly, as one 
 soothes a querulous' child. It was the wrong way. 
 
 "Oh, shut up! You're all wrong. You your 
 
 ways and your manners and " She knew what 
 
 she wished to say, the fine distinctions of character 
 she wished t<%draw; but her range of words was 
 restricted. "Anyway, I'll please myself. A wife's 
 supposed to be mistress of her own home, ain't she? 
 I'm like a kitchen-maid here. I ain't hardly able to 
 call me soul me own. But/you may as well know 
 that I've asked Tom the Toff to supper to-morrow 
 night." 
 
22 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 His manner changed from the soothing to the 
 ruffled. His face began to close up. "Oh, you have, 
 have you? And what have I got to say about it?" 
 
 "Don't know and don't care. Gimme my scarf." 
 
 "Torn the Toff won't come to supper to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 "He will!" she screamed. 
 
 "He won't. He won't come into this shop again./ 
 He came closer to her. "You can assert your right 
 to please yourself in some other way. Not this way. 
 Understand? I don't coop you up or stifle you. 
 I've only tried to protect you against yourself 
 against your own ignorance. If I hadn't, you'd 
 soon a-been sliding back to where I found you. And, 
 Hetty, don't try any tricks with me. See ? Two or 
 three people have found out that it don't pay to 
 play tricks with me." 
 
 She glared back at him, and saw something in his 
 face that made her suddenly afraid. "You talk to 
 me as if I was a kid !" she protested sullenly. "Why 
 can't you treat me properly?" 
 
 "Have I ever ill-treated you?" 
 
 "Not the way you mean. But you done it by tak- 
 ing all the life out o' me. By taking no notice of 
 me not more'n if I was that table. Gimme my 
 scarf." 
 
 "I shall not give you that scarf. I tell you if 
 you want to assert your right to please yourself, do 
 it some other way." 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 23 
 
 "I don't want no other way!" She ground the 
 words from her teeth, and then was sorry. Her 
 secret was out. She knew that, from the dull spark 
 that glowed in his eye. 
 
 He regarded her intently; then said, quietly, as 
 one dismissing a trifle: "I shall not give you that 
 scarf." 
 
 She glowered, finished with words and without 
 capacity for action. He returned to his chair, and 
 relapsed into gloom. And for the rest of the eve- 
 ning they sat in frightful silence, while he followed 
 with his eyes her smallest movement. 
 
 When she moved to clear the tably he rose, and 
 went into his laboratory. She watched him go with 
 hateful eyes. She saw him no more until midnight, 
 when he came out, looking tired and bent. He 
 moved about the kitchen. She continued to read the 
 serial in The Sunday Fireside. 
 
 "It's getting late," he said, after a long silence. 
 "You coming to bed?" 
 
 "Not yet. I want to finish this." 
 
 He hung about for some minutes; then went up- 
 stairs. The moment she heard the click of the bed- 
 room door, she dropped The Sunday Fireside, and 
 got up. 
 
 "The beast! Treats me like a kid, he does. I 
 won't be treated like this. I wonder if he's got it 
 on him. Or whether he's hidden it." 
 
 She lit a candle, and went into the laboratory. 
 
24 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Here she pottered, nosing around, pulling things 
 about, opening drawers, humming and fretting to 
 herself. At last she found it. He had screwed it 
 tight into a ball and had thrust it into an old tin box. 
 She snatched it savagely away, and thrust it inside 
 her corsage. 
 
 "Ha ! Mr. Clever Dick. I'm as smart as you.^ 
 
 Bitter fury, loose and without dignity, possessed 
 her. Her mind was yapping at his, and snarling and 
 grimacing like a whipped child. His suave de- 
 meanour under the quarrel had increased her hatred 
 of him. She knew that she had dropped all grace 
 and had become ludicrous in her rage, and she envied 
 him his self-sufficiency. But she thrilled at the fact 
 that she had retrieved the scarf, and this lent her 
 some pride. 
 
 /She went up to bed swaggering, and no word 
 passed between them that night or next morning. 
 He shut himself in his laboratory till noon. Then 
 he came out for dinner, and over the meal broke the 
 silence. 
 
 "Look here, Hetty, we can't go on like this. It's 
 too silly. If you want Tom the Toff to supper, he 
 can come. And anybody else you like to invite. I 
 don't want you to think I crush you. If it's company 
 and society you want, I know I'm not very gay. So 
 if it'll make you happy to havehim, have him. Peace 
 and quietness is all I want.J^ 
 
 She looked up, surprised at this sudden change, 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 25 
 
 and found him regarding her gravely, scrutinising 
 her, passing veiled eyes over her person. She was 
 not ready for this surrender. She did not know how 
 to accept it. 
 
 "Well, I do want company and all that,'* she said 
 lamely. 
 
 "I know. I know I'm old and You please 
 
 yourself." 
 
 "Oh, well " 
 
 so the quarrel was healed, and Tom the Toff 
 came to supper. With that supper in the back room 
 her desire for love and gaiety endedVTom the Toff 
 arrived on time, and found the table laid with cold 
 meat, salad, beer, fruit, cheese/ Bronsden was out, 
 and he and Hetty snatched a few rapturous minutes ; 
 but before she could tell him of what had passed 
 last night, Bronsden returned, bearing a tin of 
 salmon and a bottle of whisky, as a friendly addi- 
 tion to the table. He seemed downcast, preoc- 
 cupied; but he greeted Tom the Toff with his usual 
 detached affability, and inquired what he had backed 
 that day. 
 
 "Got the tin-opener Hetty? he growled. 
 
 She brought it, and he set to work on the tin. It 
 was a tough 'one, and awkward to hold, tipping up 
 when he pressed on its edge. 
 
 "Dammit! Just a minute, Tom, will yeh? This 
 is as hard as steel. Can't get the point in. Hold 
 it firm, will yeh, while I have another try." 
 
26 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Tom came to the table, and placed both hands 
 on the tin, holding it firm. They stood close to- 
 gether, their heads meeting, and in silence Bronsden 
 pressed on the cutter to drive its point through the 
 tin. Then the silence was broken by a high ripping 
 squeak. The cutter had slipped along the edge of 
 the tin. 
 
 With a sharp "Ow!" Tom's hand flashed to his 
 mouth. 
 
 "I say, old man!" Bronsden stood, holding the 
 cutter, his attitude one of much concern. "I say, 
 I'm awfully sorry. The cutter slipped. Damn the 
 thing." 
 
 "Oh, it's all right," said Tom. "It's nothing." 
 But when he took his hand from his mouth the blood 
 ran around his wrist and down his fingers from an 
 angry, jagged wound. It came pouring out to the 
 tablecloth, and down that to the floor. It was no 
 common wound. / 
 
 Immediately Hetty swerved from the side-table, 
 where she had been cutting bread. 
 
 "Oh, Tom!" 
 
 "Bind it up!" snapped Bronsden. "Quick!" 
 Hetty turned about the room with hands out for 
 bandage. Then they flew to her breast, and out 
 came the yellow scarf. 
 
 Bronsden had gone to his chair, and sat back, 
 calmly. At this sudden action his big head nodded 
 in two minute movements. 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 27 
 
 "Where d'you get that?" he said quietly. "I 
 thought I took it away from you." 
 
 She made no answer, but twisted the scarf into a 
 bandage. 
 
 "Did you steal that from my room?" 
 
 "Mind your own business." 
 
 "You're not to use it," he said, in even tones. 
 
 "I shall do as I please." 
 
 "Hetty, I tell you not to use it. Get the towel." 
 
 "Oh, shut up. Can't you see Tom's bleeding?" 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 She fussed over Tom, tender-wise, maternally, 
 and wound the scarf tightly about his wrist. Then 
 she forced him to a chair, and herself sat down. 
 She sat down with a flirt of defiance too strongly 
 marked to carry conviction of self-possession. This 
 accident had given her opportunity for open chal- 
 lenge of this man's bondage. She sat upright, her 
 attitude expressing: "Well, and what now?" 
 
 Bronsden poured two glasses of whisky, and 
 passed one to Tom. "I'm sorry, old man," he 
 growled. "Awfully sorry. Those damn tin-open- 
 ers. I always said they were dangerous. Keep your 
 arm up. Hetty'll have to cut your meat for you 
 now, and feed you." 
 
 Suddenly, Tom emitted a gasp another gasp 
 then a scream. He pressed his free hand to the 
 damaged wrist, and bent forward. His teeth were 
 set close, his face twisted in pain. 
 
28 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "What is it?" Hetty cried. 
 
 "Oo, it's burning!" he gasped. "Burning like 
 hell. 'Strewth!" Hetty came to him, in agitation, 
 but as she reached him he leapt up, and dashed him- 
 self against the wall, and screamed. Oo, God, I 
 can't stand it!" He tore at the scarf and unwound 
 it from his wrist. "It's going all over me. Oh, 
 Hetty, what you done to me? What you done to 
 me ? I'm going all funny. When you put that scarf 
 on it started. Hetty!" 
 
 He sank back to the leather sofa, and Hetty 
 rushed to him. She grabbed the whisky glass, and 
 held some to him. She dithered. And, as she hung 
 over him, uncertain what to do, unable to do one 
 thing by thinking of others, she was suddenly seized 
 by a feeling that something dreadful had entered 
 the room. Involuntarily she turned her head and 
 glanced about her. Then she saw the thing that 
 had entered the room. Bronsden sat immovable in 
 his chair; but on his face was a wry, dark smile. 
 
 "What is it?" she cried vaguely. "What's the 
 matter?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "What you smiling at?" 
 
 "Nothing. You know, I told you not to use that 
 scarf." 
 
 Tom the Toff dropped like a log on the floor. 
 She looked at him and at the yellow scarf and at 
 the door leading to the dreadful laboratory, and 
 
THE YELLOW SCARF 29 
 
 back at her husband. She went and stood over him. 
 "You damn devil wotter you done?" 
 Quivering, she struck him in the face. But he 
 
 only smiled. And, though she struck him again and 
 
 again, he still smiled. 
 
A GAME OF POKER 
 
 
n 
 
 A GAME OF POKER 
 
 AS Archie Plumpton, known to his circle as 
 Plum-plum, stepped from the glare of the Blue 
 Lantern into the melting radiance that it diffused, 
 and from that into the inhospitable darkness of 
 Poplar, three men with flat faces and long eyes crept 
 from their several observation posts and followed 
 him. One walked behind him, one level with him 
 across the street, and one a few paces ahead. From 
 a side street ambled a small hooded van drawn by 
 a pony. This, at a discreet distance, joined the 
 party. Plum-plum walked upright, whistling to him- 
 self, one hand in trousers pocket, the other swing- 
 ing free. The others walked silently, with an air 
 of abstraction and concern with personal affairs. 
 
 It was a warm night of summer, and streets and 
 houses were stewing in a viscid heat. Plum-plum 
 strolled airly down East India Dock Road, glad of 
 the slight breeze that wandered from the river and 
 oblivious of the peril that moved busily with him. 
 Certainly he had asked for the trouble that was 
 coming to him; for, if it is injudicious to be funny 
 
 33 
 
34 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 with a policeman, it is more than folly to meddle 
 with the affairs of a Chinese brotherhood. Plum- 
 plum had done no less than thrust hand and foot 
 into the intimate affairs of the Azure Dragon Tong. 
 
 Word had come to him, some while ago, of an 
 accumulation of carven vessels, gems and other ob- 
 jects that please the eye of the connoisseur, which 
 lay at a certain house in Poplar High Street, next 
 door to which he had sometimes played at puckapoo. 
 He had seen the stuff through the window of the 
 front room, and had almost cried with professional 
 vexation at seeing such a haul placed within finger- 
 reach, to be obtained without the smallest exercise 
 of technical skill or finesse. It almost seemed be- 
 neath his position to take them. 
 
 But he did take them. He walked in one after- 
 noon, at the hour of sleep, and took them away in 
 a bag, and passed them to his nearest friend and 
 adorer, Flash Florrie. He thought he had done 
 only what he had done many times before inter- 
 vened between police and receiver in the matter of 
 the bunce. He did not know that he had admin- 
 istered a dreadful affront to the most powerful 
 Tong in Limehouse. 
 
 He was soon made to know. Cold anger held the 
 Azure Dragon Tong at the discovery of this insol- 
 ence. It quickly became known about the district 
 that it was Plum-plum's work and the boys, once 
 their envy of his slimness had passed, talked of it 
 
A GAME OF POKER 85 
 
 with appreciation and delight. They could under- 
 stand the delicious impudence of it, and admire ac- 
 cordingly; and Plum-plum became a public hero. 
 But the Tong held a council to decide what proceed- 
 ings should be taken against him. The president 
 asked who accused Plum-plum, and two stepped 
 forward and repeated the street-corner stories. To 
 these two was assigned the duty of entering the 
 house of Plum-plum and making an exact search for 
 the treasure, at whatever cost to their persons or 
 their liberties. This was done, and failure reported. 
 Plum-plum came home one night and found his three 
 rooms ransacked and torn apart; and he smiled. 
 The Tong did not smile. Another meeting was 
 held, and it was decided that Plum-plum himself 
 must be secretly apprehended, and made to discover 
 the whereabouts of their property, and, after suit- 
 able punishment, surrender it. 
 
 At least (they held among themselves) if we do 
 not by the means we are about to employ recover 
 our property at least the Englishman will receive 
 a lesson that it is unwise to interfere with our affairs. 
 He shall be an example to others. 
 
 So the three men and the hooded van, now dog- 
 ging Plum-plum, were engaged in carrying out the 
 decision of the council. And Plum-plum walked 
 carelessly, still bearing about him something of that 
 public glory with which his exploit had endued him. 
 He was a dexterous and versatile lad, and had been 
 
36 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 desired by more than one gang, as partner. But 
 he preferred to play a lone hand. He was not a 
 crook by education or inclination. He would have 
 liked to be a decent citizen, but found decent citi- 
 zenship so dull. He had drifted into this game be- 
 cause he liked its soldier-of-fortune atmosphere, and 
 because he was too wayward and impatient of hours, 
 regulations and the petty bonds of legitimate busi- 
 ness. He had found, too, on his preliminary flourish, 
 that he had a marked aptitude for it; and every man 
 likes to do the work that he can do really well and 
 without conscious effort. He wore crime as a 
 feather in his cap. He could appear in any society 
 without crying at the top of his voice: 'Tm a 
 crook !" He could get away with a policeman's 
 truncheon while being examined on suspicion. He 
 could collect money for the missionaries with one 
 hand and snaffle the donor's watch with the other. 
 These were small tricks; he did not preen himself 
 with them. It was the bigger things, calling for 
 strategy, that afforded him delight. But he had 
 never tackled the Chinese before, and he had yet 
 to learn that his tricks with them were as paper 
 swords before steel weapons. 
 
 To the end of East India Dock Road he went, 
 and, at the Iron Bridge at Canning Town, he crossed 
 suddenly, and passed into the void of Plaistow 
 Marsh and its meagre lamps and its waist-high mist. 
 He was going towards Beckton, where lodged Flash 
 
A GAME OF POKER 37 
 
 Florrie. As he entered the Marsh the three fol- 
 lowers drew together at a corner and exchanged, 
 tacitly, emotions of satisfaction. A lonely, lugubri- 
 ous bell announced ten o'clock, and the notes floated 
 miserably about the waste. But Plum-plum was not 
 conscious of his surroundings. His eyes were fixed 
 on the line of lights that made the horizon, and he 
 strode with nonchalant step, his thoughts hovering 
 amiably about the bright person of Flash Florrie 
 and her sturdy, tree-like beauty. 
 
 But midway across the Marsh a sudden misstep 
 of one of the Chinks came sharply to his ears. Mo- 
 mentarily suspicion entered his mind, and drove out 
 the bees and butterflies that fluttered there. He 
 stood still, and heard no other step, and knew that 
 he was being followed. This was nothing new. 
 He was often shadowed by plain-clothes men, and 
 could always feel their attentions and comport him- 
 self circumspectly. But plain-clothes men do not 
 walk about in slippers, and the step he had heard 
 was a slippered step. As he stood there, a deeper 
 sense of imminent personal danger grew within him; 
 and, even as he speculated upon its nature, it ar- 
 rived. 
 
 The struggle was brief. He fought hard for a 
 few moments, and caught a glimpse of close, round 
 faces and long eyebrows. Then something was 
 pressed against his nose and he fell solidly among 
 them. From the distance the pony-cart came to 
 
38 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 them; and into this, and its litter of greengrocer's 
 baskets and potato sacks, he was bundled. The 
 three companions followed him, and the cart moved 
 forward. 
 
 Slowly they crossed the Marsh, while Plum-plum 
 slept stupidly. On the farther side they chose by- 
 ways. They rumbled through alleys of ebony 
 darkness, whose very noises had the hard quality 
 of ebony; and through streets parallel with the 
 placid river, about which dodged innumerable nimble 
 tugs. Not a word passed between the company; 
 a profound, uneasy silence held the van. 
 
 And so they came to the little lost colony of 
 Cyprus. Cyprus is a frigid, dusty region where the 
 four winds and their branch winds meet, and where 
 the sun comes seldom. Its houses are square brick 
 boxes, at whose doors squat or lounge the docksmen. 
 About the stony streets the children gambol day 
 and night; and from slatternly windows peer the 
 women. In this corner, where the lips of the 
 Thames dribble into little purposeless canals, silence 
 cannot live. The Chinks had chosen their location 
 well, for the business they had in hand. From year 
 to year, hammer, crane, syren, hooter and bell per- 
 form their rough, unceasing music; iron against iron, 
 steel against steel, with a chorus of nail and rivet; 
 and through the night the shunted trucks make a 
 melancholy fugue. The glum streets and forlorn 
 shops make dreadful efforts to assert the presence of 
 
I 
 
 A GAME OF POKER 39 
 
 humanity, but Work prevails : one long-drawn hys- 
 teria of toil ; one everlasting hosanna of noise. Men 
 come and go in worried, clamant haste ; and through 
 the stupendous turmoil tramps and destroyers crawl 
 with an air of scornful idleness. 
 
 To a narrow street of warehouses in this ill- 
 named Cyprus came the greengrocer's van. It 
 stopped at a tall door which was immediately 
 opened, revealing a steep flight of stone steps. Up 
 these steps Plum-plum was carried; and thence to a 
 room on the top landing. The room was an un- 
 used room, plainly arranged for the occasion. The 
 boards were bare ; the plaster of the walls had fallen 
 in a mess of chips ; and the windows, which looked 
 into the chilly face of Cyprus, were heavily swathed 
 with matting. Four lighted candles in bottles stood 
 on a deal box. Round the fireplace stood a screen, 
 and in the grate a clear fire was burning. 
 
 The three men placed Plum-plum on the floor, 
 and one brought sturdy cord and bound his wrists 
 and feet. Another brought a bucket of water, and 
 the water was thrown about his head and throat. 
 After some seconds he opened his eyes and looked 
 about him. He raised his head, and tried to move, 
 and found he could only roll. He rolled over and 
 looked up, and saw four silent yellow men regarding 
 him. He looked long at them, slowly coming back 
 from his deep sleep. Then he understood, and 
 spoke. 
 
 v 
 
40 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "Well, Oswald, what's the game? What-um 
 you fella want to do me?" 
 
 One, who seemed to be the leader of the party, 
 and was addressed as Ah Kang, spoke without mov- 
 ing. He spoke as one delivering a functional ad- 
 dress; in the cool, sleek tones of a chairman of a 
 company meeting. 
 
 "I so sorry disturb you, misteh. I lika little talk 
 with you 'bout t'ings you steal from my flen in 
 Poplar. Huh? I ting we talk more flenly lika diss." 
 
 "Oh? I don't call this friendly." Plum-plum in- 
 dicated the cord about his arms. "I could talk better 
 if you untied me." 
 
 Ah Kang gave a little indrawing of the breath, 
 as one appreciating a jocularity. "Ho yess? We 
 talk 'bout t'ings you steal us." 
 
 "No savee, Oswald." 
 
 Ah Kang's eyes snapped, but he did not move. 
 "Wantum jewels," he said in peremptory tone. 
 "You no go 'way less we get jewels." 
 
 "No can. Ain't gottum jewels." 
 
 Ah Kang ignored the denial. "What you do 
 withum jewels?" 
 
 "No can tell. Never seen 'em." 
 
 "You talk no-truth." Ah Kang stepped forward, 
 and motioned to the others. They went to Plum- 
 plum, and dragged him to a sitting posture, and 
 pulled aside the screen. 
 
 "You see-um fire?" asked Ah Kang. 
 
A GAME OF POKER 41 
 
 Plum-plum looked at it, and saw. "No can." 
 
 You give back jewels. You tellum where they go. 
 And it will be betteh much betteh. If you no tell 
 prap fire 'e mek you tell. Huh?" 
 
 Plum-plum looked at the unblinking fire and the 
 shaded faces about him, and felt suddenly sick. He 
 thought of Flash Florrie, under whose bed rested 
 the property. They would not release him until the 
 treasure was in their possession, and if he told them, 
 he must remain in their custody while they went to 
 her home. By what method they would recover 
 their property from her, and what penalty they 
 would inflict upon her for her part in the affront, 
 he did not like to think. He jerked his head at 
 them. 
 
 "Look 'ere, if you think you can muck about like 
 this with Englishmen, you're dam fella well mis- 
 taken see? If you don't let me go pretty quick, 
 there'll be heap trouble for you and all the rest of 
 your bunch. So I tell yeh ! Stop this foolery plenty 
 dam quick and untie me. See!" 
 
 Ah Kang stood over him. "You tellum where 
 jewels are." 
 
 "You go to hell!" 
 
 Ah Kang permitted himself to smile, and flicked 
 his fingers at the others. The screen was drawn 
 around the fire, and Plum-plum heard the clatter of 
 metal instruments. Next moment he was flung 
 down, and his coat, shirt and collar were ripped 
 
42 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 from his shoulders by a sharp knife. He lay quies- 
 cent. To struggle was futile. To shout for help 
 he knew was vain. Where he was he did not know; 
 but he knew enough of the Chinks to be sure that, 
 having planned this business, they would have been 
 careful to carry him where cries for help would 
 pass unheeded. 
 
 Ah Kang spoke again in suave tones : "You tellum 
 where jewels are?" 
 
 Plum-plum spat at him, then shut his teeth and 
 looked away. From time to time the others moved 
 about, nodding among themselves and exchanging 
 smiles that were frightfully discordant with the busi- 
 ness in hand. When Ah Kang reproved the smiles 
 they went behind the screen, and Plum-plum heard 
 them murmuring and grunting together. He heard 
 the crackling of the fire, the rattle of coke as they 
 replenished it; and he was conscious of the increased 
 warmth which the screen could not effectually en- 
 close. 
 
 There are some things before which no man can 
 retain his faith; to which the body must surrender, 
 however steadfast the spirit; and Plum-plum knew 
 that sooner or later he must give way. No creature 
 can endure physical pain beyond a certain point, 
 and that point is determined not by courage but by 
 sensibility. The "strong" man is a creature of 
 blunted nerves and brute skin; yet even he has his 
 breaking-point. Plum-plum knew that his breaking- 
 
A GAME OF POKER 43 
 
 point was very near. He seemed to see through the 
 screen the glowing fire, white-hot, and the prepara- 
 tions of which it was the centre and he the object. 
 He felt already the touch of hot iron; but, until he 
 could endure no more, he would not speak. He did 
 not suffer fear, but he did suffer a physical nausea 
 that almost drained him of resistance. 
 
 He knew he would have to speak before he left 
 that room in one minute or two minutes or five 
 minutes; yet the spirit that had carried him so aptly 
 through so many delicate engagements closed his 
 lips. He could not speak now, while he was in full 
 control of his faculties. He felt that to do so would 
 be to turn himself from man into a mere husk cov- 
 ered with everlasting self-loathing. Afterwards 
 after that he would not be himself; and neither 
 words nor actions would carry any sting of self- 
 reproach. 
 
 u Dissa pokeh prap 'e mek you talk, huh?" 
 
 "You go to hell!" 
 
 From the streets, the strident but desirable streets, 
 came distantly an organ's titillating music; its exu- 
 berant vulgarity overriding the stealthy crackling 
 of the fire and the subdued movements of the hidden 
 Chinks. Then Ah Kang uttered a curt word. Plum- 
 plum was rolled over, and one pressed heavily on his 
 neck. From behind the screen came another with a 
 poker, its point glowing red. Plum-plum heard his 
 slippered step, and, though he could not see, he 
 
44 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 could follow his steady approach; he could follow 
 the movement of the extended arm; he could feel 
 the glowing thing upon his back; he could see the 
 horrid mark that it would leave. Ah Kang spoke 
 again, and the man with the poker made a slow, 
 drawing movement with it across the shoulders of 
 Plum-plum. 
 
 A rendering shriek came from the victim, and his 
 whole body heaved in a spasm. Ah Kang made a 
 movement, and the man with the poker stood aside. 
 
 "You tellum where jewels are now, or " 
 
 Plum-plum made no sound. 
 
 "Huh? You no had-um plenty lesson? We try 
 again." 
 
 Again the poker was drawn across his shoulders, 
 slowly, lingeringly. But this time it brought no cry, 
 no movement. The four men exchanged glances. 
 Ah Kang moved to Plum-plum and rolled him over. 
 He placed a hand on his breast, and looked up with 
 an expressionless face, while his mind suffered won- 
 der, perplexity, anger. They would not now find 
 the jewels. Plum-plum was dead. 
 
 "He dead," said Ah Kang stupidly. 
 
 "Dead?" The others echoed him stupidly. They 
 said it again among themselves, and all looked 
 stupidly at the poker. The man who held it was 
 twisting it and snapping it to pieces in his hands 
 a wooden stick, painted to resemble steel, 
 its point, painted a shrill scarlet. 
 
A GAME OF POKER 45 
 
 So they stood, dumb, anxious, impotent, until 
 one of them went again to Plum-plum to touch 
 him and turn him over; and at the same moment 
 he sprang far back from the body with a high 
 scream and a trembling arm outstretched to Plum- 
 plum's back. 
 
 "Hee-yah!" 
 
 Across the shoulders was a long brown mark 
 the seared trail of a red-hot poker. A tense and 
 throbbing silence enveloped them a silence of 
 superstitious alarm; and in the close heat of that 
 room they drew together, shivering. 
 
KATIE THE KID 
 
m 
 
 KATIE THE KID 
 
 KATIE THE KID was none of your rapturous, 
 languishing, kiss-me girls. She was a Stunner. 
 She was a Spanker. She was a jazz of a girl. She 
 knew Shadwell, whose dun light was the first she 
 saw, as few people know their native place. She 
 knew it inside out. Many times had she taken it to 
 pieces, that she might find out what made it work; 
 and when she thus tampered with it, she seldom put 
 it back correctly: there was usually a cog missing 
 when she had finished with it. And for perhaps 
 three or six months the proper motions of Shad- 
 well would be retarded, while the cog picked oakum 
 or made sacks under State supervision. 
 
 Yes, Katie the Kid was a nark. She was by no 
 means your common nark, who is a poor, spiritless, 
 servile fellow, cringing to his employers and going 
 in bodily fear of his victims. She had the game 
 well taped. She knew all the tricks of the times, 
 and her ample sleeve held others, not yet of the 
 times. In heart and sinew she was concrete. She 
 took money from the gangs, and money from the 
 
 49 
 
50 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 police, and sold the plans of each to the other. She 
 walked about St. George Street and its cowering 
 alleys with the tread of the conqueror. She strode. 
 She moved with the sturdy grace of a steel ship, 
 and her long, lusty limbs swayed forward as though 
 making way through advancing seas. A nest of 
 dense, crisp curls was built against her big, bright 
 face, from which glowed defiant eyes of jet. She 
 wore the best feathers and drank the best beer, and 
 put a little bit by. 
 
 And then the big fool fell in love. 
 
 She fell in love with Freddie Frumkin, who was 
 beginning to be known to vigilant sportsmen as a 
 likely lad. She first saw him at a series of trial 
 contests at a little boxing hall on the south of the 
 river ; and the lithe, quivering figure and the shining 
 white skin of him, as he danced about the ring and 
 received blow after blow with game nonchalance, set 
 her too a-dancing and a-quivering, and filled her 
 with an emotion which she hardly understood. It 
 was new to her. In the eighth round he was knocked 
 out; and though, hitherto, she had felt only con- 
 tempt for the defeated in any kind of contest, this 
 knockout blow went straight to her heart. It first 
 cracked this concrete heart of hers then swiftly 
 melted. That night she took his image to her pil- 
 low, and lay awake in blessed brooding, and knew 
 that love had come to her; and being, with all her 
 
KATIE THE KID 51 
 
 tricks, fiercely modest in physical matters, she was 
 suddenly abashed and humiliated. 
 
 Soon, diffidently, by means which every woman 
 can employ, she sought his acquaintance, and won it. 
 By the same means she made him know the state 
 of her feelings ; and he well, he was a big, healthy 
 boy, and when he looked upon this big, healthy girl 
 and heard her words, the thing was done. There- 
 after they went about together and agreed in every- 
 thing. At all his contests Katie the Kid was present, 
 as near the ring as she could get, to exhort him to 
 victory and blight his opponent to ineptitude. 
 
 Glibly, as one long skilled in misrepresentation, 
 she told him her story : how she was without parents, 
 and worked in a cigarette factory near the Tower; 
 how she lived alone, and spent her spare time in 
 reading books borrowed from the Free Library, and 
 never went about with boys, or strolled along her 
 local Monkey's Parade, deeming such doings un- 
 worthy any self-respecting girl. Whereat Freddie 
 glowed, and wondered that so sweet and gentle a 
 girl should have seen anything in a rough young 
 pug like himself, or should even suffer his company. 
 He told her so, and said that she made him feel 
 ashamed, and made him want to do better and big- 
 ger things. You know how it is with your first girl. 
 
 On this, Katie began to think. She began to think 
 about herself, and her stock of self-esteem dropped 
 sharply. If she inspired Freddie Frumkin with a 
 
52 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 desire for nobler ways of life, he in turn inspired 
 her with yearnings. He was so clean and cool and 
 simple that she discovered in herself a desire for 
 clean and cool and simple things. She tried suddenly 
 to cut the nark business and the secret commission 
 business. To the loud derision of the Geranium 
 Street police station she started the follow-the- 
 gleam business. As no man is so ardent a teetotaller 
 as your reclaimed dipsomaniac, so with Katie the 
 Kid. She placed herself in the hands of the local 
 Settlement Workers, and set about looking for 
 steady and decent employment. It was even said 
 that she was to attend the open-air mission meetings 
 at the corner of Love Lane on Wednesday eve- 
 nings; but the police prevented this last indecency. 
 Such backsliding didn't suit them. They made a 
 grand remonstrance. 
 
 "Dammit," said the sergeant, "what the hell's 
 she want to turn pious for? With anybody else 
 it'd a-bin all to the good for us. But her! We 
 can't get on without her. We gotter git her back 
 
 some'ow." 
 
 They did. Remonstrances failed, but economic 
 pressure succeeded. Her savings were soon ex- 
 hausted ; and wherever the local Settlement Workers 
 went among employers, with stories of her industry 
 and moral rectitude, they found that the police 
 had been before them. There was no job for Katie 
 the Kid. So, quietly, she took up again her secret 
 
KATIE THE KID 53 
 
 duties. Fortunately, Freddie's home was by Ber- 
 mondsey Wall, and was severed from hers by the 
 river. Gossip of the North side seldom reaches the 
 South, and they had no common friends. Thus she 
 was able to continue as a nark in Shadwell, while 
 in Bermondsey she was a factory hand with yearn- 
 ings towards self-culture. 
 
 Three evenings a week, when Freddie was not 
 engaged, she would go to him, and they would walk 
 comfortably together in the flare and glitter of 
 Jamaica Road, where the girls parade with frolic- 
 some frocks and gleeful eyes; or down the more 
 modest byways where lights are few. It was just 
 after her return to her old employment that Freddie 
 spoke casually of his need of a punching-ball. He 
 was not yet promising enough to attract gifts of 
 equipment from backers, and he had only the gym- 
 nasium at the boxing booth in which to train, which 
 was a damn nuisance. A punching-ball, to be fixed 
 in the back-yard of his home, would be the very 
 thing. But they were damn expensive. 
 
 Katie pondered the idea at night, and she guessed 
 why he could not purchase the ball. There had been 
 rides on the bus on Sundays, some visits to the local 
 music hall, and a little gilt cross and chain for her 
 sapling neck. From her there had been as yet no 
 gift: her savings were gone, and for the moment 
 crime was short, and there was little coming in 
 from the police. She went home that night to 
 
54 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 devise means of raising money and to study sport- 
 ing papers for some hint as to the price of punching- 
 balls. 
 
 Next day something came her way. In the street, 
 local gossip made much of the theft of many rolls 
 of cloth from a dry-goods warehouse. Thieves 
 and cloth were well away, and the police were "pur- 
 suing inquiries." The sergeant sought Katie, met 
 her in the street, flicked an eye at her and disap- 
 peared down an alley. She followed him. 
 
 "Ah, Katie just looking for you. Got a job 
 for you. You heard about this cracking of Hig- 
 ginses' place. Well, there's four dozen rolls of 
 cloth gone good stuff, too. We're stuck on it, for 
 the moment. We're watching all the boys, but 
 haven't got anything so far. Now, it's up to you. 
 Higginses are offering a reward, and if you can 
 put us on to the stuff or the men, you'll do yourself 
 a bit o' good. I dessay there might be a couple 
 o' quid in it for you. See ? So put yer back into it." 
 
 "Right-o ! I'll have a look round." 
 
 That day her mind ran on rolls of cloth and 
 punching-balls. A couple o' quid. That ought to 
 be sufficient for the purpose. So she set to work, 
 the punching-ball suspended before her, with gentle 
 thoughts flitting about it, while, in the recesses of her 
 mind, the rolls of cloth covered some crushed, but 
 still moving instincts. It was her first job since her 
 reformation; and soon the old fever of the hunt 
 
KATIE THE KID 55 
 
 crept into her veins. It ran with her blood, and set 
 a pace; and the thrills that some find in strong 
 drink and some in sex and some in works of art 
 coursed about her shoulders. 
 
 Into the dark places of Shadwell she went; into 
 places where discreet men would not go ; into places 
 of dirt and crawling beastliness. She went, too, into 
 bright places; into well-kept taverns, where men 
 were clean and flashily dressed. She hung about 
 highways and alleys. She gathered a word here, 
 a half-sentence there. She drarik heavily with old 
 acquaintance and casual company. It was Dick the 
 Duke who set her on the way, with a shrug and a 
 few words. 
 
 . "Getting about a bit to-day, ain't you, Katie? 
 What's the game, eh? You ain't going to tell me 
 you're on Higginses' affair? Eh? Good lord! 
 Fancy wasting yer time on that. You're worth bet- 
 ter jobs than that. Blasted lot of amateurs. 
 They've hid it, kid. Hid itl" 
 
 Katie made no clear reply to his perfunctory 
 remarks, but stood him another drink and drank 
 with him ; and had another at his shout. Then she 
 strolled idly away. There was but one place in 
 Shadwell where amateurs hid things, and to that 
 place she went. Near the old Basin, she stopped 
 at an open-air coffee caravanserai, labelled 
 "Jumbo's," which stood under an arch, backed 
 against the doors of a disused storage vault. She 
 
56 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 took a cup of coffee here, and used her eyes. She 
 made goo-goos at Jumbo, and chi-iked him. 
 
 "Got a new suit, eh, Jumbo? My word, we're 
 coming it, ain't we? Nice bit o' cloth, too." 
 
 A minute movement at the corner of his lips on 
 the word "cloth," which would have been unper- 
 ceived by others, or have conveyed nothing if it had 
 been perceived, satisfied Katie. She was watching 
 for it. 
 
 She ambled back to Geranium Street. 
 
 "I found that bunce of Higginses." 
 
 "Good girl. You shall have a nice sweety for 
 that. Where is it?" 
 
 "Old Jumbo's got it. In that vault behind 'is 
 place. 'Tanyrate 'e knows all about it." 
 
 "Oho. We'll send round and have a little chit- 
 chat with Jumbo." 
 
 "Right-o! I'll wait. When do I get the 
 dough?" 
 
 "Just as soon as we confirm it, ducky." 
 
 The officer called for a plain-clothes man, and 
 assigned him to a friendly cup of coffee with 
 Jumbo. Within half-an-hour he returned. 
 
 "I seen Jumbo, and warned him. Same old 
 Jumbo. Injured innocence. First, he didn't know 
 nothing about it. Then minding it for some cus- 
 tomers of his. However, I put the wind up him 
 prop'ly. They're calling for the stuff to-night 
 or one or two of 'em are and I got a list of all 
 
KATIE THE KID 57 
 
 the names out of him. It's a gang of six, ap- 
 parently. I got the names 'ere. I warned Jumbo 
 extra special, and put it across him. Said we'd 
 have him for a stretch if he so much as winked 
 an eye. So if we wait till to-night we can catch 
 'em removing it, and then round up the others. 
 Jumbo won't move at all he's too fond of his 
 own skin." 
 
 "Right-o! Well, we may as well have an ob- 
 servation man on there, in case. Get Gordon on 
 
 to it." 
 
 "Satisfied?" asked Katie. 
 
 "Yes, kid, that's all right. Here you are. 
 Now go and get yesself a good rump-steak, with 
 lashings of onions you look a bit all-gone." 
 
 She took the money, but her first thought was 
 not of food, but of the shop in Cable Street where 
 athletic goods were sold. To it she went, and 
 returned with her purchase. In her one-room home 
 she cooked herself a hotch-potch meal, with tea; 
 and when she had eaten she straightened herself, and 
 set out for Bermondsey. 
 
 During the walk her mind gambolled in pleas- 
 ant pastures. She saw Freddie's strong white arms 
 at work upon the punching-ball, and glowed with 
 pride as she anticipated his raptures at the long- 
 desired gift. They met near Cherry Gardens 
 Pier, where it is dark, and at once his arms were 
 about her, and his lips upon .hers, while she 
 
58 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 fingered lovingly the blue scarf about his neck. 
 Then they walked slowly towards Jamaica Road. 
 Under the lamplight he noticed the unwieldy parcel 
 she was carrying. 
 
 "What you got there, kid?" 
 "Aha! Never you mind. You wait and see." 
 He led her to the "Man in the Moon," kept 
 by a friend of his, who allowed him the use of 
 the back room, where were seats and a fire. He 
 was in high feather. "Now, Katie, order what 
 you like. I bin a bit short o' the ready lately, but 
 I just clicked fer a bit from old Briggles, who's 
 trying to get me a match with Dotty Jewett. I 
 reckin I could settle 'im in three rounds if it 
 comes orf. So 'ave just what yeh like." She chose 
 a port-and-lemonade, and he ordered a dry-ginger 
 for himself. "Now then, let's 'ave a button-hook 
 at yer parcel." 
 
 Proudly she tossed it to him. "Open it." 
 He opened it. "Well, I'm damned! Now, 
 Katie! Now who'd a-thought of you doing that? 
 
 Now, reely! But, I say Well, well, well. 
 
 And you bin an' bought this fer me? No, but 
 
 Well, there! You didn't ought to 'ave, though. 
 Reely, Katie, you didn't. They cost a lot o' money, 
 I know. More'n you can prop'ly afford. You 
 
 didn't Oh, you dear kid! If you ain't a 
 
 real pal!" He tossed the ball to the ceiling, and 
 
KATIE THE KID 59 
 
 caught it, and grinned broadly, and tossed it back 
 again, then became serious. 
 
 "No, but, Katie you shouldn't a-done it. 
 You've 'ad to work damn 'ard fer this, I know. A 
 lot of overtime and saving-up. Fancy you think- 
 ing all this of me, though. Just what I wanted, 
 too. And from you! Katie you think too much 
 of me. I ain't 'alf good enough fer you. I don't 
 deserve that a girl like you should think so much 
 
 of me. I ain't worth you your love. I 
 
 'Ere what's the matter? Katie!" 
 
 For suddenly Katie spluttered over her port, 
 and burst into a howl of sobs, and big tears ran 
 for the first time down those firm, dry cheeks. 
 
 "Why, Katie kid, what's up? There now you 
 bin overworking that's what it is. You ain't bin 
 feeding properly. You bin starving yesself to get 
 this ball. 'Ere, I say oh, Katie!" 
 
 "Oh, I can't keep it up no longer, Freddie. 
 'Tain't what you think. It's it's me. It's it's 
 your 1-love. It's the way you think of me. I 
 ain't worth it. I'm a beast. I'm a liar." 
 
 " 'Ere, don't be silly, kid." He spoke roughly, 
 awkwardly. "Pull yesself together!" 
 
 "I can't. I can't keep it up no longer. It's no 
 good. Not when you talk to me like you bin doing. 
 You're so clean and strong and and right. And 
 
 I'm I told you I worked in a cigarette factory, 
 
 and kep' meself respectable. And it's all lies. I 
 
60 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 never bin in a factory. And I ain't respectable. 
 
 Go away. Don't come near me. Lemme go 'ome. 
 
 I didn't buy that ball by saving up or overtime at 
 
 the factory. I'm I'm a c-copper's nark. That's 
 
 what I am. A dirty, sneaking copper's nark. 
 
 That's what bought your punch-ball. Narking. It 
 
 ain't fit for you to use. It's dirty. Chuck it away. 
 
 And chuck me with it, f er making you love me and 
 
 1-leading you on w-with l-lies." 
 
 She put her head to the table, and Freddie turned 
 
 about the little room, shamed, apparently, at the 
 
 sight of woman's distress ; but his eyes were bright. 
 
 He dug his hands deep into his pockets. 
 "Er Katie?" 
 " 'M." 
 
 "You ain't telling me anything. I knew." 
 "You knew? Knew what?" 
 "What you was. I knew it before." 
 "Knew? When? Who told yeh?" 
 "I known it all along. From the first." 
 "You known it all along? And bin out wi' me, 
 
 and kep' up wi' me? You? You let me go about 
 
 wi' yeh, and said all those things to me, as though 
 
 you meant 'em?" 
 
 "I did mean 'em. I do mean 'em." 
 
 "You so clean and straight, going about wi' 
 
 me, knowing what I was?" 
 
 " 'M. I knew you was a nark. But I didn't 
 
 want you to know I knew in case I should lose yeh. 
 
KATIE THE KID 61 
 
 So I let you think I believed about the cigarette 
 factory. 'Cos Katie I see something fine about 
 you. About the way ybu loved me. I see you 
 wanted to be something better, cos' of me like I 
 felt about you. I knew you tried to cut it out 
 over in Shadwell. I 'card all about it. And I knew 
 then that you was all right. And I loved you more 
 for it. Any feller would. And I says to meself 
 she's straight, although she's bin a nark, and she 
 loves me, and as soon as I can get a bit together 
 she shall come out of it, and we'll make a fresh 
 start. That's what I said. And I ain't going to 
 throw you away. It's fer you to do the throwing. 
 Listen, Katie. I loved you, knowing what you was. 
 You loved me, thinking I was different from what 
 I was. What d'you think my job is?" 
 
 "Boxing, ain't it?" 
 
 He made a noise of disgust. "Boxing? No! 
 Boxing's only a side-line with me. I want to be a 
 boxer, but there's no money in it yet. Katie I'm 
 just a common, dirty, side-door burglar that's what 
 I am. It was me and a pal what did that business 
 of cloth from Higginses what's all over the news- 
 papers to-night, and Hi! George! Quick 
 
 brandy quick! Katie's all gone!" 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
IV 
 THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 AS unsearchable as the heart of kings is the 
 heart of a child. It is good to believe that 
 the heart of a child is the symbol of sunshine, clear 
 as joy; but it is good sometimes to face facts and to 
 recognise that the hearts of children are fashioned 
 in as many shapes and colours as the hearts of men. 
 In a corner of the saloon bar of the Blue Lantern 
 sat one night Mr. Barney Flowers. Mr. Barney 
 Flowers was a cold, lean man, frugal of speech and 
 comradeship. He kept a small shop in Tonkin 
 Road, in whose outer part he sold newspapers and 
 tobacco. To known applicants at the side-door he 
 sold other things: little packets of powder to put 
 them right after a night at the Lantern, or little 
 packets of powder to put them wrong after a spell 
 of close attention to business. None knew the inner 
 Barney Flowers. He was inaccessible. He sheathed 
 himself, as it were, in a block of ice, and held him- 
 self frigid, aloof. As the only man in the district 
 who defied the law by dealing in secret remedies, he 
 was able to do this. All that was known of him 
 
 65 
 
66 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 was that he kept this shop, and that his home and 
 person were tended by a child, Daisy, assumed to 
 be his daughter, who also delivered the newspapers 
 and served customers with cigarettes. The Blue 
 Lantern saw him at irregular intervals. Then he 
 would come in at opening-time, retire by himself to 
 a corner, and drink until he was stewed. 
 
 He was in his usual corner to-night, palpably 
 stewed. He sat with sagging head and damp, droop- 
 ing mouth, limp fingers precariously supporting an 
 empty glass. Comments passed: 
 
 "Barney seems to 'ave 'ad a field day to-day 
 what?" u Ar, 'aving 'is reg'lar monthly, eh?" 
 "Well, 'e's certainly slopped this time. 'E's copped 
 the brewer to-night, fair." 
 
 Suddenly, as to the summons of a bell, he seemed 
 to become conscious that his condition was remarked. 
 With shaking hand he deposited the glass on a near 
 table, after trying twice to put it where the table 
 was not. Then he jerked back his head, pulled his 
 lean limbs together, shot himself from his seat, and 
 staggered through the swing doors. As he disap- 
 peared, he shot a malevolent glance at the mutter- 
 ing crowd. 
 
 "Huh!" said one. "Got 'is monkey up. Now 
 that kid of 'is will 'ave to go through it, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 He slithered from the bar across the road, down 
 Gill Street, and so to Tonkin Road. He slithered 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 67 
 
 into his gas-lit shop, mumbling sticky words. His 
 head rolled from side to side, peering and inquiring. 
 Seeing nobody, he called in a wet voice, loudly, for 
 "Dai-see!" None answered him; and after some 
 seconds of stupid swaying he guided himself to a 
 stool behind the counter, and sat, fumbling and hic- 
 cuping. Some minutes passed. 
 
 Then the shop door opened, and a girl entered 
 with appearance of stealthy panic. A half-smile lit 
 her face. She moved with a flirt of frock, as one 
 walking off a stage whereon a conquest has been 
 made. Her face was the fresh, mobile face of a 
 child, but at the corners of the mouth knowledge 
 rested. Her step was peremptory; her manner, for 
 a child, too self-sufficient. She tossed back her 
 pouring, dark hair, and smoothed the little frock of 
 dirty linen. Then she saw the head of Barney 
 Flowers above the counter; and the smile was shot 
 away, and the step crawled, and her blood thinned. 
 She tumbled from challenge to submission. 
 
 "Where you bin?" he snapped. Her form 
 dwindled, and she retreated to the farther wall, like 
 a gambolling dog suddenly called to order by the 
 one voice it fears. "Leaving the shop, eh? Slipping 
 out with them boys again, and leaving everything to 
 look after itself, and get pinched? Thought I was 
 out o' the way, and you could pop off? 'Ow many 
 times 'ave I told you about leaving the shop eh? 
 Wodder yeh think yer 'ere for eh ?" He rose from 
 
68 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 the stool and steadied himself against the counter. 
 He pointed with a scraggy arm. "Upstairs. Quick." 
 He swung round to the door, and glowered; and 
 slowly she crawled, an abject animal, from the shop 
 to the narrow stairway. 
 
 And suddenly he became sober. He bolted the 
 shop door, and turned down the lights. From under 
 the counter he took a clean cane, and passed it 
 through lean fingers, delicately, as it were a flower. 
 Then he too moved up the stairs ; and soon those in 
 the Blue Lantern heard, through the jazz music of 
 voice and glass and beer-engine, and the comment- 
 ing chit-chat of the cash register, a sharp scream, 
 followed by a burst of sobs. And they "Tch'd" to 
 one another, and remarked that Barney was at it 
 again, and that somebody ought to interfere there, 
 and look after that kid. But neighbours are shy 
 of unneighbourly interference. It involves all kinds 
 of undesirable publicity, and the fierce light that 
 beats upon the police court witness-box is much too 
 strong for the sensitive folk of this district. They 
 shifted the responsibility. "Best thing she can do's 
 to go to the police, eh?" 
 
 Upstairs, in a room empty of furniture, save for 
 a mattress on the floor, with wall-paper hanging in 
 dank strips, Barney taught Daisy not to leave the 
 shop unguarded. The cane in his hands seemed a 
 living thing, and whistled and sang, and bit and 
 stung the young, bright body in time with his own 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 69 
 
 stream of chill profanity. The child, a tumult of 
 frock and raving curls, screamed and writhed, 
 strangling herself with sobs and appeals and efforts 
 to break from the grip that held her down and the 
 flaming thing that leapt about her. Looming above 
 her, Barney whipped her with a kind of dazed 
 ferocity, screaming his words in time with her cries ; 
 and the cries rose in pitch until the room seemed 
 filled in every crevice with human wails. 
 
 Then, abruptly, the cries and moaning ceased. 
 Barney, with cane held above the disordered figure, 
 paused on the sudden silence. He wrenched her 
 round, and looked close at her, and then stepped 
 back, in dull wonder. She was smiling. Upon her 
 face he saw a curious secret smile that seemed to 
 hang rather under the eyes than about the lips. He 
 had caught her with this smile on the last occasion, 
 and it had disturbed him. He could not understand 
 it. He glared at her now, seeking by a long look to 
 discover its source; and a sudden intense hatred, 
 touched with fear, of her seized him. Then the 
 drink ran back to his brain, and again the rod fell, 
 and again. But now her lips were tight, and she 
 was silent, and nothing was heard in that room 
 but the hiss of the cane and of his breathing. 
 
 At last he dropped her, and flung the cane away. 
 His lips were moist and pale. A spot of colour 
 showed on either cheek. His eyes were heavy. As 
 he left her, he looked back for a moment, perplexed. 
 
70 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Then gave it up, and lumbered down the stairs. But 
 the smile haunted him and hurt him and jeered him, 
 and he pondered upon some means whereby he might 
 rid himself of it. 
 
 Next morning Daisy went as usual about the 
 house, and at each encounter with Barney she 
 brought to her face that smile, and noted the smile's 
 effect upon him. Barney glowered upon her, and 
 tried to avoid her and her smile; and at last went 
 out to the Blue Lantern to lose it, and found it at 
 the bottom of his glass, and on the floor, and in the 
 air. He drank heavily, and the boys took note of 
 him as he sat in his corner, beating time with a 
 tumbler, and slobbering an old hymn-tune. 
 
 At one o'clock Daisy peeked through the swing- 
 door, as though in search of him, and smiled at the 
 company and at him. To the company her smile 
 was a child's smile of salutation, but to Barney it 
 was much more. It was to him a deliberate provoca- 
 tion, a challenge. Like a fool he accepted it. He 
 brandished his glass at her and babbled: u Grr'out! 
 I'll give yeh something to smile at ! I'll wipe that 
 smile orf yer face !" and stayed in the bar until half- 
 past two. 
 
 At that hour he was put outside, very drunk; 
 so drunk that at the chop suey restaurant, where he 
 customarily took his afternoon meal, he called 
 loudly for a shop steward. 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 71 
 
 An hour later, at a time when Tonkin Road was 
 filled with people, a high, shrill scream cut cleanly 
 through the gentle stir. Screams of a kind were not 
 uncommon here, but this was no ordinary scream. 
 It was not the pitiful scream of a child being 
 whipped, or the querulous scream of a wife against 
 a violent husband, but the imperative scream of 
 alarm that could not be ignored. And following it 
 came a young, thin voice: u 'Elp! 'Elp! 'E's kill- 
 ing me!" 
 
 A constable on a near corner heard it, and, with 
 dignified haste moved to the shop of Mr. Flowers. 
 Encouraged by his presence, the crowd gathered and 
 flowed into the shop behind him and overwhelmed 
 him, and rushed upstairs. In the bare room they 
 saw the child prone on the floor. They saw Barney 
 Flowers dithering over her with infuriated gesture 
 and grimace. They saw him turn, as the leader 
 of the crowd reached the door, and rush upon it 
 to slam it in their faces. But a quick foot and the 
 pressure of many bodies countered the movement, 
 and the room was quickly filled. At this moment 
 the child stirred. Her lips opened, but no sound 
 came. Weakly she raised an arm and pointed.it at 
 Barney. Then her arm dropped, and she moved 
 no more. 
 
 On the floor at her side lay a tea-cup. The Man 
 Who Knows What To Do, who makes one of every 
 crowd, shouted: "Get that cup! Don't let 'im 
 
72 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 smash it!" Somebody grabbed the cup. The con- 
 stable, using valiant elbows, knocked the crowd 
 aside. He went first to the child, made a brief 
 examination, then quietly collared the cup from The 
 Man Who Knew What To Do. He looked into it. 
 He turned to Barney, who stood in the fierce grip of 
 two of the crowd, speechless, white-lipped, damp- 
 faced, glaring. He blew his whistle and hustled the 
 crowd away. 
 
 Well, of course Barney was arrested and, later, 
 hanged. At the trial local witnesses, eager now to 
 come forward when the affair had assumed wide im- 
 portance, showed, to the satisfaction of the twelve 
 good tradesmen in the box, that the child had gone 
 in terror of Barney; that he had consistently ill- 
 treated and threatened her; that she was not his 
 child, but had been bought by him from a tramp 
 woman; that he kept stocks of poison in which he 
 did illicit business ; that nobody was in the house that 
 afternoon save himself and the child; that the dregs 
 of the poison found in the tea-cup corresponded to 
 poison of which he held a supply, and that a new 
 packet of it had been opened that day; that the child 
 was insured for twenty pounds; and that he was a 
 man of vicious turn of mind to whom the taking of 
 life weighed little against his own dreadful inclina- 
 tions. Then there was the child's last cry for help, 
 heard by ten witnesses, and her last gesture of ac- 
 cusation, to which there were six witnesses. 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 73 
 
 His demeanour in the dock greatly assisted the 
 case for the prosecution. He protested his innocence 
 furiously, with fevered movements, inarticulately, 
 with torrents of words and sudden dams of speech- 
 lessness. He contradicted himself clumsily many 
 times. But his whirling explanations were beaten 
 down by the evidence. 
 
 So they hanged him. You see, the general knowl- 
 edge of the child mind is so slender that while men 
 will credit the darkest and most tortuous motives to 
 the adult mind, they are ever sure that a child could 
 never carry out, or even .conceive, the -simplest 
 scheme of spite or retribution. Not one member of 
 the coroner's jury thought twice about the smile 
 which Daisy wore in death a chill, clear smile of 
 triumphant satisfaction. 
 
THE DUMB WIFE 
 
V 
 
 THE DUMB WIFE 
 
 DARK is this tale of love with woe as dark as 
 the malefic arches that shut out light from 
 the streets about the water-side. In these streets 
 it is always chilly afternoon, grey-hued and empty 
 of happy noise and welcoming windows. Here the 
 narrow kerbs make boundaries for the puckered 
 lives of their people; and feet fall without echo 
 upon their stones. 
 
 Yet, though all else perish here, beauty and love 
 and sacrifice survive. In these waste places below 
 London river mean iniquities propagate and flourish, 
 and curl their soiling arms about all that would be 
 brave and beautiful. Yet beauty persists. Even in 
 the heart of darkness love takes root and spreads 
 therein its eternal enchantments of gardens and 
 moonrise and April airs and song. 
 
 In one of these infelicitous streets, some distance 
 from the main Chinese quarter, stood a small 
 Chinese laundry. At an upper window of this 
 laundry sat, for many years, a woman of semi- 
 Oriental features. Day by day, month by month, 
 
 77 
 
78 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 she sat there, the object of that pity which those 
 deep in misfortune bestow so largely upon others 
 in misfortune. Part of her story was known. She 
 was the wife of the owner of the laundry, Ng 
 Yong; and she was dumb. 
 
 Throughout the hours of light she sat at her 
 window, her naturally placid face now coldly blank 
 by her affliction; staring at nothing, hearing noth- 
 ing; silent and still; a piece of Chinese carving. 
 And deep in her narrow eyes lay a crouching hor- 
 ror, so that strangers, passing that window, quick- 
 ened their steps to the friendly main road. What 
 passed each day behind that rigid face may not 
 be known; can only be conjectured. What hate 
 what fear what resolution of vengeance and 
 escape what vacillation what dark ideas and 
 darker memories gathered there these things are 
 not to be told. 
 
 Upon recurring occasions she would, without 
 warning, shed her impassivity, and a scene would 
 follow. She would run to the door and strive for 
 speech to the point of paroxysm, and utter 
 anomalous noises, and make wild gestures in the 
 direction of West India Dock. Then her husband 
 would hasten to her. He would take her in hand, 
 sadly, and lead her, with kind firmness, back to 
 seclusion; and the neighbours would murmur in 
 sympathy with him and his forbearance under his 
 trials. 
 
THE DUMB WIFE 79 
 
 He had early explained to them the misfor- 
 tune that had befallen his house, and they had 
 often aided him in quieting the sufferer. On her 
 rare walks he went always with her, the minister- 
 ing husband; when she turned and turned from 
 street to street, as though in search of one desired 
 spot, and stopped passers-by with her pleading face 
 and working jaws, he would make forlorn play with 
 his hands, and strangers would draw away, and 
 those who knew would gather about him. 
 
 This much was known. Here is the full story. 
 
 When Moy Toon was born in Poplar of an 
 English mother and a Chinese father there was no 
 warm place for her with her father's people, and 
 none at all with her mother's. Her father's people, 
 however, finding her lying about unclaimed, and 
 holding something of grace within them, did pro- 
 vide her with bare necessaries. Left motherless in 
 her early years, she was received into a tea-house 
 in the colony to do the rough work. In this tea- 
 house she spent many tedious years whose days she 
 scarcely counted. She had little capacity for 
 thought; felt little; asked little; was as content as 
 the slave born in slavery and untaught. Her birth 
 had given her a larger share of Oriental compliance 
 than of Western scepticism and challenge. Things 
 were what they were, and she accepted them. She 
 grew up in the promiscuous company of the docks. 
 Of moral training she had little, and no learning 
 
80 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 beyond that given of custom to the Chinese woman 
 of the coolie class. So she passed her young years in 
 a kind of somnambulism. 
 
 Then one night there came to the tea-house, in 
 the fourth stage of inebriety, a young second mate. 
 She had seen him many times about the streets; 
 and, in her aimless way, had admired his happy 
 stride and clear, sea-brightened face. On this occa- 
 sion the wavering charm of the girl, unsettled be- 
 tween English mobility and Eastern gravity, cap- 
 tivated his beer-bound senses, and he made proposals 
 to her. He had but to invite, and she went, her 
 warped spirit mildly pleased at the attention from 
 this man-wonder. 
 
 Well, that night was the first of many. He made 
 a fuss of her, and called her Baby Doll and other 
 babbling names, and bought cheap gifts for her. 
 On his next time ashore he again sought her out, 
 and pleased himself with her simple company. Some 
 months later he made a definite parting from her, 
 telling her only that he was about to marry and 
 settle down in another part of London; and she 
 saw him no more. She took her dismissal placidly, 
 without rancour, as she took all things, whether 
 blows or endearments, and asked nothing of him. 
 
 Later came the baby. The restaurant-keeper 
 was a little chagrined at this clumsy misdemeanour, 
 but he gave her rough attention, and the child was 
 placed with an old woman, known to the Chinese 
 
THE DUMB WIFE 81 
 
 colony, who lived at Blackwall. Now Moy Toon 
 became quite silly about that baby. It was her 
 living memory of the one adventure of her life, 
 and she worshipped it. At first she clung to it 
 defiantly, as a gesture of disdain against those about 
 her who so lightly esteemed her wonderful achieve- 
 ment of motherhood. But in a more sober moment 
 she saw that in their advice lay her best course. 
 With the child, she could not hope to earn even 
 the scanty living that her abilities and known story 
 permitted her to command to-day; and she had no 
 taste for the life which other girls of her birth 
 and class affected. She had had her one adven- 
 ture, and desired, for the child's sake, to walk 
 securely. She preferred the rough comfort of the 
 tea-house to the dolorous enterprise of the streets. 
 She knew that the child would receive, under 
 other protection, at least the essentials of life, 
 which she herself could not faithfully promise him. 
 So she let wisdom beat down her sentiment, and 
 surrendered the child, with the condition that she 
 should see it from time to time as she wished. 
 
 For six years, then, she followed her arid course, 
 mother and no mother, accepting, without ques- 
 tion or conjecture, the untowardness of her circum- 
 stance; rather giving thanks that her course was 
 broken, week by week, by visits to the boy. Often 
 during these years her pillow shook to the vibra- 
 tions of her sobbing breast, .as she recalled the 
 
82 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 young strength and delicate small ways of him, and 
 reached vain arms through the darkness to the 
 child she might not openly claim. In the rough- 
 and-tumble of the dock-side alleys he had grown 
 into a wiry, alert urchin, big and bold for his age; 
 and delicious afternoons she spent with him, dress- 
 ing him in a travesty of seaman's uniform reefer 
 jacket and gilt buttons, with peaked cap and much 
 cheap braid about it and calling him "Mother's 
 Sailor Boy" ; afternoons that compensated for the 
 lonely nights. 
 
 Then old Ng Yong appeared. He had bought 
 the laundry business of a compatriot who was re- 
 turning to his own country, and he was doing very 
 well with it. But, looking round the fittings of the 
 house, which he had bought with the business, he 
 felt that something was lacking, and discovered that 
 it lacked a woman. He felt that a woman would 
 be an agreeable piece of furniture, and would finish 
 off the establishment. He looked about for one, 
 and at the tea-house of the Hundred Gilded 
 Dragons he found Moy Toon. Moy Toon seemed 
 to him to be just the article. He inquired of the 
 keeper of the house concerning her, and found that 
 she was available, and was in the gift of the keeper. 
 
 Now Ng Yong was very strict on the sanctity 
 of womanhood (from the prospective purchaser's 
 point of view) and put to the keeper voluminous 
 questions upon her life and behaviour. These the 
 
THE DUMB WIFE 83 
 
 man behind the Gilded Dragons answered freely: 
 not entirely truthfully, but freely, with an engaging 
 air of candour. When Ng Yong demanded assur- 
 ances of the unblemished character of the goods, 
 these also he freely gave. No gentleman of com- 
 merce has yet been known to cry down his wares; 
 and he knew that the disclosure of a certain adven- 
 ture would appreciably lower the price of the article 
 to that of shop-soiled. 
 
 Moy Toon was privately told of the opening of 
 negotiations, and was shown, by reports of Ng 
 Yong's prosperity, how largely her situation should 
 be uplifted by an alliance with him, and how neces- 
 sary it was that the existence of the boy should 
 be kept secret. It was urged upon her that she 
 should renounce for ever any further part in him; 
 but to that she answered nothing. To the pro- 
 posed union she offered no objection. Ng Yong 
 was old, but she was not repelled on that ground: 
 she was sufficiently Chinese to regard the difference 
 in ages as fitting. She saw here a chance of helping 
 herself, and, indirectly, the boy, and was prepared 
 to take it without a second thought. She never 
 doubted her ability to keep her own secret. 
 
 So, some nights later, she was inspected and 
 questioned by Ng Yong, who expressed himself as 
 satisfied with her person and with her demeanour 
 of modesty. But he did not let the serious occasion 
 of wife-taking pass without administering a sharp 
 
84. MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 lecture on wifely deportment. He sat before her 
 in the kitchen of the tea-house, his fleshy hands 
 splayed upon his knees, his old head wagging, the 
 secrets of his eyes shaded from the groping minds 
 of his fellows. Ng Yong's wife, he told her, must be 
 obedient; must give unquestioning and unceasing 
 service to her lord; must give ready and regular 
 attention to household duties; must sever all con- 
 nection with the people about the tea-house; and, 
 above all, must be honest and faithful. She must 
 "be all his and his alone. He quoted passages from 
 the Four Books concerning the Virtuous Wife, and 
 the others; and his voice dropped to a muttered 
 monotone as he spoke of the punishment befitting 
 the wife who failed in the first law. 
 
 To this homily Moy Toon listened perfunctorily, 
 and answered casually, with modest and low-toned 
 responses. So the business proceeded, through many 
 evenings of bargaining, until at last a middle price 
 was agreed, the money paid to the Gilded Dragons, 
 and Moy Toon lifted over the threshold of Ng 
 Yong. 
 
 All that he required of her in service and obedi- 
 ence she gave him. But she would not renounce 
 her boy. Her heart had not been asked of her, 
 and that she kept; and in it, guarded from all pro- 
 fane contact, rested the boy. He was her joss, and 
 through him and before him she worshipped. For 
 the rest, she served Ng Yong well. She had no 
 
THE DUMB WIFE 85 
 
 desire to do else. She was scrupulous in anticipating 
 his wishes, studious in attending the house, and 
 looked at no other man. 
 
 Of this she had but little chance, for her husband 
 was ever about her. Maybe her demeanour of 
 modesty had not wholly convinced him. He watched 
 her with vigilant eyes; never was she free from him; 
 and even when she was out on shopping business 
 she felt that she was under his regard. 
 
 Her meetings with her boy became, therefore, 
 matters of delicacy. To go to the house in Canning 
 Town, each Thursday, as she had done these six 
 years, would at once arouse suspicion. He would 
 note these regular, recurring disappearances; he 
 would question her and perhaps not be satisfied by 
 her answers; he would follow her or have her fol- 
 lowed, and discover her secret; and then the pave- 
 ment would receive her, and she and the boy would 
 starve. 
 
 She considered carefully new arrangements, and 
 decided that future meetings must be haphazard, 
 snatched at odd moments, and a different rendezvous 
 must be appointed for each meeting. Discretion 
 warned her to follow the Dragon's advice and 
 abandon wholly these meetings. She was safe now 
 and comfortable, and her daily life was well set 
 Better to take the chance of seeing the boy at a 
 distance, without speech, or of getting word of his 
 welfare from independent parties, than to risk all 
 
86 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 her present security and well-being for the idle 
 whim of fondling him and talking with him. For 
 discovery meant banishment from the house of Ng 
 Yong and consequent privation and misery. Be- 
 yond that her mind did not travel. Of the words 
 of his homily on wifely decorum she remembered 
 nothing: they had gone, as the phrase is, in at one 
 ear and out at the other. He would be angry 
 and kick her out, and she and the boy would suffer. 
 And suffering of any kind she could not face. She 
 hated it and feared it. 
 
 Yet, upon a night in the first month of marriage, 
 as she lay awake, she thought of the boy and 
 fancied his small arms about her, and his voice 
 whispering childish prayers for pennies in her ear. 
 Her boy. Next morning she managed to pass the 
 word, through many channels, to the woman who 
 had charge of him, that she should bring him, the 
 following afternoon, to Tunnel Gardens. There 
 she could sit with him and the woman, and hear 
 him talk; and if Ng Yong or any friend of his should 
 see her thus engaged, she could reply, quite suitably, 
 that the woman and the boy were strangers; that 
 the child at play had attracted her and she had 
 spoken to him and his mother. No harm in that. 
 So it was done, without misadventure. 
 
 For the next meeting, a fortnight later, she ap- 
 pointed a sweetstuff shop near Blackwall, where 
 the boy was fed with cakes and ginger-beer. She 
 
THE DUMB WIFE 87 
 
 spent an hour with him here, and when she re- 
 turned, Ng Yong, who was customarily superin- 
 tending the laundry at that hour, was awaiting her 
 upstairs. He told her that she had been long gone ; 
 and she answered that she had gone to the cheaper 
 market at Shadwell, and had been delayed because 
 the road was under repair. He looked strangely 
 and closely at her, but she caught nothing of the 
 look. Her eyes were full of her boy how bonny 
 he was looking and how pert of manner. 
 
 The next meeting she fixed, after some thought, 
 for a morning in a disused cellar in a remote corner 
 near West India Dock. She had discovered this cel- 
 lar some years ago, and it was to-day much as it 
 was then. She and her sailor had spent some hours 
 there one wet evening of summer, when he had 
 been unable to find other temporary accommoda- 
 tion. It was easily entered, and, as it held nothing 
 that could be stolen, was never under observation. 
 It had lain abandoned since the river first entered 
 it and swamped its contents. Repairs had been at- 
 tempted, but the river persisted; and at every high 
 tide it was waist-deep in water. It was entered from 
 a narrow passage by a flight of broken steps so 
 hidden that none could without guidance discover 
 them. 
 
 Hither, then, the boy was brought. The cellar, 
 lit by Moy Toon's electric torch, did not daunt him. 
 He was a lad of his father's spirit, she told herself, 
 
88 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 for he was delighted with the adventure, and 
 trotted about the place, prying here and there, and 
 nourishing his mother's heart with smiles. She 
 stood by him, blooming with pride and encouraging 
 his tricks, careless of all save the small circle in 
 which he moved. But in the midst of his gambolling 
 the woman who had brought him lifted a nervous 
 finger. 
 
 "Listen! Quiet !" 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and Moy Toon gathered 
 him against her skirt. They listened. 
 
 u Oo er!" croaked the woman. "Someone 
 comin'. I was afraid we'd get into trouble comin' 
 'ere. What'll we do? Where shall we go? Oo 
 er. I'm gointer get outer this. It's your affair. I 
 ain't in it. I ain't gointer be mixed up in no " 
 
 With a whirl of worried skirts and cumbrous 
 boots, she pounded up the steps. Moy Toon, below, 
 heard a sound as of a dull impact, and a shrill "Oo 
 er!" followed by "Look out, gel!" 
 
 It was a moment of panic. The woman had seen 
 something to affiright her, and Moy Toon's first in- 
 stinct was the boy. At that moment she was with- 
 out power of thought. She saw three feet from 
 her an alcove in which the boy had been exploring. 
 It was guarded by a heavy door with a great iron 
 hasp and lock. She grabbed the boy by the arm, 
 and put her mouth to his ear. 
 
THE DUMB WIFE 89 
 
 "In there, darling. Quick in there. Don't make 
 a sound. It's for mummy." 
 
 The boy understood and hopped into the alcove. 
 She swept the door upon him and snapped it close. 
 She turned from it to reach the torch and extinguish 
 it; and turned to see Ng Yong descending the last 
 step to the cellar, with hand outstretched in com- 
 mand which she instinctively obeyed. He reached 
 the bottom, and stood motionless, looking about 
 him, right and left. The sudden shock of his arrival, 
 and the closing of the door, had left her breathless, 
 incapable of act or word. She leaned against the 
 wall, panting, her slow mind rolling round one idea : 
 "What did he see? What did he see?" Through 
 his silence she prayed for him to speak. 
 
 At last he spoke, quietly: "So this is where you 
 meet your lover? Let us see him." 
 
 "Lover? Me? No, I don't. Oh no no I 
 don't. What d'you mean?" 
 
 She knew that she was speaking stupidly, uncon- 
 vincingly, but delight at his mistake about a lover 
 made her careless. Inside herself she laughed. If 
 she had to suffer his wrath, she would suffer; but 
 at least the boy was safe, while the lover idea 
 remained. 
 
 "Where is your lover?" 
 
 "Lover? I ain't got no lover." 
 
 "What then would you be doing here?" 
 
90 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "But I mean there ain't no lover. I come 'ere 
 , )> 
 
 "So you come to this place this place to gossip 
 with old women, huh? Bring out your lover." 
 
 "But I ain't " She saw suddenly that her 
 
 best plan, for the boy's sake, was to hold the idea 
 of a lover, to develop it. 
 
 "Well, I mean, suppose I " 
 
 He raised a hand. "Look at mel" 
 
 The instinct of obedience raised her eyes, and 
 she looked full at him, and what she saw in his face 
 turned her sick. She gibbered. 
 
 "But I ain't I ain't " 
 
 "You you to whom I gave my trust. Oh, child 
 of a dog!" 
 
 "But I mean I " 
 
 A snarl broke from his lips. His hand dipped 
 to his inner pocket. She watched it with foolish 
 eyes, fumbling under his canvas coat. She saw 
 it come out, holding a long curved knife, the blade 
 dulled by long disuse. He held it by the ivory hilt, 
 directed the point upon her, horizontally, and slowly, 
 quietly approached her. Like dropping water, the 
 words of his homily on the Virtuous Wife dropped 
 through her mind. 
 
 "You have chosen your place well. We are safe 
 here. I told you how I would punish unfaithful- 
 
 ness." 
 
 With each step forward he took, she took one 
 
THE DUMB WIFE 91 
 
 backward, shrinking from him. He followed her. 
 She drew back, shuddering, arms extended, pressing 
 herself against the wall as if she would force her- 
 self into it. He followed her. Pat-pat, pat-pat, 
 they moved softly along the damp floor. She con- 
 tinued to step slow paces backward, eyes fixed on 
 him. He followed her. He followed her until she 
 had reached the far wall, where an iron grating 
 gave out to the river. There she stood, mouthing 
 at him, cornered; fascinated, rabbit-like, by the dull 
 tongue of steel that slowly floated towards her 
 breast. Nearer and nearer it came. She felt the 
 touch of it upon her corsage; then the prick of it 
 upon her skin; and at this she opened wide her 
 throat to scream: "Mercy! Mercy! I ain't got 
 no lover!" 
 
 But, though she opened her throat, none of 
 these words came. Her mouth opened and shut, 
 and her teeth came together and flew apart; but 
 no sound could she utter. The knife rose and 
 fluttered half-an-inch from her throat. Then Ng 
 Yong dropped it to his waist, and drew back. He 
 looked long at her before he spoke again. 
 
 "Where is this lover ?" 
 
 Her lips moved, and she made meaningless noises, 
 and shook her head and prayed with her hands. 
 Ng Yong replaced the knife in his coat, and nodded 
 gravely. The shock of discovery and the threatened 
 punishment had taken punishment from his hands. 
 
92 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 His wife was punished by an instrument keener than 
 any blade of steel. She was struck dumb. 
 
 He took her by the arm. She shuddered at the 
 touch, and he smiled upon her. He drew her to 
 the steps leading to the alley. As he led her away, 
 she struggled, and pointed to the great door of 
 the alcove, and made low noises: "Myw! Myw!" 
 
 Ng Yong, too, looked at the door, and gave a 
 smile of understanding. With easy force he com- 
 pelled her up the steps. She beat against his bent 
 arm, and strove with hands and lips, as one ex- 
 plaining. But he led her away, quietly, down that 
 narrow passage, so that none noted their going 
 until they reached the main road. And he led 
 her home, and told sympathetic inquirers how his 
 wife had suffered a sad shock from a street acci- 
 dent, which had deprived her of speech and made 
 her foolish of mind. 
 
BLUEBELL 
 
VI 
 BLUEBELL 
 
 SLIPPERY SAM, the copper's nark, stood in 
 the bar of the Blue Lantern and drank bitter, 
 while he complained to his only friend, Hank Hogan, 
 the odd messenger, of the present discontents. At 
 the other end of the bar a group of the Roseleaf 
 Boys, who "worked" the West End shopping 
 crowds, delivered to the world generally, in high 
 voices, their opinions of Slippery Sam. 
 
 "Thinks 'isself smart, y'know. I reckon we got 
 a beat on 'im lars' week." "Smart ! Huh ! Nosing 
 round Chinatown for dope shops is about all Vs fit 
 for." "Planted the bunce right under 'is dirty nose, 
 I did." "Why, take a dekko at 'im. 'E looks like 
 'is job. Any side-door cadger'd know it first time. 
 Goes about with a black mask on and a brass band 
 in front of 'im, playing Tm the copper's nark.' ' 
 "Yerce, if a faro crib opened next door to 'im and 
 'ung out signs, 'e wouldn't know it for a week or 
 two." 
 
 Here the voices dropped. Slippery Sam had not 
 heard what was spoken loudly, but he heard what 
 
 95 
 
96 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 was murmured; his ears were adjusted that way. 
 "Yerce, old 'Awkins 'as started a shop in Cable 
 Street. Bin running these four weeks. 'E dunno 
 it, though. 'E'll 'ear about it like 'e 'ears every- 
 thing else when 'e reads it in the papers." 
 
 Slippery Sam drank up, excused himself to his 
 friend and went out. 
 
 The boys were right. He hadn't heard about it. 
 But the name caught his ear, and he thought of 
 a gentle walk to Cable Street. On another point 
 the boys were wrong. He was good for something 
 besides nosing for dope shops in Chinatown. He 
 was good for nosing round women. He nosed 
 round them like a dog. He sniffed. He fawned. 
 He snapped. He snarled. He patted and mauled 
 and showed his teeth. He was nosing round one 
 now. Bluebell Hawkins, But in her case he 
 could not snarl or show his teeth. There was noth- 
 ing to bite on. Or there had been nothing to 
 bite on. But the information given to him by 
 the sour temper of the Roseleaf Boys indicated 
 something substantial. Old Hawkins had started 
 a Shop. In Shadwell a Shop means one thing. It 
 does not mean a gambling den or a dancing den 
 or a coining den or a shebeen; it means a Shop. 
 
 As he passed up Gravel Lane there was a sudden 
 outcry of young voices : 
 
 "Come on, boys! 'Ere's Sing-a-song Joe! 
 Chase 'im, boys! Muck ''im about!" 
 
BLUEBELL 9T 
 
 Slippery Sam stopped to watch and chuckle. 
 Against a wall crouched a lanky, thin-faced, wispy- 
 haired youth, in tatterdemalion clothes. In his lean 
 fingers he held a tin whistle. With this and with 
 lifted leg he made aimless, slow gestures of defense, 
 while his face wore the silly smile of the victim who 
 tries to enter into the joke of his persecution. His 
 mouth made childish noises of protest. Slippery 
 Sam stood by and grinned. This was Sing-a-song 
 Joe, the half-witted character of the district; some- 
 times drunk, sometimes running amok; but always 
 the butt of the street boys, and always stupidly 
 cheerful. When things were dull and amusement 
 wanting, there was always Sing-a-song Joe to be 
 dug out and baited. Whence he came none knew. 
 He had appeared among them as a lad in knicker- 
 bockers. The Union would not have him; the 
 Asylum would not have him; the police were bored 
 with him. He was helpless and harmless. His 
 bed was any archway sheltered from the breeze. 
 His food he cadged by promises or, as some said, 
 threats to sing a song in return for broken scraps 
 or cigarettes or beer. From those who knew him 
 he mostly got the gift, and was hastily released from 
 his promise of entertainment. It was only when 
 he approached a stranger that the price would be 
 accepted and the neighbourhood disturbed by fright- 
 ful discords on his whistle, or additional horror 
 
98 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 lent by his cracked voice to obscene soldier and 
 sailor songs. 
 
 Slippery Sam stood and watched and urged on 
 the boys. Then suddenly, through the crowd, broke 
 the slim, bright figure of a young girl. She cuffed 
 right and left with her hands, and came to the 
 side of Sing-a-song, striking with words. 
 
 "Let 'im alone, yeh little beasts. You leave 'im 
 be. Never mind, Sing-a-song, I'll see to 'em. Here, 
 mike off quick. Little blackguards, can't yeh leave 
 the boy alone?" 
 
 With profane comment and derisive gestures the 
 boys strolled away to the next amusement, and she 
 put an arm about the victim. 
 
 u They bin hustling you, Sing-a-song ?" she asked 
 gently. 
 
 He giggled. "No, no. I don't mind. They 
 alwis do it. They like a bit o' fun. They think I'm 
 cracked. But you know, don't yeh? You know 
 I'm all right? I 'like you, Bluebell. You're kind 
 to me." 
 
 She smiled upon him. "You ought to stick up 
 for yourself, boy, you're big enough now. Hit 'em. 
 Knock 'em about. I know there's a crowd of 'em, 
 but you hit one, hard, and it'll frighten the others. 
 See?" 
 
 "Oh, no, Bluebell, that ain't right. They don' 
 mean nothing. Wouldn't be right to 'urt 'em." 
 
 Slippery Sam strolled up. " 'Ullo, missie." 
 
BLUEBELL 99 
 
 Bluebell Hawkins looked round and shuddered 
 sharply. She moved closer to the half-witted Sing- 
 a-song. 
 
 "Hullo." 
 
 Sing-a-song observed that she was engaged. "I'll 
 go, Bluebell," he piped, humbly withdrawing. 
 
 Bluebell stretched a hand. u No, don't." But, 
 putting his whistle to his lips, and blowing a piercing 
 blast, he capered round the corner and away. 
 
 "Seem fond o' Sing-a-song," remarked Slippery 
 conversationally. 
 
 "Oh?" 
 
 "Yerce. Never take no notice of yer friends 
 when they pass in the streets, but always looking 
 after 'im." 
 
 Bluebell thought of a rude retort, but did not 
 make it. She was not sure of 'Slippery. She loathed 
 him. The fact of his being in her neighbourhood 
 affected her as the presence of a cat affects some 
 people. And, somehow, though she felt no fear, 
 she had a notion that he was to be feared. 
 
 "What if I do?" she said. "He wants some- 
 one to look after him, when everybody's tormenting 
 him. Why should they? He's only a bit soft. 
 There's nothing nasty or wicked about him. That 
 boy'd do anything in the world for me." 
 
 "Well, perhaps 'e would. Perhaps other people 
 would, too. What could *e do for yeh, though? 
 'E's no good to anyone. Can't even look after 
 
100 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 1 isself. There's other people that might be yer 
 friends real friends and do things for yeh, if 
 yeh'd let 'em. Nobody never knows when they 
 might want a friend a real friend." 
 
 He looked at her and his eyes raked her face 
 and then or so she felt raked off her clothes 
 and grinned upon her young body. She shuddered 
 again and moved beyond him. His sloppy clothes, 
 his sloppy limbs, his sloppy movements nauseated 
 her. There was an odour of slops all about him. 
 '"Well, I must be going." 
 
 "Right-o. But don't forget what I said. A 
 friend's a friend. And yeh never know." 
 
 She walked swiftly from him, in some trouble 
 at his words. She walked lightly, and her feet 
 barely disturbed the dust of the pavement. In 
 Juniper Street, where was her home, she was known 
 as That Refined Girl. It was agreed that she was 
 Quite The Lady. There was gentleness in every 
 line of her. Even the massed yellow of her hair 
 Deemed gentle against the brutal bricks and girders 
 and the insistent dun of Shadwell; and the startling 
 combination of light curls with deep brown eyes 
 lent her an air of waywardness that caused remark 
 in a place where all things were blunt and deter- 
 mined. Her merry hat, her bright mouth, her 
 swinging arms gave a moment's courage to the 
 cringing street as she passed; but her heart was 
 troubled. 
 
BLUEBELL '.,. 101 
 
 Mr. Hawkins, her father, had long done well 
 in the second-hand wardrobe business; but lately 
 he had disposed of his stock and goodwill, and 
 was now much at home. He had told Bluebell, 
 in a casual way, that he had started another busi- 
 ness, in a new line, but what that business was 
 she was not told. Certainly, it seemed more profit- 
 able t~an second-hand clothes, for there was more 
 money about the house. He did himself well, and 
 gave Bluebell presents of new hats and frocks, and 
 added many necessary comforts to their home. But 
 Bluebell had wondered about this business, and his 
 evasion of her questions. Lately, nasty words had 
 crept about the district, and had been borne, by 
 the sluggish wind of gossips' breath, to her ears. 
 She began to scrutinise her father at the supper- 
 table, while he was engaged with the evening paper; 
 and, at last, putting words together, she framed 
 something like the truth. She confirmed it by ques- 
 tions to Sing-a-song Joe, who heard everything; and 
 he told her, innocently, not knowing whether the 
 business was good or bad, its nature. 
 
 She had not known it long before her father dis- 
 covered that she knew. Without a word from 
 either, mutual knowledge was discovered; and there- 
 after the bright tones of the Hawkins' home was 
 subdued. Though never proclaimed, the knowledge 
 pervaded the house like a fog. This nasty grey 
 Fact loomed over them, and sat between them at 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 the fireside, and hovered above the table as they 
 sat at meals, and sucked the warmth from their 
 words and their advances, and lent a chill to any 
 attempt at candid intercourse. And there were 
 dreadful occasions when Hawkins would say, in 
 the tones of a clumsy actor who has memorised a 
 part till it becomes meaningless: "Well, girl, I 
 shall be rather late to-night. Special business to see 
 to, y'know. Don't wait up for me." And Blue- 
 bell would reply in the same tones: "All right, 
 dad; I'll leave something cold on the table for you." 
 
 She did not dare to name to him her knowledge 
 and her horror. Though a strong, undemonstrative 
 love united them, his dark temper had always for- 
 bidden any attempt on her part to challenge any 
 attitude or action on his. Don't think that she 
 suffered any pangs of conscience at enjoying the 
 new good things provided by this more prosperous 
 business. She didn't. Nor, perhaps, was she at 
 all concerned with the "wrong" side of it. It was 
 to her only a thoroughly nasty business. What 
 horrified and disgusted her, savagely insistent as 
 she was on chastity, and loathing the fact of sex, 
 was the dirtiness, the animalism, the disgrace of it. 
 
 He was not often out late. He was out at odd 
 times morning and evening, but usually returned 
 at ten o'clock. The place of business in Cable 
 Street Bluebell had discovered. There he went each 
 morning to collect the money paid by the night's 
 
BLUEBELL 103 
 
 visitors, and to see that order was maintained among 
 the terrible company who called themselves face- 
 tiously his "staff." He was always quietly dressed; 
 sleek; reticent in style and speech. A black beard 
 lent him circumspection, and his manner was like 
 a dark alley of shuttered houses. He was always, 
 to his neighbours, "Mr." Hawkins. 
 
 As Bluebell prepared the table for supper to- 
 night the words of Slippery Sam still clattered in 
 her head; and when at his proper hour her father 
 came in, she quizzed him. He sat at the table with 
 the evening paper, not, as usual, tranquil and self- 
 contained. He fidgeted. Bluebell observed. After 
 eating, he spoke. 
 
 "You know Sam Booth?" 
 
 "What him they call Slippery Sam?" 
 
 " 'M." 
 
 "Yes, everybody does." The tone of voice clearly 
 conveyed "and loathes him." 
 
 "Oh, well not a bad chap. I rather like him. 
 You don't seem to?" 
 
 "Well, can you ask? Like him? How can one 
 like. a rat or a snake or anything slimy?" 
 
 "Oh, he's not as bad as all that. You mustn't 
 believe all people say about him. He's not really 
 such a bad chap. However, Ionly asked. But j-ou 
 might be a bit nice to him. I saw him this evening, 
 and he seemed to think you wanted to be rude to 
 
104 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 him. Be a bit nice, like. Because y'see I mean 
 he might be able to do me a good turn." 
 
 Bluebell knew what her father was trying to say, 
 and he knew that she knew; and her breasts seemed 
 suddenly two blocks of ice. But she only answered: 
 "Oh, well, you'd have to be pretty hard up to take 
 favours from a worm like that." And she served 
 him with beer, and they spoke no more until "Good- 
 night." 
 
 Next morning when she went shopping Slippery 
 Sam stepped from an alley into her path, and simu- 
 lated surprise. " 'Ulloj Bluebell. Out early, eh? 
 My word, what a nobby frock ! That cost a bit, I 
 lay. But it ain't too good for you, whatever it 
 cost. Your dad's doing well just now, eh?" 
 
 She moved to pass him. "I believe so. ... 
 Well, I got a lot of things to get this morning." 
 
 ( 'Arf a mo'. I got something serious to say 
 to you. I mean it, reely. Something that concerns 
 you. Supposing your dad was in trouble, and you 
 could 'elp 'im. Would yeh?" 
 
 "Don't be silly. You know me an* dad would 
 do anything for one another." 
 
 She looked steadily at him and he at her. He 
 wondered if she knew; but her face was the face 
 of a pretty girl busy with domestic matters. 
 
 "Well, I won't keep yeh now. I'll tell yeh later. 
 I don't want to worry your little 'ead. I dessay yer 
 
BLUEBELL 105 
 
 father's told yeh already that he might be in trouble 
 
 some time." 
 
 Bluebell walked on shuddering; partly from con- 
 tact with Slippery, and partly from his words. She 
 brooded and fretted all day, and that night her 
 father spoke his awful lines: "Well, girl, I shall 
 be rather late to-night. Special business to see to, 
 y'know. Don't wait up for me." To which she 
 made the customary reply. 
 
 Half-an-hour after he was gone came a knock at 
 the street door. She opened it and found Slippery 
 Sam. 
 
 "Want to come in," he said hoarsely. "Want 
 to talk to yeh, private-like." 
 
 Her arm ached to slam the door upon his nose, 
 but something restrained her. She let him enter. 
 He slouched into the kitchen and stood awkwardly 
 by the table. 
 
 "It's true what I told yeh 'smorning," he began. 
 "I found out about it. There'll be trouble fer you 
 and your dad before long. But it could be stopped. 
 I could get it stopped, I think." 
 
 She looked at him with orderly eyes. "Well, 
 suppose it is true? What about it? Why come 
 and tell me?" 
 
 "Well, yeh said 'smorning yeh'd do anything to 
 'elp your dad if 'e was in trouble. Well, now yeh 
 got a chance, so I thought I'd tdl yeh." 
 
106 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "I see. You want to be squared, I suppose. How 
 much do you want?" 
 
 "Ah, I see you've rumbled it. But er well, it 
 ain't a matter o' money. I can get money easy. 
 There's some things better'n money. I thought I'd 
 come to-night, seeing yer dad go out; 'cos if 'e 'card 
 you was ready to save 'im this way, very likely 'e 
 wouldn't let yeh. Might be ready to stand the racket 
 'isself, rather'n you should be er bothered. But 
 I reckon you wouldn't like to let 'im in fer well 
 bad trouble, when you could easy prevent it." 
 
 She rested a hand on the kitchen table and leant 
 across it. 
 
 "What is it you want, you beast?" 
 
 Then he smiled and his awkwardnessi dropped 
 from him. This was a language he understood. He 
 asserted himself. 
 
 "Why, if yeh look in the glass, ducky, yeh don't 
 need to ask a man that. You know what I want." 
 
 She took a deep breath, as though to blow him 
 from the room. Then she recovered and spoke 
 quietly. "No, you slimy reptile. No. Get out 
 quick!" 
 
 He did not move. "Nice words from you slimy 
 reptile from you. And who are you? Where did 
 that pretty frock come from? Where did those 
 shoes come from? Eh? Who's worse you, that 
 swank about in new 'ats and frocks and look the 
 lady, or the poor gels what make the money that 
 
BLUEBELL 107 
 
 buys 'em? Eh? D'yeh know what your father is? 
 'E's a " 
 
 She clapped hands to ears. "Don't say it. Beast. 
 Don't say it. Oh!" 
 
 "Ar! I see yeh know. And still try to be the 
 lady. Well, it won't last long, y'know. Not only 
 your being a lady won't last. There's worse. Your 
 dad'll be taken to the court. 'E'll be committed 
 for trial. It'll all be printed in the papers. Twelve 
 munce is a light sentence for that. An' 'e'll be put 
 in convick dress, and.be 'eating 'is 'eart out in a cell, 
 and working at miserable work and not a soul 
 to talk to all the time. 'E'll be thinking of you 
 every minute of the day and 'arf the night. And 
 where'll you be? Eh? When it's all exposed 
 where'll you be? 'Ere? No. You'll be chased out 
 of the place. You won't 'ave nowhere to go. You 
 won't you won't 'ave a place to lay yer 'ead. No- 
 body'll look at yeh, when they know. Yeh'll be 
 where the girls are what bring the money fer yer 
 pretty frocks and 'ats. That's where you'll be, 
 unless 'Arf-a-dozen words from me and flip- 
 flop!" 
 
 She dropped into a chair and hid her face. 
 "Don't, don't! You beast! Oh, go away." 
 
 He approached her. "Now don't be silly, gel. 
 I'll give y'a chance. Gimme a kiss now, and I won't 
 do nothing for a day or two. I'll let yeh think it 
 over. Come on." 
 
108 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 He shook her shoulder. She writhed at the touch, 
 but she thought of father in prison, and slowly she 
 rose, her lips parted in misery and disgust. Her 
 skin tingled. He stood motionless at her side. 
 
 "Come on, gel." 
 
 Slowly she put her face to his, and gave' him her 
 bright mouth. He grabbed her neck and pressed 
 his tight lips hard against hers, and she sobbed and 
 her throat made noises of revolt. "There ! That's 
 that! I'll go now, and you be sensible and think 
 
 it over." 
 
 She sank to the table again, and when she looked 
 up he was gone. 
 
 Long she sat thus, staring before her, while grim, 
 grey thoughts moved nakedly across her mind. 
 Then, chilled with solitude, she got up, took hat and 
 coat, and went out. She did not know and did not 
 care where she would walk she wanted to be out. 
 Suddenly, as she passed a lampless alley, the quiet 
 of the street was rent by a screaming note from 
 a tin whistle, and she knew that Sing-a-song Joe was 
 about. She followed the direction of the sound, 
 for she felt that Sing-a-song was the one person 
 she could meet to-night. With Sing-a-song she could 
 and did talk freely. She could tell him things she 
 dare not tell to others little fancies, whims, de- 
 sires, that would have aroused bitter ridicule in 
 others. He was a child. She could unpack her 
 
BLUEBELL 109 
 
 mind to him in speech.without fear of compromising 
 herself by revelation. 
 
 She found him strutting gaily over the cobbles, 
 whistle at mouth. He stopped at sight of her, and, 
 though the inane smile remained on his face, his 
 voice conveyed concern. 
 
 u 'Ullo, Bluebell. Don't yeh feel well, Bluebell? 
 You got a pain anywhere, Bluebell?" 
 
 "Oh, Sing-a-song, I'm so unhappy. I'm in trouble, 
 Sing-a-song." 
 
 "What? Ain't you had your dinner, Bluebell! 
 Or you lost your purse or what?" 
 
 "No, it isn't anything like that, Sing-a-song. 
 Here, come down here." 
 
 "That's right, Bluebell. You tell Sing-a-song all 
 about it. You alwis look after Sing-a-song, so 'e'll 
 look after you." 
 
 Up and down the side street they walked for 
 half-an-hour, while Bluebell told him, in plain, set 
 terms that he could understand, the nature of her 
 trouble. She did not tell him with any idea of find- 
 ing advice or assistance, but because she must dis- 
 charge her mind of its burden of horror, and he 
 was the one person to whom she could confess 
 without surrender of dignity and esteem. Cackles 
 of thin laughter, which from Sing-a-song meant sym- 
 pathy, interspersed her monotonous recital; and 
 when he he.ard that Slippery Sam was the occasion 
 of her troubled eyes and lagging steps, he shuffled 
 
110 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 his feet and blew wild notes on his whistle. Slippery 
 Sam was his enemy too, and never failed to give 
 himself cheap sport by setting the street urchins 
 about the witless boy when he found him. 
 
 "Oh, Bluebell," he bleated. "Poor Bluebell! 
 Never mind ; don't you cry. And don't you be afraid 
 of Slippery Sam. Poor Bluebell 1" 
 
 That was all the comfort he could give her. But 
 when he left her, and shuffled towards the Great 
 Eastern arches to bed, blowing weird music from 
 his whistle, his thoughts ran upon the business. His 
 beautiful lady, his princess, was in trouble, and had 
 told him all about it. But what could a softy do? 
 Nobody would take any notice of him. Softy, they 
 would call him. He wondered if he could kill Slip- 
 pery Sam. It would be nice if he could. Bluebell 
 would admire him for that. But Slippery Sam was 
 a strong man and could fight. Then people would 
 find out that he had been killed, and there was awful 
 punishment for that kind of thing. At this point 
 a lantern flashed upon him, as he crouched under 
 the arch. He sprang nimbly to his feet, but a voice 
 reassured him. It was the voice of P. C. Gossett, 
 the only constable in that district who never annoyed 
 or hustled him. He liked P. C. Gossett. He was a 
 good policeman and big and strong and calm. 
 
 "All right, kid," said Gossett "I didn't know 
 it was you. Settle down and be good." 
 
BLUEBELL 111 
 
 "Slippery Sam's a bad man," said Sing-a-song in- 
 consequently. 
 
 "Just found that out, boy? Most people knew 
 that a long time ago." 
 
 "Sing-a-song don't like Slippery Sam. 'E's un- 
 kind to people." 
 
 u No more don't I, old man. We ain't loved one 
 another for a long time. But don't you worry. 
 One o' these days I'll get him, and then he won't 
 give you nor nobody else any trouble. I'm only 
 waiting fer me chance. Now be'ave yesself, boy, 
 and I'll see yer not shifted from here. Here here's 
 a crust of bread and cheese bit o' my supper, but 
 I don't fancy cheese to-night." 
 
 Sing-a-song grabbed the food and ate it; and all 
 through the night he lay awake on the stones. The 
 morning gave him an idea. One way there was, 
 he saw suddenly, by which his Bluebell might be 
 saved: a drastic way, which might put some pain 
 upon her, but a pain less hideous and enduring than 
 that which now threatened her. It was the only 
 way he could see to assuage her present misery; and 
 he set himself to take it. 
 
 For a week of evenings the atmosphere of the 
 Hawkins' home was like a dark forest, where surly 
 red fire smouldered. The great Fact that sat al- 
 ways between them at table had now a shadowy 
 companion a grim Idea that crouched behind it 
 and made terrible grimaces at Bluebell. Darker 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 and darker grew her father's manner, retreating 
 from her day by day, until it seemed that never 
 again would they reach one another; and day by 
 day she suffered double torture: the torture of his 
 strained face and the torture of Slippery Sam with 
 his "Well, gel, when am I goin' to 'ave more'n a 
 kiss, eh?" until she felt each night that the breaking- 
 point had been reached, and the torture must be 
 ended by the one act of sacrifice that was demanded. 
 
 At the end of the week the surly red broke into 
 fierce flame. Hawkins came home early that evening, 
 before ten o'clock. He dropped heavily into the 
 chair by the kitchen stove. Bluebell brought a bot- 
 tle of beer and poured him a glass. She placed it 
 on the table at his elbow, but he did not drink. 
 He looked deep into the fire, and spoke slowly : 
 
 "Er Bluebell girl." 
 
 *"M?" 
 
 "Got some bad news for you?" 
 
 "Bad news? Oh bad news. Yes, what now? 
 Bad news?" 
 
 She was standing at the cupboard, replacing the 
 bottle. He saw only her back. It was bent as to 
 receive a blow. 
 
 "Yerce. I'm in trouble." 
 
 "Trouble?" The voice was a shred of a voice, 
 naked. "You in trouble? And Oh, go on." 
 
 He turned round in the chair, faced her and spoke 
 quickly, without a pause between phrases. 
 
BLUEBELL US 
 
 "Yes, girl, trouble. Big trouble. I'm going to 
 be I mean the police are after me. I bin doing 
 wrong running a crook business, and I'm going to 
 be locked up. I can't get away. They know who 
 I am and where I live, and they'll be here any minute 
 now. I bin running a bad house, and somebody's 
 give me away." 
 
 The bottle slipped from her hand and fell with a 
 jagged crash to the floor. She turned and faced 
 him; and even in his own deep misery he thought 
 he had never seen so terrible a face as that she 
 showed him, with its wide eyes and blank, wet 
 mouth. 
 
 "Give you away? Who? Who? Sam Booth? 
 Slippery Sam give you away?" 
 
 "No it wasn't Slippery Sam. He's been quite 
 nice to me lately. It was that loony boy, Sing-a- 
 song Joe they call him. He gave 'em the office. 
 Put that nasty, superior kind o' copper, Gossett 
 you know him on to it. Slippery Sam tried to 
 stop it, but Gossett was too quick for him. Said 
 that Sing-a-song Joe done it to help you. Dunno 
 what he's talking about. What you staring at like 
 that?" 
 
 "Oh, God! My pal! Done for by my pal!" 
 
 "Done for? Here, girl, don't take on so. It 
 ain't so bad, perhaps. There'll be a bit o' money 
 for you to go with. I oughta known it was bound 
 to come. If it hadn't come that way, it'd a-come 
 
114. MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 by Slippery Sam. He found out about it a week 
 or two ago. I've had to keep him quiet with money, 
 but he wasn't satisfied with money. He's bin askin' 
 me for all sorts of things. Things I'd never think 
 of giving him. Bluebell, girl, it's just as well, per- 
 haps, that I'm in for it, and don't have to think 
 over what he wanted. Now that this has happened 
 he can't bother us no more. Bluebell he was ask- 
 ing me for you" 
 
 "Yes? That's what makes it more awful. That 
 Sing-a-song should have done this now. 'Cos, you 
 see, dad" the words dropped hard and black from 
 her lips "you see, to save you, I gave myself to 
 Slippery Sam last night." 
 
 Out of the quiet evening came the long scream of 
 a tin whistle, as Sing-a-song pranced about the alleys, 
 warm with the thought of service done to his lady. 
 
A FAMILY AFFAIR 
 
~-vn 
 
 A FAMILY AFFAIR 
 
 THERE was trouble down our street. There 
 was something doing. There was a large fly 
 in the sweet ointment of its social life. The wind 
 was well up. And all along of that there little 
 Connie Raymond and them there dirty Chinks. You 
 could see at a glance that something was "up," for 
 Mrs. Raymond was leaning across the sill of her 
 open parlour window, which gave directly to the 
 street; and Mrs. Raymond only sat in her parlour 
 on solemn occasions, and only once before when 
 Aunt Polly upset the lamp had the window been 
 opened. 
 
 She was haranguing her two sons, Alf and Bert, 
 who stood outside, smoking nonchalant cigarettes: 
 Alf incipiently pugnacious; Bert, with a taste for 
 diplomacy, thinking hard. A group of little girls 
 gathered at a respectful distance, and sympathisers 
 stood at their doors ; for it was felt that the affront 
 fell not only upon the Raymond family, but upon 
 the whole colony of Nugget Street. And they 
 listened and nodded as Mrs. Raymond made her 
 jeremiad. 
 
 117 
 
1.18 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "To think of it. Our Connie. Going with a 
 Chink. And ev'body in the place knowing it. Alwis 
 kep' ourselves respectable we 'ave. On'y twice in 
 'is life was yer father put away. And you boys 
 ain't on'y bin pinched oncer twice. Come to that 
 who ain't? Police trouble comes to ev'body even 
 the 'igh-up ones. But this and with all the papers 
 full o' stuff jus' now 'bout white gels going with 
 Chinks, and 'ow it oughter be stopped. Goes and 
 picks up one at that there Blue Lantern, and walks 
 out with 'im. Night after night. It's enough to 
 break yer 'eart. 'Er that I've kep' so respectable, 
 too. Never bin anything like it in our family be- 
 fore. All married fair and square, we was. And 
 even if some of us picked wrong 'uns, leastways they 
 was white. . . . Oh, don't stand there like a couple 
 of lamp-posts. Say something!" 
 
 Alf looked at Bert, and Bert looked at his boots. 
 Then Bill Higgins, the roadman, chipped in, and 
 said something consolatory. 
 
 "I don't wonder yer worried, missus," said Bill 
 Higgins. 
 
 "A nice gel like your Connie going with one o' 
 them when she could 'ave the pick o' the street. 
 It's shameful, that's what it is," said Bill Higgins. 
 
 "And o' them dirty yeller boys. They eats rats, 
 y'know. Yerce, they do. I seen 'em. And worship 
 images. And never wash theirselves. And treach- 
 erous yeh never know wher y'are with 'em. Stick 
 
A FAMILY AFFAIR 119 
 
 a knife in yer back fer tuppence, and think nothing 
 of it. And who knows where this might end?" said 
 Bill Higgins. 
 
 u They might get 'old of Connie, and get 'er to 
 one o' their dens, and you never see 'er again. Such 
 things 'ave 'appened. Treat women worse'n dogs, 
 they do. No reverence or respect for 'em. If Con- 
 nie was a gel o' mine," said Bill Higgins, "and I 
 caught 'er going with one of 'em, I'd flay 'er alive, 
 I would." ' 
 
 Mrs. Raymond "Ooo'd" at the reference to a 
 knife, and Alf and Bert turned on the intruder. 
 "Life and soul o' the party, yew are, aincher? When 
 we want your advice, we'll send a post card see? 
 'Oppit!" 
 
 Higgins removed "himself, and Alf and Bert 
 looked at one another again. Mrs. Raymond re- 
 peated herself. "Well, what yeh going to do about 
 it? Do something. It's fer you to up'old the good 
 name of the family." 
 
 Alf turned back his cuffs and spat on his hands. 
 "I'll show yeh what I'm going to do. Just lemme 
 get 'old of the badstud fer five mintes, I'll " 
 
 Mrs. Raymond sniffed. "Much better get 'old of 
 'er first, and find out 'ow far it's gone. She won't 
 listen to 'er mother. She may take more notice of 
 you." 
 
 "Well, Bert," said Alf, "you get 'old of 'er, and 
 ask 'er " 
 
120 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "No, you're the eldest. It'd come better from 
 you." 
 
 "No, you" said Alf emphatically. "I spoke to 
 'er before about that business of Aunt Amy's to- 
 matoes. And she likes you better'n me." 
 
 "Well, as you spoke before, you ought to now. 
 She'll take it better, being the second time. She 
 ain't likely to give you another eye like the one " 
 
 "Look 'ere, you're the talking man. If you're 
 afraid of the gel, say so." 
 
 "Don't be silly. I ain't afraid of no gel." 
 
 "Well, I am. Of >er. So that's that. I ain't 
 one fer words. I'm a man of action. I can't deal 
 with women. But I can with men if you can call 
 a Chink a man. There won't be nothing said when 
 I get 'old of 'im. There won't be much left of 
 'im not enough to attract gels, anyway." 
 
 Bert spread his hands. "Ah, that's where you're 
 wrong. You can't deal with these people that way. 
 You wanter use tact. You gotter make 'em under- 
 stand the situation. You can't settle everything 
 with a punch on the jaw. We gotter get him to see 
 the principle of the thing. A few words from 
 me " 
 
 "I'll make 'im see a lot o' things besides principles 
 when I " 
 
 Mrs. Raymond lamented with her hands. "Well, 
 don't stand there nagging at one another. Do 
 something." 
 
A FAMILY AFFAIR 
 
 "Well," said Alf, "we're going to. But I suppose 
 the first thing to do is to find 'im." 
 
 "Ycrce," said Bert pleasantly, "that'd be a good 
 idea to start wiv, Brainy. As you're the man of 
 action, it'll be your move. 1 ' 
 
 "But aincher going to say a word to Connie 
 about ' 'Ush! 'ere she comes." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond withdrew her head from the 
 window-frame, and Alf and Bert looked up and 
 down the street, and at their boots, and flourished 
 their cigarettes and whistled. Through the door- 
 way of the Raymond home stepped Miss Raymond, 
 with the flourish of a young bird trying its wings. 
 She stepped into the evening as though the evening 
 had been "arranged" as a background from her. 
 She passed her two brothers with a non-committal 
 nod, which they affected not to see. Her mother 
 glowered at her back. As she swam down the street, 
 Alf nudged Bert. 
 
 "Now's the chance. She's going to meet 'im. If 
 we follow 'em until she leaves 'im, and then follow 
 'im, we can get 'im down a back-way, and 'ave 'im 
 to ourselves, eh?" 
 
 Bert agreed, and imparted the plan to Mrs. Ray- 
 mond, who passed it to the street; and away went 
 the two champions of tender white womanhood 
 against the wiles of the crawling reptiles of Penny- 
 fields. And there was still greater excitement down 
 our street when it became known that the two young 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Raymonds were about to enter Chinatown and track 
 down the assaulter of their dignity, and work white 
 justice upon a Chink. They were "seen off," as it 
 were. They were given a valedictory ovation. It 
 was as though the loungers said amiably among 
 themselves: "Well, we shan't see them no more." 
 Tales were told to Mrs. Raymond of the things 
 that had been done to white men who had crossed 
 the path of the Chinks; and she became again 
 voluble. 
 
 "Ah, that's just what they are like cats. I seen 
 'im 'anging about the end of the street for 'er, and 
 *e fair frightens me the look of 'im. Just like 
 a cat. You can't tell what Vs thinking about. And 
 you 'ear so much about this White Slave business 
 now it gives you the jumps." 
 
 And Alf and Bert, conscious of the deep adven- 
 ture to which they were committed, swaggered as 
 they departed. 
 
 And all this trouble down our street over a senti- 
 mental interlude produced by an idle moment and 
 the weather. It was late summer, the season of 
 languid skies; the time of appointments in the dusky 
 public gardens; when shadowy faces at street cor- 
 ners greet shadowy passers; when streets, meagre 
 and tattered by day, assume a chubby, self-satisfied 
 air by night; when, in the chilly twilight, all is blurred 
 like a worn-out film, and, in the Essex fields beyond 
 Barking, the corn stands as yellow as the hair of 
 
A FAMILY AFFAIR 123 
 
 the Blue Lantern's barmaid. It was at one dim 
 corner of West India Dock Road, on such an eve- 
 ning, that the young Quong Foo filled his eye with 
 the speaking face of little Connie Raymond. She 
 called him with a smile, the smile of her age and 
 class. It was not a happy smile, or a shy smile, 
 or a satisfied smile, or a coy smile, but a wide, chill, 
 masterful smile, to which he had no defence. Connie 
 was an early adept in the technique of the game : she 
 had a keen sense of the streets. As she stood negli- 
 gently shouldering the corner of the alley, her 
 flippant frock, that hung midway between knee 
 and shoe, her saucy hat and blown brown hair could 
 hardly fail to capture the heart of a bored exile. 
 They did capture him; and Quong Foo and she 
 walked together, and took a drink together at the 
 Blue Lantern, and again walked together. 
 
 That was all. Connie Raymond, the accomplished 
 little flirt, had walked out some evenings with a 
 grave and courteous Chink, putting herself in the 
 way of any little tricks he choose to work upon her. 
 Asking for it, in fact. And because of this, a 
 pogrom was proclaimed against the Oriental colony 
 of Limehouse, and Alf and Bert were about to 
 open it. 
 
 Near Limehouse Church they observed the meet- 
 ing of Connie and her yellow boy, and each fortified 
 the other with pronouncements of anathema upon 
 all races that were not white of skin. 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "Don't it make ycr blood boil, Bert?" 
 
 "Not 'alf it don't. Disgusting, I call it." 
 
 "There ain't a name for it." 
 
 "I dunno. The papers what 'ave bin writing about 
 Chinks getting 'old of white gels found all sorts o' 
 names for it. Fancy names." 
 
 "I dessay. But the thing's bad enough wivout 
 giving it a name. 'Ere they are in our country, 
 
 making free wiv everything, and Ow, I can 
 
 'ardly keep me 'ands orf 'im." 
 
 "Ah, but you got to 'old yesself in. It don't da. 
 Not with them. We gotter 'andle it delicate-like. 
 Wotter we going to say when we first pick 'im up?" 
 
 "Say? I ain't going to say nothing. I thought 
 you was going to do the talking." 
 
 "Yerce; but we got to interduce the subject, like. 
 You know polite but firm. The velvet 'and in the 
 mailed fist." 
 
 "I should feel inclined to interduce the subject 
 with me boot." 
 
 "Ah, but s'pose 'e didn't take no notice of yer 
 boot? Eh? You gotter be careful, y'know. 
 They're crafty devils. Up to everything. S'pose 
 while you're lifting yer boot 'e did something behind 
 yer back. Yeh never know. That's why I believe 
 in diplomatics." 
 
 "Rot! You take 'em too seriously. A pack o ? 
 dirty Chinks. We gotter teach 'em a lesson show 
 'em they can't come messing round white gels. They 
 
A FAMILY AFFAIR 125 
 
 gotter be taught their place. I reckon I'm a match 
 for any three of them. They're yeller, and I'm 
 white and I'm dam well going to let 'em know it." 
 
 "Shut up," said Bert. "Look she's leaving 'im. 
 Come in this shop 'ere. You buy something, and 
 I'll watch." 
 
 They entered a small tobacconist's, and Bert 
 peeped from the door, and saw Connie mount an 
 east-bound bus, and the Chink walk leisurely down 
 West India Dock Road. 
 
 "Come on, Alf!" 
 
 They scampered out, and followed hotly. 
 "Damn! 'E's going right down to the Causeway. 
 We shan't get no chance to get 'im down an alley. 
 Never mind we gotter go through with it." 
 
 "Don't you worry," said Alf. "I'll see this 
 through. Quick 'e's gorn down Pennyfields." 
 
 They trotted after the unsuspecting philanderer, 
 saw him in Pennyfields, and saw him enter a diminu- 
 tive shop. Swiftly 4 they came up, and paused to 
 look at the place. Its front was encrusted with dirt; 
 its windows were dim with the smokes of many 
 months. It was more unkempt, more blear of aspect, 
 even more beset by evil odours than any house 
 in their own street. Behind the window was a litter 
 of tinned fruits and a few strips of fish. The wood- 
 work of the shop was discoloured by the flight of 
 ages. About it twined a filigree of spider's web. 
 
 "Huh !" said Alf. "So this is where 'e lives. And 
 
126 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 to think of anybody out o' this dirty, stinking yellow 
 place coming after a white gel. And our sister, Bert, 
 our sister eh?" 
 
 Bert was fired equally with indignation. "You're 
 right, Alf. Well, now, you wait outside, and I'll 
 go in. I know the kind of lingo they understand, 
 and if talk don't 'ave no effect on 'im, or if 'e tries 
 to do the dirty, you come in and put it across 'im. 
 See?" 
 
 So Bert dashed in, determined to stand no non- 
 sense from eaters of dog. He looked about the 
 dusty, airless shop, but saw no sign of the elegant 
 yellow dude. He was beginning to wonder if he 
 had mistaken the doorway, when a curtain at the 
 back of the shop was pulled aside, and an elderly 
 Chinaman, wearing a tattered canvas suit and steel 
 spectacles, came forward. 
 
 "Oh, ah er me wantum Chinkie just come in." 
 
 The old man regarded him gravely, without ex- 
 pression, as though waiting for him to speak. This 
 disconcerted the diplomatist, and he repeated him- 
 self. 
 
 "Me wantum Chinkie just come in. Me wantum 
 talkee young Chinkie." 
 
 "Do I understand that you wish to speak to 
 Quong Foo?" 
 
 Bert looked sharply at the old man, ready to per- 
 ceive trickery in every movement. 
 
 "Me not know 'is name. Me wantee Chinkie just 
 
A FAMILY AFFAIR 127 
 
 come in. Chinkie come muchee talkee-talkee my sis- 
 ter savvy? Chinkie go walkee-walkee my sister. 
 Me wantum talkee Chinkie." 
 
 The old man removed his spectacles and regarded 
 Bert with cold eyes. Then he spoke in a polished 
 English accent. 
 
 "Ah. I am the father of Quong Foo. I believe 
 he is the young man you speak of. Do I understand 
 that you are the brother of that white girl with 
 whom I have seen my son walking." 
 
 "That's me." The cold precision of the old man's 
 language drove Bert back from pidgin to Cocknese. 
 "And I've come to see about it. A yeller man and 
 a white gel. It's gotter stop." 
 
 "I see. And you have come to treat in the mat- 
 ter? Very well. How much?" He held out a 
 wrinkled hand. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "How much?" The question put Bert at a loss. 
 He went to the door and drew Alf into consultation. 
 " 'E says f Ow much?' 'E's the bloke's father." 
 
 Alf clutched the doorway for support. 4 'Ow 
 much? Meaning money? I'll give 'im J ow much. 
 It's blackmail, that's what it is. Blackmail, Bert. 
 
 I'll give 'im " He dashed into the shop with 
 
 hands ready for use. 
 
 "What's this you're giving us, Chinkie?" 
 
 The old man held out a hand, with a question: 
 "Five pounds?" 
 
128 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 "Five pounds? F-five p-p-pounds?" Alf and 
 Bert stared. Alf spluttered, and made rude noises. 
 "Well, of all the bleedun impudence ! A dirty yeller 
 
 Chink to Look 'ere!" and Alf delivered that 
 
 paralysing and, to most people, unanswerable ques- 
 tion: "Who th'ell d'yeh think yew are? Your 
 blinking son'll be dam lucky if 'e gets orf wiv a mouf 
 to eat wiv, time I've done wiv 'im. Mucking round 
 white gels in our country, too. And then working 
 blackmail on it. Five pounds? Understand this, 
 Mister Chinkie. We ain't offering no bribes in this 
 business. We don't ave to. Five pounds? We're 
 English, and you're yeller. You're in England, and 
 you gotter be'ave yesselves as such see? See that 
 bunch of fives?" He held up a knotted fist. "It's 
 made better men than you or your son spit out their 
 ivories. White men, too. If you bring that son 
 
 of yours out here, I'll learn 'im what it means 
 . n 
 
 Across Alf's phillipic cut the stern voice of the 
 Chink: "I fear I am not sufficiently acquainted with 
 the idiom of your language to follow all your re- 
 marks. I gather only that the mention of five pounds 
 arouses your indignation. Therefore, to settle the 
 matter quickly, I will overlook any question of an 
 apology for the affront, and will give ten, twenty, 
 if need be fifty pounds if you will remove this 
 white woman of your low-born family from my son's 
 neighbourhood and undertake that she shall at no 
 
A FAMILY AFFAIR 129 
 
 time again seek him out and disgrace the honourable 
 house of Quong by association with its upright son." 
 And then there was silence: Alf and Bert recog- 
 nised, for the first time, that there are some situa- 
 tions to which neither words nor blows are adequate. 
 
THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF FRANCES 
 

* vm 
 
 THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF FRANCES 
 
 THEY'RE a sorry crowd, the regulars of the 
 Blue Lantern. Even the brightest of them, 
 the flash boys and girls, carry their terribly new 
 store clothes with a bedraggled air. The others are 
 nakedly downcast, without clothing of bravado to 
 cover them or weapon of spirit to arm them. 
 
 The Blue Lantern stands on Chinatown corner, 
 where the missionaries love to prowl. It is kept 
 by an ex-bruiser known to his reg'lars as Dickery 
 Dock. It is to Limehouse what the village green 
 is to the rural community. It is the centre of past 
 history and of current endeavour. In its bars new 
 friendship are formed, and old scores bloodily wiped 
 out. There hot, hard words and vociferous debate 
 lead to blows and the police court, or end, more 
 ignobly, with shocking beer-shed. 
 
 There valorous schemes are laid, and the vain 
 cunning of the police is with sharper cunning frus- 
 trated. There the keen wit of the Cockney meets 
 the deceptive frankness of the Oriental and the 
 tortuous reserve of the black, and is often bested, 
 
 133 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Upon an evening of winter, when, in the mist, 
 the substance of the streets melted into shadow, 
 and shadow took on body, Dickery Dock looked 
 about the house and stroked his chin with complacent 
 gesture. At the same moment a policeman, trying 
 to look like an ordinary citizen, looked in, and also 
 made a complacent gesture. All the boys were there : 
 vigilance could be relaxed for a while. Dick the 
 Duke was there, with his usual crowd of worshipping 
 ladies. There, too, were Binkie Flanagan, the auto- 
 matic-machine expert, Nobby the Nark, Big Bessie, 
 some of the Roseleaf Boys, old Quong Lee and John 
 Sway Too, Flash Florrie, little Chrissie Rainbow, 
 Greenstockings, and, in a corner, Sing-a-song Joe, 
 the loony. All the regulars, in short, replenishing 
 from pewter pot and uncouth glass their store of 
 hope and enterprise, and recovering that calm ac- 
 ceptance of the untoward which men call philosophy. 
 As the rattle of coins on the counter increased, so 
 did the buzz and clatter of the saloon and four-ale 
 bars gather volume. Listening from without, the 
 stranger would have said that everybody within was 
 happy. Their noise flowed to, the street like the 
 quiet gurgle of a self-satisfied stream : a stream that 
 ignores in its careless passage the muddy bed above 
 which it flows. 
 
 But one among the reg'lars was not happy; could 
 not even borrow an hour's delight on the usury of 
 the glass. Frances of the Causeway, described 
 
THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF FRANCES 135 
 
 f 
 colloquially as "Fanny, poor kid," sat alone on a 
 
 bench, face and hands listless. Although sitting 
 with the crowd, she had dropped the mask of alert 
 nonchalance assumed by girls of her class in public 
 places : the strain of carrying it was too severe for 
 her worn nerves. In the last two days she had 
 realised that she was a back number. Such beauty 
 as she had once had was now obliterated. Her 
 hair was thin and colourless. Her face no longer 
 took aptly the emmolients and powders that she 
 applied. It was becoming an effort to be skittish 
 and effervescent in the presence of potential cus- 
 tomers. She was no longer facile in dalliance; her 
 profane comment no longer came pat to the occasion. 
 Even the black men about the streets failed to 
 look twice at her. 
 
 She sat "all-gone," as she would have expressed 
 it. The bright light of invitation that customarily 
 sat on her face, once assumed as a trade trick, later 
 to become habitual, was out, and the coarse face 
 hung empty. But in every line of the flagging figure 
 was written disgust and yearning. She was done, 
 and she knew it; and she held yet enough of her 
 first girlhood's love of the good and the seemly 
 to suffer disgust at her situation and impotent desire 
 to amend it. 
 
 Others had played her game, and had done well 
 out of it. Some had married Chinks, and now led 
 silken lives, with flowered temples made to their 
 
136 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 honour. Others had moved up west, where they 
 had found sleek protectors and had put money in 
 the bank. Others had married seamen or small 
 tradesmen. All had been careful where she had 
 been gay, spending money as she got it and financing 
 men friends when they were hard up. Little Chrissie 
 would not be that sort of fool. She was in the 
 game for solid reward, and saw that she got every 
 promised penny out of it. Greenstockings, too, 
 knew where to draw the line between frivolity in 
 business hours and recklessness in leisure. But 
 Fanny had been caught by the festal side of the 
 life and the loud company, and had crowded a jag 
 into every hour. 
 
 And now she was through, and they talked of 
 her. "Whassup with Fanny, poor kid?" asked 
 Greenstockings. "Looks as though she'd drawn the 
 winner and lorst the brief." 
 
 "I dunno. Seems to 'ave got the fantods lately. 
 No doing nothing with 'er. She can't get the boys 
 now, and when she told me she was 'ard up, and I 
 told 'er she ought to go to the Mission Workers, 
 and they'd get 'er an honest job, she fair snapped 
 my 'ead orf. Fact is, she's made a mess of things. 
 She didn't ought never to 'ave bin in this game. 
 She ain't fit for it. She's too you know too 
 thinks too much, like. She's told me. Although she's 
 done things I'd never do, she ain't comfortable. 
 Keeps on thinking of what she's done. She ought 
 
THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF FRANCES 137 
 
 to 'ave bin respectable, reely. She's made for that. 
 Can't you see 'er bathing the baby and getting 'er 
 old man's dinner? She ain't cut out for this. She's 
 let it get 'old of 'er too much." 
 
 Fanny sat brooding. A young seaman, in neat, 
 shore-going clothes, brought a drink from the coun- 
 ter, and sat down near her. He glanced at her; 
 then edged away. She caught the glance and re- 
 turned it, not professionally, but with appeal. She 
 leaned towards him. 
 
 "Lend us 'alf-a-crown, boy." 
 
 He looked up again; edged a little farther away; 
 then turned a shoulder and bent to his glass, 
 awkwardly, as one afraid of such women while 
 afraid of not behaving like a man of the world. 
 
 "Lend us a shilling, then." 
 
 He became confused; remembered an appoint- 
 ment; drank up and departed. 
 
 Dickery Dock, seeing that she was without a 
 drink, called to her: " 'Ave a drink, Fanny?" 
 
 She went over to the bar. "No, thanks; I don't 
 want a drink. I say, lend us half-a-crown, Dickery." 
 
 "Lend you 'alf-a-crown? 'Ere come orf it. 
 This ain't a Finance and Mortgage Corporation. 
 You can 'ave a drink on the 'ouse, if yeh like, 
 but " 
 
 "No, I want money." 
 
 "Money? Well, I don't know what yer chances 
 are o' gettin' money 'ere. Where's yer security? 
 
138 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Where are you going to get money now? You 
 ain't got nothing to sell now, Fanny. You realise 
 that yesself, doncher? You're past it. No, Fan, 
 you ain't got no chance with the boys about 'ere 
 against little Cherry and young Greenstockings and 
 the other flappers. No, kid, you'll alwis be wel- 
 come to a drink 'ere, but money's another matter. 
 You know I make it a rule never to lend money. 
 I don't mind sticking up a drink when a chap's 
 'ard up, but lend 'em money to spend in other 'ouses 
 
 -no." 
 
 "I don't want it to spend in other 'ouses." 
 
 "Wodych want it for, then?" 
 
 "I'm going away, an' I want to buy something 
 most particular." 
 
 "Going away? Well, if you ain't the bleedun 
 limit! Wanter borrow money to go away with! 
 You take the 'Untley and Palmer, you do. No, 
 Fan, I'm sorry, but I 'ardly think that security would 
 be good enough even for Mugg from Mugtown. 
 'Ave a drink." 
 
 "No, thanks. I'll go. Where I won't bother 
 nobody." 
 
 She turned from the bar, her face momentarily 
 expressing chagrin until its lines deepened into utter 
 misery. The landlord looked after her, puzzled 
 at her attempt to break his rules, and at her attitude. 
 As she crept through the swing doors, he looked 
 at some of the boys standing at the bar. " 'Ear 
 
THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF FRANCES 139 
 
 what she said ? I think she wants watching. 'Where 
 I won't bother nobody,' she said. See if you can 
 find old Nobby, and get 'im to keep an eye on 'er. 
 She looks as if she's got something in 'er 'ead 
 making a 'ole in the water, or some idea of that 
 sort. She better be looked after. We don't want 
 another scandal round this 'ouse, just on top o' the 
 last" 
 
 They dug out Nobby, and dispatched him on his 
 errand; and the beer engines banged and hissed, 
 and the cash register clattered and rang, and the 
 turmoil of glass and voice rose with the rising hands 
 of the clock. 
 
 At half-past nine Nobby returned. He sat down 
 on the lounge, and his shoulders and stomach 
 vibrated and bass rumbles came from him. Nobby 
 was laughing. He always laughed privately, with- 
 in himself; but in the communism of the public- 
 house private laughter is frowned upon. There 
 men abide by the wisdom of the poet that the 
 weary old earth is in need of your mirth, it has 
 enough grief of its own. 
 
 "Now come on, Nobby, spit it out. Let's 'ave 
 the joke. Don't keep it all to yesself." 
 
 "G-get us a d-drink, someone. Bitter. I was 
 laughing," he jerked from tremulous lips, "I was 
 laughing at Fanny, poor kid. She's just bin nabbed." 
 
 "Nabbed?" snapped Dickery Dock. "Whaffor? 
 
140 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 She ain't bin an' " He looked up and his great 
 
 eyes rolled in elephantine agitation. 
 
 "No. Pinching p-pinching f-flowers!" 
 
 "Pinching flowers? Shurrup!" 
 
 "True's I sit 'ere. Pinching a fourpenny bunch 
 o' lilies-o'-the-valley from old Gorton's shop, an' 
 old Gorton caught 'er at it, an' 'anded 'er over." 
 
 "Well, it sounds queer, but I don't see nothing 
 to laugh about like you're laughing." 
 
 " 'Tain't the pinching though that's funny. It's 
 what she said when they arst 'er why she done it. 
 Wod yeh think she said? Our Fanny, mindyer. 
 Frances of the Causeway knowing 'er and 'er ways 
 as we do. Wod yeh think she said?" 
 
 "Go on. What?" 
 
 "Said she pinched 'em 'cos she 'adn't got no money 
 and wanted 'em bad. Said she was fed up with 
 things and was going to end it, and wanted the 
 flowers 'cos 'cos a bad girl like 'er couldn't go 
 before God with nothing in 'er 'and. Fanny, mind 
 yeh! Talk about laugh!" 
 
 But Landlord Dickery Dock was indignant. 
 "Laugh ! I can't see nothing to laugh abaht. Seems 
 to me solemn-like. 'Tain't no laughing matter 
 pore gel!" 
 
THE PERFECT GIRL 
 
IX 
 THE PERFECT GIRL 
 
 IT is one of the little tales of John Sway Too, 
 which he tells at evenings to his wandering fel- 
 lows in the half-lit room behind his store in Poplar 
 High Street. There, amid the pungent odours of 
 suey sen and jagree dust and unguents, tempered 
 by the sweeter essence of areca nut, gather the 
 youthful yellow seamen newly come to London. 
 There, from the venerable lips of John Sway Too, 
 they learn Rules of Conduct for this strange land 
 and gather much entertainment besides, for John 
 Sway Too has seen the passing of many seasons 
 under the steel skies of Limehouse. 
 
 "It is to be observed," he remarked one evening 
 to a semicircle of young admirers, "that the white 
 daughters of this stream which men call the Thames* 
 by whose banks we now sojourn, are very apt in 
 guile." 
 
 "Ao !" cried the company in chorus. 
 
 "And now that statements of a highly objection- 
 able nature are daily being made in the bazaars and 
 in the printed leaves by the men of this land against 
 
 143 
 
144? MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 the association of their daughters with the serene 
 and refined ones from the land of the White Poppy, 
 this person who addresses you would advise you 
 all to abjure the company of the white maidens." 
 
 He paused to reach from a shelf a jar of li-un, 
 and extract a portion of its contents with his yen- 
 hok. 
 
 "The refined assembly," he continued, "will doubt- 
 less refrain from expressions of displeasure, and 
 will concede from their own experience that the 
 words of this person are weighted with wisdom 
 when he tells them that the attraction which they 
 possess for these white maidens is almost wholly 
 in proportion to the number of taels or, as the 
 barbarian tongue has it, Bradburys in their posses- 
 sion; whereby the maidens may be afforded refined 
 and polished relaxation in tea-houses and theatres." 
 
 The company looked doubtfully around the room 
 and about the floor, but none met the eye of his 
 fellows or the eye of John Sway Too. 
 
 "Nevertheless," continued the narrator com- 
 placently, "I have myself found one white maiden 
 of these cold streets a maiden of surpassing virtue 
 and of beauty like to dew upon chrysanthemums. 
 Fairer than the Great Night Lantern on the garden 
 is she; kinder than the sun to the bursting bud; 
 sweetest than the. rain to the parched fields; more 
 gracious than the nest to the tired bird." 
 
THE PERFECT GIRL 145 
 
 "Hi-yahl" cried his audience. "Will not the 
 estimable John Sway Too tell us of her?" 
 
 John Sway Too took the portion of li-un into 
 his hand and rubbed it slowly into a pellet; and 
 the company drew closer. 
 
 "It was about the time of Clear Weather," he 
 began, "when, in our country, the almond blossom 
 is scattering its colour about the garden walks, and 
 the swallow comes again; when, beneath the brown 
 earth begin those agreeable stirrings that rise at 
 last to the full laughter of the harvest; when, be- 
 neath the bosoms of refined youths such as those 
 I now see before me, begin these not unpleasing 
 tremors that come at last to harvest in a kiss. I 
 had, on a fair evening of this season, followed my 
 custom of visiting a tea-house within this street, 
 and there engaging myself with white men in a 
 game of fan-tan. But upon that evening some evil 
 spirit was in possession of the cards, and all my 
 skill could not prevent my losing many cash to my 
 base associates. At a point when but a few cash 
 were left to me, I resolved to play one game more, 
 believing that my unremitting devotion to my an- 
 cestors would lead them to intervene on behalf of 
 their miserable son. The agreeable state of mind 
 with which I entered upon this game was, however, 
 violently displaced by emotions of the most agitat- 
 ing nature; for I soon observed that the cards which 
 had fallen to my hand were intolerably inadequate 
 
146 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 to the purpose of recovering any portion of my coins. 
 When, therefore, the game was well begun, I con- 
 trived, by that dexterity which my dignified father 
 had passed to me as his highest gift, to thwart the 
 evil spirit that sought to undo me, and to substitute, 
 by a rapid movement of the arm, five cards of high 
 value, which I carried always in my tunic as a charm 
 against evildoers, for those then in my hand. 
 
 "But alas! misfortune pursues even those most 
 attentive to the Four Books and most devout in 
 service to their ancestors. Scarce had I effected 
 the substitution, when the pig-like eye of the wholly 
 detestable Bill Hawkins perceived the movement; 
 and, disregarding all the laws of the Book of Rites, 
 he cried aloud his discovery in that voice which 
 many have likened to the filing of an iron chain by 
 a number of watermen under the influence of rice 
 spirit. Immediately the assembled company laid 
 aside their dignity, and fell upon me with blows 
 and base comments upon my accomplished father 
 and the method by which he bred me. With a total 
 loss of the perpendicular, I was hurried from the tea- 
 house to the Causeway, and there subjected to 
 usage of a degrading and highly painful nature. 
 
 "Suddenly, at a point when the repeated blows 
 had become well-nigh unbearable, they ceased, and 
 a silence fell upon my persecutors; and there ap- 
 peared in our midst a white maiden of loveliness 
 surpassing any loveliness that this person had at 
 
THE PERFECT GIRL 147 
 
 any time conceived. Dazed as I was by my brutal 
 treatment, I was yet swift to note how my heart 
 leapt and cried at sight of her. Dense dark hair 
 with the sheen of water at midnight, streamed about 
 her milk-white brow. Whiter than the blossom 
 of the cherry were her hands, and her eyes shone 
 with the lights of a thousand festival lanterns. The 
 running lines of her limbs were as happy to the eye 
 as the flashing curves of the swallow in the middle 
 air; and through the dusk her face glowed like an 
 evening water-lily. 
 
 "While I lay prone on the hard road, she ad- 
 dressed high words to my tormentors, and her bright 
 hands flashed against them like fire-flies; and I 
 felt that sweeter to my wounds than all ointments 
 and dressings would be one caress from those hands. 
 And lo ! when she had made an end of speaking, my 
 persecutors crept sadly away, and she bent to me 
 to this utterly degraded and altogether insignifi- 
 cant person >and placed an arm about me, and 
 helped me to a position of dignity. Like a roll of 
 silk was her arm, and my heart became as the sun 
 at high noon. I murmured foolish words to her, 
 not thanking her as my rescuer, but blessing her for 
 the touch of her hands and for her gracious pres- 
 ence; blessing her for her beauty and for that I was 
 vouchsafed to gaze upon her. 
 
 "Then she led me away to her palace. I have 
 wandered much about these parts, alongside this 
 
148 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 stream, but in all my wanderings had found nothing 
 but the large, ungainly buildings of the merchants 
 and the disreputable hovels where dwell the mean 
 and the base of this city. Scarce, however, had we 
 made one turn out of the Causeway, than we came 
 upon a noble and dignified mansion, with iron gates, 
 tiled paths, and a green door. By means of a key 
 this maiden of surpassing loveliness opened the 
 green door and motioned me to enter. With 
 trembling limbs, partly due to the vile treatment 
 to which I had been subjected, and partly due to 
 the mystery and enchantment of her presence, I 
 did so. When she had made light, she illuminated 
 two lanterns, and I found myself walking upon soft 
 rugs in a chamber garnished with flowers and silks. 
 Bidding me rest upon a purple couch, she retired; 
 and presently returned with soft water and 
 unguents, and with these she blessed my bruises 
 ay, with those lily hands she tended me. While I 
 lay there in all my baseness and misery, this white 
 maiden soothed and caressed my hurt places, and 
 fed my bosom with the rich light of her eyes. When 
 I was fully comforted, she brought me wine and 
 sweet foods, and sat by me as I ate, and ate with me, 
 and my heart grew so light as I received her smiles 
 that I scarce knew it was there ; nay, it had changed, 
 I think, into a little murmurous song or a soft flower 
 of the springtide. 
 
 "The hours grew to the noon of night. Yet I 
 
THE PERFECT GIRL 149 
 
 moved not. I could not move, for her beauty held 
 me in delicious bonds. As she sat by me, my heart 
 danced with the fumes of the time of Clear Weather, 
 and little white thoughts flowed and fluttered be- 
 tween our hearts, and the room was sweetened by 
 them. My offending fingers wandered through the 
 forest of her hair. Her lucid face was a field for 
 my eyes to rove in. In my arms I held her, heart 
 to heart, and all her shining loveliness was mine. 
 Her soft robes ran through my fingers, and the strip 
 of lace about her neck was to me fairer than the 
 jewels of the temple. When the lanterns faded, 
 her eyes flooded the night with silver, and with 
 my head upon her young breast I dreamed of these 
 streets in Limehouse, and how all men were kind 
 to us; where white maidens scoffed not at us because 
 our faces are golden like the sun; nor deceived us 
 with soft words for the purpose of obtaining taels 
 from us. 
 
 "To me, John Sway Too, she gave these hours 
 of beauty. But she gave me more than this. She 
 gave me her inner mind. She gave me kindness 
 and warm understanding; and though our spoken 
 words fell without significance upon each other's 
 ears, we had full knowledge without them. So 
 passed the hours in the bliss of sympathy and beauty. 
 All these gifts I had of her without return. Nay, 
 far from requiring money of me for the gift her 
 charms, as other white girls do, she gave me of 
 
150 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 her own store pressed it upon me that I might 
 replenish my purse by play. 
 
 "Yea, truly, when at last I felt that I should 
 depart, she pressed upon me many taels, knowing 
 that I was without substance, and a basket of elegant 
 provisions. When I would have made a dignified 
 refusal, she smiled upon me, and I then took what 
 she had offered me and knew that I need speak no 
 words of thanks. She led me herself from her own 
 noble mansion to the door of my base and despicable 
 hovel; and there, in the street, she left me with a 
 memory of love that scattered wonder and beauty 
 upon the mean houses about me, and made even 
 the shadows of the shops that fell upon the path- 
 way she had trodden, more dear and desirable than 
 all the substance of my own country." 
 
 John Sway Too paused, and reached for his pipe, 
 while the company sat mute with shining eyes and 
 gaping mouths. 
 
 Presently "And did you never see her again 
 this maiden of surpassing virtue and loveliness?" 
 asked one. 
 
 "Many times since have I seen her, my son. And 
 each time she is more lovely and gracious, and pours 
 sweeter blessings upon my unworthy person." 
 
 "Ao! Ao!" they cried eagerly. "She is still here 
 then? She is still to be seen about these streets? 
 Could it be granted that we might at some time 
 
THE PERFECT GIRL 151 
 
 catch even a distant glimpse of her enchantments 
 could for one moment behold her?" 
 
 "In truth, yes. More than that, you may see her 
 and be with her even as I have been with her. You 
 may feast of her white beauty and rare mind even 
 as I." 
 
 "Hi-yah ! Where, oh, where may we find her, O 
 refined and elegant John Sway Too. Tell us quickly. 
 Direct us to her, to this one white maid who will 
 not scorn our worship." 
 
 "The gracious and high-minded company," replied 
 John Sway Too, "who have listened so attentively 
 to my trivial and wearisome discourse, may find the 
 Perfect White Maid even as I found her; and once 
 they have found her they will renounce the company 
 of all other daughters of this sunless land. They 
 will find her in anyone of these little pellets of li-un 
 which I am about to smoke in this very ordinary and 
 ill-constructed pipe." 
 
THE AFFAIR' AT THE WAREHOUSE 
 
X 
 
 THE AFFAIR AT THE WAREHOUSE 
 
 IT is a pitiful story, this of George and Violet. 
 Silly, I call it. Motiveless. To young lives 
 pulled about, and the ends twisted into nothing. 
 Nobody to blame. All doing the right thing, as 
 they saw it. But that's the way of things. 
 
 Commercial Road East is a loud London thor- 
 oughfare, packed with poor shops and stalls. In it 
 the modern jostles the antique, and^^fehe antique 
 shames the modern. A few tawdry cinemas throw 
 upon it a thin festal glojSPs^nt links Whitechapel 
 with Limehousew^ So well acquainted are its people, 
 with petty crime and rough justice that the discovery 
 of the bodies in the warehouse made little impres- 
 sion upon them save as a^ topic forjthe evening in 
 the bars. Three days after the inquest it was for- 
 gotten. Here are copied the few surviving 
 documents by which the story became public. 
 
 Well Joe this is a hell of a thing to do, but we 
 are going through with it. I was called up last 
 week. But I am not going and I cant go till me 
 
 155 
 
156 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 and Violet have had a bit of time together. Aint 
 it awful we should be like this always at someones 
 beck and call. Oh Joe love does make a difference 
 to you. I hope some day you will find a girl not 
 like what we used to click with in Commercial Road 
 but a real girl. Violet was 15 on Tuesday, so we 
 decided to make it that day. I met her as she come 
 from the factory Joe and we went a long walk and 
 then a tram ride and then got back these parts 
 about midnight. I had got it all fixed. I had been 
 looking round for some time and found what we 
 wanted where nobody would ever dream of looking 
 for us. It was a warehouse Joe over in the Island 
 but it had been empty for a long time. I had got 
 in the night before and had a look round and it 
 was all nice and dry on the first floor and I found 
 a lot of straw shavings and things and I made up 
 a bit of a bed like and tied a lot of it together and 
 made hassicks to sit on and I fixed up a few old 
 planks to make a sort of table. Lucky it was warm 
 weather else we should have been cold because it 
 wouldnt have done to have started a fire in the 
 stove because someone who knew the place might 
 see the moke coming out. Well Joe that is where 
 I took her. I had laid in a bit of grub of a sort 
 and at one in the morning we sat down there to- 
 gether as cosy as you please and had it. We didnt 
 neither of us eat much. We was too excited I 
 think. 
 
THE AFFAIR AT THE WAREHOUSE 157 
 
 Oh Joe we was happy. I hope Joe some day 
 you will be as happy because you have been a good 
 pal to me and I always liked you Joe and I want 
 everybody to know how happy you can be together 
 with a girl you love and what loves you. Oh Joe I 
 never knew before how beautiful things were. I 
 never knew how lovely girls are and what a differ- 
 ence comes into a girls face when she looks at her 
 boy and nestles up to him. Joe do you remember 
 how we used to joke about love and getting mar- 
 ried. Its seems horrible to thing of it now. But 
 I hope Joe you wont have to hide like a rabbit and 
 only slink out at night all because you love some- 
 body that is what we got to do. 
 
 DEAR JOE we have been here twenty-four hours 
 now. I suppose V has been missed from the factory 
 and from home and I reckon they are wondering 
 where I got to but I know you wont give a pal away 
 Joe. 
 
 I slipped out last night to get some more grub in. 
 Good job the streets is dark. Anyhow I didnt show 
 my face at any shop round here. I went up to 
 Canning Town. I couldn't get much because we 
 darent use our ration books us being registered at 
 local shops for this and that which would have got 
 us nabbed if we shown our faces where we was 
 known. But I called at Fat Freds place up at 
 Canning Town and got some boiled beef and pease 
 
158 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 from him without a coupon. I pumped him a bit 
 and he didnt know anything was wrong. There 
 wont be nothing in the papers for a bit I suppose 
 but I bet V's father will go to the police if she aint 
 home to-night. I managed to get some beer and 
 some lemonade and I pinched a glass from the 
 lemonade shop. 
 
 .Oh Joe when I got back I slipped in quiet like 
 and V didnt hear me and what do you think I saw. 
 She was sitting on one of the hassicks and just as I 
 got there she reached for my old cap what I 
 thought I hadnt better wear because it is a bright 
 brown colour and might be known and hugged it 
 to her and kissed it. Oh Joe I cant tell you what it 
 makes a chap feel when he sees his girl do like that. 
 As soon as I see what she was doing I slipped out 
 again and come back again and made a bit of a noise 
 this time so she would know. Oh Joe how I love her. 
 Joe if we was to die at the same time I want you 
 to go to her people and mine and make them swear 
 to let us be buried together. You will do this for me 
 Joe wont you. You wont let a pal down will you. 
 You got to do it in case anything happens. 
 
 I expect her father wont half be wild but if it 
 did happen you must tell him it is my wish and V's 
 wish. It is a bit out of the ordinary I know but if 
 he loved his daughter and wants to do something 
 to make up for those awful bruises that she carries 
 on her arms and legs from him I think he will agree 
 
THE AFFAIR AT THE WAREHOUSE 159 
 
 to it. If he doesnt and there is a Judge above us 
 I hope he will meet out punishment to those what 
 have deserved it by keeping us apart and treating 
 her so shameful. Tell him that Joe. 
 
 But why am I going on like this. We are just 
 in love with everything at present and we both 
 laugh a lot at having to sneak out and lie doggo 
 all day. I took V out for a stroll at about eleven 
 and we mooched round a bit and it was a lovely 
 night. Although we dont talk to nobody but each 
 other we aint lonely. You aint Joe when you love 
 properly. 
 
 Well Joe last night we skipped away about eleven 
 and it was another lovely night so we walked to 
 Liverpool Street. We caught a late train. I didnt 
 know where it was going but we hopped on without 
 a ticket and went miles and miles into the country. 
 And when it stopped at a place that looked nice we 
 got out and I paid the fares from Liverpool Street. 
 It was lovely. We got there about one in the morn- 
 ing and we walked a bit of a way till we come to a 
 wood and then we laid down under a tree where it 
 was all mossy and soft and we woke up about six 
 when it was light and it looked just like God's own 
 country all lovely. V did enjoy it. Well we just 
 lazed about in them woods and played hide and seek 
 and run races. Come on says V come and catch me. 
 And off she went and she can run too. She did lead 
 
160 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 me a dance. And then she bolted into another wood. 
 I was yards behind her and there I heard her voice 
 saying I am lost come and find me. So I went after 
 where the noise come from and then I heard it 
 behind me I am lost come and find me. And then 
 I seemed to hear it everywhere but when I went 
 there it come from somewhere else. And all of a 
 sudden Joe I felt so lonely like in that wood because 
 I couldnt see her nowhere but only heard her saying 
 come and find me. And I didn't like it. And I got 
 tired of the wood. So I called to her come out and 
 there she was right behind me. We didnt play that 
 game no more. We was getting hungry. So we 
 walked into a village and had a slap up time with 
 eggs and tea and lettiss and radishes and things. 
 There was a piano there and V sat down and played 
 all the ragtimes for about an hour. She always 
 was one for a bit of music as you know. The old 
 girl who kept the place thought we was just a couple 
 of London munition workers what had got a day 
 off and she was so took with V she couldnt do enough 
 for us. We had a fine wash and brush up there and 
 wanted it. That is what troubles us most. We cant 
 find hot water in the warehouse. She said she could 
 let us have rooms if we wanted to stay the night but 
 me and V didnt want to be separated and we thought 
 sleeping out nicer. So we slept out that night again 
 but not in those woods because we found a nicer 
 place just on the banks of a river. 
 
THE AFFAIR AT THE WAREHOUSE 161 
 
 V is no end tickled by the way I talked to the old 
 girl and the way I manage things and find out the 
 cheap places. She said she never knew I had so 
 much swank in me that is because I have always been 
 a bit quiet and awkward with her like a chap is when 
 he is really in love. 
 
 We come back to the warehouse to-night. Every- 
 thing looked alright. It didnt look as though any- 
 body had spotted us. I wish there was some way of 
 your dropping a note into the place so I can hear 
 the news and know what is going on and whether 
 there is any trouble about our going away. Joe 
 that is quite right that about a friend in need being 
 a friend indeed. You have always been the best pal 
 a chap ever had and we have had some great times 
 together aint we. You have been closer than a 
 brother to me Joe. I will say that. You will easy 
 know the place. Second to the right as you get into 
 Folly Wall a big empty place with a couple of 
 pulley cranes outside and a notice to Let. Stick it 
 under the door Joe but dont try to see us. We cant 
 take no risks. 
 
 
 
 Got your note old man. I guessed how it would 
 
 be but it is a good thing they don't put two and 
 two together. I hope the police didnt upset my 
 landlady when they called round. She is a good 
 old body. I suppose they think I have just bolted 
 
162 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 to avoid military service and dont guess we have 
 gone together. I cant help laughing at that when I 
 know how we was both looking forward to joining 
 up when we was eighteen wasnt we. But that was 
 before I met V. I am sorry her Dad has written to 
 the papers about her disappearance. I showed V 
 your note and she says she will never never go back 
 to her Dad. Oh Joe if you had seen the bruises 
 and weels on her dear body you would feel like I 
 do like as if I could do a murder on the man what 
 done it. Bad as things are when I see my little 
 white darling all marked like that and think of the 
 shame and torture that I have saved her from I 
 am glad over again for taking her away. As long 
 as we are not caught I dont care a dam whether 
 the whole world knows we have gone together. I 
 never did mind what people thought about me no 
 more do you. We have always kept ourselves to 
 ourselves havent we and V was always refined and 
 didnt mix much with the other lot and took no notice 
 what they said about her. She asks me to thank 
 you for what you have done for us and for keeping 
 our secret. You are the only man in the world beside 
 ourselves that knows. V never told a soul she 
 hadnt got anybody she could trust like I can trust 
 you old man. One thing troubles me. When V 
 had read your letter and the bit about the cops being 
 after me she looked rather funny. She seems to be 
 happy enough and I think she is for God knows I 
 
THE AFFAIR AT THE WAREHOUSE 16$ 
 
 would cut my throat if that would make things any 
 nicer for her. But she has said once or twice that 
 she has been a lot of trouble to me and to everybody 
 else and she said it again this time and I dont like 
 to hear her talk that way. Oh Joe what a won- 
 derful girl she is. Such character and principals she 
 has got I never met anyone like her for that among 
 our set which is all the kind I know. If ever there 
 was a real good girl it is her. And so lively and all 
 over what we have to put up with in this place. 
 
 Oh Joe Joe. It has happened. I knew it would. 
 I never dared think of it. I never said so to 
 myself. I just knew it deep down like. You will 
 say that sounds silly but it is a fact. I knew it all 
 the time. And it has come. 
 
 Joe I had been out to get something for supper 
 and I come back with some hard-boiled eggs and 
 some beer and a loaf of bread and some bananas 
 and some saveloys what I had knocked off while 
 the chap was arguing with someone. And I was 
 looking forward to the feed we was going to have 
 Joe and oh Joe it is awful to write about. Me 
 coming in with those things what I had had such 
 fun in getting for her. And then Joe there she 
 was lying on the bed of shavings all still. I knew 
 before I looked at her. She was dead Joe and 
 there was a bottle of something by her side. How 
 she had got it I don't know because she never went 
 
164 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 into any shop without me. She must have brought 
 it with her in case. But oh Joe she is dead now 
 my darling little V. Oh God I loved her Joe more 
 than I thought one could and it is me what has 
 killed her. I didn't ought to have interfered. I 
 didn't ought to have taken her from her home but 
 what could I do Joe when I loved her so and see 
 her suffering like that. I never thought that being 
 in love meant what it has to me. I never see none 
 of these awful things coming Joe when I first knew 
 her. She had left a letter for me for good-bye. 
 This is what she says Joe my precious little girl: 
 
 SWEET, 
 
 I love you too much to see you in any more 
 trouble than you have already got into through 
 loving me so. I will now say good-bye sweetheart 
 for the last time and when you see Joe say Hullo 
 for me and tell him I hope we will all meet again 
 some day. You will let Dad know wont you sweet- 
 heart. I thought after a while we might have gone 
 back and got married when he had calmed down 
 a bit but there seems no way out. 
 
 Why cant we do what we want to so long as we 
 dont do nobody any harm. When I met you dear 
 I knew then that the world was good and all a 
 lovely place. Why did they bother us so. I won- 
 der why we cant all be happy. I thought the world 
 was so big and good but really it is like being in 
 
THE AFFAIR AT THE WAREHOUSE 165 
 
 a cage. You cant do anything in the world unless 
 somebody else kts you. I am myself and so are 
 you. Why cant we be let alone. 
 
 Tell Joe that if he finds a nice girl I hope he 
 wins her and dont have nobody saying you shant 
 and he will be happy as I know I would if I could 
 live for always with you dear. 
 
 Well Joe I want you to take this letter to the 
 police and tell them to come here and they will 
 find us because this is Goodbye for me too Joe. 
 I cant help thinking as I write this and look at her 
 lying there so still what she was saying in the woods. 
 It seems I can hear her voice in this warehpuse 
 Joe saying I am lost come and find me. So I am 
 going to her Joe. I got that little gun what we 
 bought for a lark in Bethnal Green Road and I 
 got two cartridges. Joe dont you forget what 
 I said in one of the other letters about our being 
 side by side. You got to see it done Joe for the 
 sake of your old dead pal. And now goodbye and 
 all the best to you and all the rest of the chaps at 
 the works. It is all over. It had to end somehow 
 I suppose and I knew this would be it and perhaps 
 this way is just as well. There is a lot of misery 
 in the world Joe that nobody can help. My 
 darling had a rough time all her life but she looks 
 very quiet now like as though she had dropped 
 
166 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 off to sleep after being very tired. I hope you will 
 have a better time when you meet your girl Joe. 
 
 From the Local Press. 
 
 When information was taken to Ephraim Car- 
 fax, who was found at the Wesleyan Chapel at 
 Foljambe Street, that the dead body of his daugh- 
 ter, Violet Beatrice Carfax, had been found in 
 a disused warehouse side by side with the dead 
 body of a man who was being sought by the military, 
 he made no comment beyond saying: "I thought 
 she had gone with a man. This is a sad blow. 
 What are they going to do with the bodies? I 
 suppose this will get into the papers." Mr. Car- 
 fax, who has an ironmongery business in Maroon 
 Street, is a well-known chapel worker, and is highly 
 respected in the district. 
 
 At the inquest on the bodies of Violet Beatrice 
 Carfax, 15, and George Borrowdale, 18, verdicts 
 of Suicide while of unsound mind were returned in 
 each case, a rider being added to the effect that the 
 girl was clearly under the influence of the man at 
 s from the deceased were put in 
 
 which seemed to call for no other verdict. The 
 father of the girl, giving evidence, stated that she 
 had disappeared on Wednesday the i8th. Regard- 
 ing certain passages in the letters, he admitted 
 having frequently whipped her in order to stop her 
 
THE AFFAIR AT THE WAREHOUSE 167 
 
 from "going with boys," and to make her come in 
 by nine o'clock. She was always in the streets. He 
 was not aware that on several occasions when she 
 had not come home until half-past ten, and had been 
 punished, her factory was working overtime. He 
 had not believed her when she pleaded this, as she 
 was not always truthful. 
 
 The jury expressed their sympathy with the father 
 in his bereavement, who is a prominent and highly- 
 respected chapel worker. 
 
 J The funeral of Violet Beatrice Carfax, who, to- 
 gether with a man, committed suicide in a disused 
 warehouse, took place to-day at Poplar. Although 
 the deceased had expressed in their letters a wish 
 that they might be buried together, the father of 
 Carfax refused to permit this. The body of the 
 man was interred to-day at Islington. There were 
 no mourners in either case, Mr. Carfax, who is 
 well known locally as a chapel worker, being con- 
 fined to his home with a chill. 
 

 BIG BOY BLUE 
 
XI 
 BIG BOY BLUE 
 
 BIG BOY BLUE had been for some years the 
 most adroit cop of his station. He was a 
 good mixer. He had presence, carnage, and ad- 
 dress, and could wear mufti without looking like 
 a policeman. He was big, calm, taciturn; slow to 
 speak, quick to smile; and in all situations imper- 
 turbable. The most exacting business, the cleanest 
 skin-of-the-teeth extraction from disaster, seemed 
 to afford him no thrill. If he discussed his adven- 
 tures with others of his division, he did so per- 
 functorily, in flat tones, as though speaking of 
 another. He seemed always the spectator, observ- 
 ing himself as well as others. He drank with his 
 fellows, and received their confidences, giving 
 nothing in exchange beyond a call for the next 
 round. He seemed to stand aloof from the harm- 
 less human follies of his circle; was impervious to 
 the beauty of girls; did not gamble; took little 
 interest in games; did not tell the kind of anecdote 
 that men tell one another; yet found himself wel- 
 come in any crowd. 
 
 171 
 
172 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 His colleagues liked him; bar-tenders liked him; 
 crooks liked him and stood him drinks and chaffed 
 him about their mutual relationship. He was even 
 welcome in Chinatown. Little misconduct took 
 place in those streets while he was about. When- 
 ever a Tong battle was imminent Big Boy Blue 
 was told off to see to it; and he saw to it by walk- 
 ing up to the battling Chinks and calmly demanding 
 their weapons; which were immediately given up 
 to him. 
 
 At the Tea-house of Ah Fat he was notably wel- 
 come, and the best tea was served to him with 
 selected chrysanthemum buds. He was welcome 
 here for two reasons: because Mr. Ah Fat was 
 wise in Western ways and had discovered the ex- 
 pediency of standing well with the police, and 
 because Mr. Ah Fat had a daughter who, from 
 her shuttered retreat, looked forth and worshipped 
 the valiant form and grave demeanour of Big Boy 
 Blue. Ah San Lee was so carefully guarded by 
 her father that few knew of her existence. Seldom 
 was she seen by strangers. On rare occasions, cus- 
 tomers at her father's tea-house had seen, mo- 
 mentarily, at the end of the dim passage leading to 
 the kitchen, a round, moonlike face with flat, black 
 hair; but it was gone before one might say whether 
 it belonged to man or woman. 
 
 But Boy Blue had seen her. When, on unpre- 
 meditated occasions, he had called at a late hour 
 
BIG BOY BLUE 173 
 
 at the shop of Ah Fat, and entered the rooms for 
 a tour of inspection, Ah Fat had received him 
 with courtesy; and, after the inspection, had pressed 
 upon him a pot of suey sen. Then he would ac- 
 company him to a table in the empty restaurant and 
 Ah San Lee would come forth and wait upon them. 
 The exquisite finish of her form and the grace of 
 her movements and her plaintive smile were lost 
 upon Boy Blue; he observed only men; and he 
 would talk to her, with tolerant, heavy humour, and 
 in the manner which some men think pleasing to 
 children. 
 
 "Well, Angel-Face, d'you back the winner yes- 
 terday? No? Come, come. And after what I 
 told you. I told you to back Ching-Chang for the 
 two-thirty." And: "Well, Gladiola, when are 
 you going to grow up and get as big as me, eh?" 
 
 And Ah Fat would sit back and say nothing and 
 look nothing, while San Lee would droop her eyes 
 and roll her head and worship. Very powerful was 
 Ah Fat in Chinatown. He was the chief of his 
 Tong (The Silver Chrysanthemum), and men had 
 named him the Fire-spouting Dragon. Greed sat 
 upon his brow and ate into his skin. He was the 
 richest of all the Quarter, and his riches had come 
 to him by the misfortunes of others: not by the 
 honourable means of trade or the gaming-table. 
 He was a money-lender, and crafty in his method. 
 When sums loaned became due, he would simulate 
 
174 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 kindly concern with the affairs of his debtor, and 
 would gently pass back a portion of the money; 
 and few were at first sufficiently keen-witted to de- 
 tect the trick. Always he was affably ready with 
 cash assistance to the needy and unfortunate; and 
 as men do not freely talk of their pecuniary em- 
 barrassments, or compare notes upon their treat- 
 ment by usurers, it came about that half Chinatown 
 was in great or small degree in his power. When 
 he began to use his power he became a nuisance; 
 and store-keepers and laundry-men began to suffer 
 acute disorder of mind. Unable to resist his power, 
 they directed their animosity against those of his 
 Tong; and again those street battles, which Boy 
 Blue had so often quelled, broke out again. This 
 caused so much irritation to peaceful seamen and 
 dock workers, who found that public bloodshed 
 interrupted their private beer-shed, that complaints 
 were laid; and Boy Blue was assigned to see to it. 
 
 He saw to it, and, from his inquiries, learnt the 
 full story of the iniquities of Ah Fat in the matter 
 of his usury. He reported. Plans were then laid 
 for breaking the power of Ah Fat and his Tong, 
 and relieving his victims from his duress; and news 
 of these plans came to Ah Fat. 
 
 Ah Fat set himself to see to it. He waddled 
 about his tea-house and his kitchen, and thought. 
 Then he sent for San Lee. 
 
 "Dissa Big Boy Blue/' he said, "he get veh busy 
 
BIG BOY BLUE 175 
 
 jus' now. Big Boy Bine he make heap damn fella 
 trouble." He smiled and showed bis teeth, pink 
 from much chewing of areca-nut. 
 
 San Lee listened and said nothing, 
 
 "Dissa Big Boy Blue he gotta g$F* And San 
 Lee shivered. "He gotta go quick I** 
 
 He left her then, and went to the kitchen* la 
 the evening he came to her again. 
 
 "He too quick and clever for Ah Fat. He no 
 trust Ah Fat. He watch evehting Ah Fat do. Yoh 
 poh un'appy father he got no way to mek Big 
 Boy Blue go. But li'l Ah San Lee Big Boy 
 Blue no watch her like he watch Ah Fat. San Lee, 
 she 'elp 'er ole father?" 
 
 San Lee stood mute under the steady drip of his 
 words. 
 
 Next day he spoke again, plaintively, of the 
 trouble that Boy Blue's activities implied to him; 
 and he threw out hints to San Lee ; hints that filled 
 her with horror and set her skin tingling with 
 loathing. Boy Blue was her prince remote, in- 
 accessible, austere, but a prince, the fact of whose 
 existence thrilled her with rapture. It seemed even 
 presumption on her part to attempt to shield so 
 noble a figure from danger; but she attempted. She 
 pondered how to give him warning, but Ah Fat 
 was watchful. "Huh! Huh! You like-a dissa 
 Big Boy Blue, huh? So!" Not a step could she 
 take from the kitchen; no chance came to her of 
 
176 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 passing to the kindly Ho Ling, who had long de- 
 sired her, such a message as he might convey to Boy 
 Blue. 
 
 That night, when she had again and flatly re- 
 fused to carry out the wishes of her honourable 
 father, he took her to the basement beneath the 
 kitchen, and there, for some hours, he employed 
 certain terrible means of persuasion. And when 
 he carried her up, bruised and torn, she was pliant 
 to his will. He was not accustomed to being 
 thwarted. 
 
 "So nex* time Missa Big Boy Blue 'e come, you 
 know watta we do, huh?" 
 
 And San Lee implied that she understood. 
 
 Boy Blue continued his inquiries and spoke to 
 his colleagues of their fruit. "I shall have to have 
 another chat with Mr. Ah Fat. That kid of his 
 had been mighty useful to me, at times. He's as 
 cute as they make 'em, but she's like a baby. She 
 may know something that'll put the lid on him." 
 
 So at ten o'clock the next Saturday he went in 
 plain clothes to Mr. Ah Fat's tea-room. The bars 
 were closing, and much noise beat about the by- 
 ways. The rum-hounds of Limehouse bayed to the 
 moon. Random whiffs of chandoo came to his nose. 
 He made a note of the house whence they came, 
 and decided to see to it to-morrow; and passed 
 on through the heavy, dry air of the Quarter. As 
 lie turned into Pennyfields, Ah Fat was watching 
 
BIG BOY BLUE 177 
 
 from his window. With a lumbering but swift 
 movement he waddled to the tea-room, seized a 
 rod of split bamboo, and stood over San Lee. 
 
 1 'E come. J E come to damage yoh poh father. 
 You 'member what I say?" 
 
 She nodded. He looked at her doubtfully, and 
 brandished the bamboo; then moved swiftly to the 
 kitchen and made hasty preparation for the com- 
 ing of Boy Blue. Then he called San Lee to the 
 kitchen, and pointed to a tray on which stood two 
 cups. He shook her and showed her the cup near- 
 est the edge of the tray. "Dissa cup, San Lee. 
 Dissa cup, O affliction to a miserable father. You 
 savee?" 
 
 San Lee nodded with blank face, gulping and 
 quivering, and Ah Fat folded his hands and also 
 nodded. He was in no mood to put up with a re- 
 calcitrant child. The occasion was desperate and 
 called for extreme action. If Boy Blue were suc- 
 cessful in his plan for breaking his power, he was 
 wholly undone. He could no longer hold his head 
 high above the poor wretches of storekeepers and 
 laundrymen whose names stood on the wrong side 
 of his account leaves. He would be a figure for 
 ridicule. Men would doff their gravity at sight 
 of him. He would be abject. Life would not be 
 worth living. It must not happen. Anything be- 
 fore that. It should not happen. He was careless 
 
178 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 of all other consequences if he could avert that 
 supreme disaster. 
 
 As the lumbering tread of Boy Blue was heard 
 on the stairs, he shook her again "Dissa cup, 
 huh?" released her, and descended to the cellar. 
 When Boy Blue entered the tea-room, she went for- 
 ward, following, dazedly, the part that had been 
 se? sharply taught hen Even as she walked, Ah 
 Fat seemed to be at her side, and his dreadful voice 
 in her ear, exacting obedience to his commands 
 under pain of sufferings worse than death. If she 
 failed to play her part, if she warned Boy Blue of 
 his danger, torments unbearable lay in store for 
 her. But there was one other way of saving him 
 a way which she could face with even mind. 
 
 u Ho, good-ev-en-ing, sir. You wan' look around? 
 Ho yess, sir. I so sorry Misteh Ah Fat J e not- 
 atome. 'E be in veh soon." 
 
 Boy Blue looked down at her and chuckled her 
 under the chin with a large hand. "Right-o, Angel- 
 Face. And what's the latest with you, eh? I'll 
 come in and wait for Mr. Ah Fat." He loomed 
 above her down the passage, his lounge suit as 
 severe as armour in contrast to the dumpling figure 
 in slack linen; his burly boots gigantic alongside the 
 timid list slippers. He had his eyes all about him, 
 and pushed open the door of the kitchen and looked 
 round it. He saw nothing to disturb him, and fol- 
 lowed San Lee to the table near the window. She 
 
BIG BOY BLUE 179 
 
 did not give him the smiles 'and head-wagging which 
 usually greeted his persiflage, but he paid no heed 
 to it, beyond remarking: u What's up, kiddie? Got 
 the fantoodleums?" 
 
 "Ho no, misteh. I veh tired. You like li'l suey 
 sen, sir? You take cuppa tea with me?" 
 
 "Tea? Well, I don't mind if I do. A slice j3 J 
 lemon in mine. Then if you shut the door we can 
 have a quiet li'l talk, eh?" 
 
 "Ollight. I go get tea." 
 
 She went into the kitchen and got the tray, and 
 got a glowering look from the face of Ah Fat, 
 which was level with the top of the cellar stairs. She 
 returned to the tea-room, carrying the tray with 
 nice care. She set it down and looked behind her 
 to the kitchen. From the street came throbs of 
 dark sound, above which climbed the lugubrious 
 wail of a fiddle and the grinding of a gramophone. 
 She stood stolid at the table. Her great moment 
 had come. Her hero was in danger of his life, and 
 must at all cost be saved. She alone sweet thought 
 could save him. The cellar beneath the kitchen 
 had in its time held many secrets, but it should not 
 hold Boy Blue. It was rapture for her, this mo- 
 ment that had given to her the chance of rendering 
 to him the highest of all service. Covering the 
 tray with her person, she took a piece of lemon 
 from a plate and dropped it in the cup that stood 
 
180 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 in the middle of the tray; and passed the cup steadily 
 to her guest. 
 
 The other cup she took herself, and sat down 
 opposite Boy Blue. 
 
 "We dlink together, sir. As yoh gentlemen say: 
 I look towahds you. And veh soon I tell you some- 
 thing useful." 
 
 "Well, cheerio, kid." 
 
 They drank. San Lee sat calm, her eyes fixed 
 on Boy Blue. He noted the steady gaze, and, know- 
 ing the Chinks, let her take her own time for dis- 
 closing what she had to disclose. But she was only 
 trying to tell him through her eyes that she was 
 glad, and that in a moment he would have a clear 
 case against Ah Fat. She took another mouthful 
 from the cup, and felt free to speak, for she knew 
 that she was going beyond the reach of any human 
 persecution. But when she opened her mouth she 
 found she could not speak. No matter. Boy Blue 
 would soon discover the truth for himself. 
 
 As she felt the sudden sharp pains stabbing her 
 limbs, and the cold damp upon her face, happiness 
 beyond words was hers. She had given all that she 
 had to give to her valiant prince, and great was the 
 joy of giving. Her head drooped, for it was very 
 heavy; but she felt that his eyes were upon her, and 
 felt them as a parting benediction, a Nunc dimittis. 
 
 Until, with an effort, she raised her head to meet 
 his glance, and saw his face. In his eyes was a look 
 
BIG BOY BLUE 181 
 
 of awful questioning. His face was as marble- 
 white as hers. Sweat stood in beads upon his skin. 
 As the room glimmered about her and the walls 
 approached and receded, the last look that she re- 
 ceived from her hero was one of unutterable and un- 
 quenchable hatred. Ere he collapsed, he seized the 
 cup he had received from her hands and flung it full 
 at her. 
 
 Ah Fat, being no sport, and taking no chance with 
 undutifuL daughters, had poisoned both cups. 
 
MAZURKA 
 
MAZURKA 
 
 CHRISSIE RAINBOW stood on the balcony 
 of her tenement home and looked down upon 
 the evening life of Limehouse. In the warm sap- 
 phire dusk even the vociferant dock-side lay 
 hushed, expectant; and footsteps crackled like fire- 
 works. Clusters of boys and girls hung at street 
 corners, chatting and softly giggling. Yellow men 
 paired with silent, ogling females, and swam into 
 quiet by-ways. Hard-faced women collared simple 
 sailors. Malays hovered and desired, not daring 
 to pounce. 
 
 Then the big lamp outside the Blue Lantern was 
 lit, and lights appeared behind its many windows, 
 and an organ stopped at its doors, and sprayed 
 the neighbourhood with a rapid fire of rag-time. 
 Its bright summons set young feet a-tapping and 
 old heads a-wagging, and into the gas-lit circle 
 moved flaring hats and wide-grinning faces. The 
 great sea of roofs that swept out to Essex began 
 to twinkle with luminous points, and all-night fac- 
 tories made gashes of light across the distant gloom. 
 
 185 
 
186 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 As the twilight deepened to night the loungers be- 
 gan to pull themselves together and to make cer- 
 tain movements towards substantial entertainment. 
 The two music halls, shrinking behind their bold 
 veils of light, flung open their doors to a clamant 
 crowd of seekers after mirth. The cinemas were 
 "now showing," vehemently, Lillian Gish and 
 Nazimova. 
 
 The organ stopped its ragging. Chrissie heard 
 its rasping wheels bear it away, and with its pass- 
 ing the motley murmur of the crowd again vexed her 
 ears with its uneasy calm. For some minutes she 
 stood thus, drawing to herself the breath of the 
 city. Then from the little Chinese cafe at the 
 corner of King's Street came a sudden burst of music, 
 as its latest attraction, a penny-in-the-slot piano, 
 clattered its way through a new record the 
 Mazurka from Coppella. 
 
 Straight through the open window to her it came, 
 riding joyously, insolently, above the purring street; 
 and it captured the idle half of her mind, and she 
 found herself smiling in welcome to it ! The chorus 
 songs of the street she knew, and the organ music 
 which had just passed; and felt at no time any 
 litheness of limb to their rhythms. But here was 
 something novel; charged with colour and various 
 melody, and rippling with lightness of heart and 
 holiday; something strange to her, yet made to her 
 own heart's measure. It carried to her an invitation 
 
MAZURKA 187 
 
 as flagrant as the nod and beck of a passing reveller 
 at carnival. It disturbed her and set her in effer- 
 vescence. The tired, purposeless crowd below took 
 on colour for her eyes; she saw them at revels. 
 And while the saucy, provocative phrases of the 
 Mazurka stirred her heart to petulance, her skin 
 tingled with delight, vibrating to them. 
 
 And, suddenly, she wanted to be out just Out: 
 anywhere with the crowd, touching fingers or brush- 
 ing shoulders with people ; looking into other faces, 
 and mixing and exchanging emotions. It teased 
 her with its message. She wanted to throw herself 
 into this London and become one with it and part 
 of it. Like a caged bird she stood, her breast against 
 the bars of the balcony, her arms outstretched to 
 the great plain of London. Blunt of face, and 
 without colour, she yet held charm in her figure. 
 Sturdy and pliant as a young tree she stood, her 
 frock blown, her limbs rippling to the music, her 
 face rapt. Twice the mechanical contraption went 
 through the new record, while she stood and longed 
 and bubbled with foolish smiles. 
 
 With an impudently triumphant flourish it fin- 
 ished, and she turned slowly away to her room. 
 In the chill halfgloom of the summer night, it 
 looked mean and fusty and bare. She discovered 
 a sudden disgust of it and its petty appointments. 
 She moved about it. She picked up a book, and 
 threw it down. She sat on the edge of the bed. 
 
188 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 She got up and straightened an ornament on the 
 mantelshelf. She again took up the book. But 
 her mind was outside. She was listening to the 
 crisp gossip of young feet to the pavement. She 
 was seeing the long Barking Road all breeze and 
 glare and glitter of lamps and shop windows. She 
 was seeing the happy encounters of boy and girl; 
 and she felt the odour of lilac floating from the 
 public gardens. The streets were breathing softly, 
 closely, wooing her. The Mazurka still simmered 
 within her. 
 
 Until to-night her evenings had followed a 
 changeless routine. Home from the factory wash 
 a meal of some tinned food and tea necessary 
 repairs to garments then a book of some educa- 
 tional course and bed. By her fellows at the fac- 
 tory she was voted slow. Miss Stuck-up was her 
 name there. "Look at The Stuck-up going 'ome 
 to keep 'erself Pure!" u We ain't good enough for 
 the chaste Stuck-up I" All their invitations to 
 "evenings" and "crawls," to " 'ave a bit on," she 
 declined; and when, on the pavement outside the 
 factory, the girls stood in chattering groups, to 
 argue the evening's indulgence, she would slip 
 through them and away, followed by muttered ob- 
 scenities. To all their gibes she had one reply 
 an exasperating smile of self-sufficiency. 
 
 But to-night she could not rest; she was not 
 company for herself. The benignant dusk, the 
 
MAZURKA 189 
 
 crooning of the summer evening, and the bright 
 challenge of the Mazurka had entered her blood. 
 Solitude now distressed her. She longed to be in the 
 life that was all about her. She longed to be ac- 
 cepted by the crowd, and to be one of it; and sud- 
 denly she rose from the bed, snatched her hat, and 
 adjusted it at a rakish angle. With a few deft 
 touches she smoothed the poor cotton frock; then, 
 with thrilling pulses, she ran down the stone stairs 
 to the street, and surrendered herself to the crowd. 
 
 She was Out. Cleverly she copied the saunter 
 of the other girls: the swinging arms, the swirling 
 frock, the roving eye. In the high charm of her 
 fifteen years she strode. Her thin brown hair 
 flowed about her shoulders, and the swift lines of 
 her limber legs curved aptly from pendulous skirt 
 to natty shoe. She was prepared now to accept 
 all things, and to find greater joy in the common 
 street. She needed not to-night the rarefied atmos- 
 phere in which she had hitherto held herself from 
 contact with the mob. She had come down off 
 her perch, and was now warm and fluent. 
 
 But the street made no demonstration at her 
 condescension. None looked twice at her. The 
 East End boy looks only for faces; if they be not 
 pretty, all other charms are without virtue. She 
 searched here and there for some of her work- 
 fellows. They were certainly "out," amusing them- 
 selves somewhere, and it would be pleasant to join 
 
190 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 them. It would be pleasant to be popular with 
 them. They would perhaps find her a boy, who 
 would walk with her and take her arm; for she 
 thought that she wanted a boy to walk out with and 
 talk with. Really, she wanted to talk with London 
 and be friends with it. 
 
 Up and down the street she strolled, but saw 
 no familiar face, nor any that sought to make itself 
 known. Tiring after four turns, she went to the 
 Tunnel Gardens; and here she boldly invited with 
 feet and eyes. A few lads looked at her, but with 
 sniggers and ribald comment. These were the 
 knowing ones, who chose carefully. "Pasty-face!" 
 was the welcome she got from them. Other lads 
 looked at her without remark, but these were the 
 bashful, the inexperienced, who did not know how 
 to force an introduction; novices, like herself. 
 
 But at the farther gate of the Gardens she found 
 Adventure. Mr. Sam Ling Lee, in straw hat, 
 brown boots and store suit, was leaning against a 
 railing, twirling a whangee cane. His face was 
 placid, his appearance highly respectable; and he 
 seemed lonely. She came to him and passed him 
 with a flutter of frock, and gave him a long, ex- 
 pressive look. He smiled. Some paces away, she 
 looked back. He was still looking. She stopped 
 at the railings, and smiled. He came to her. 
 
 Well, they walked out of the gardens towards 
 Pennyfields. Great elation was hers, and her little 
 
MAZURKA 191 
 
 lips were pursed tightly to hold back the smile that 
 would have lodged there. She was living. She 
 had Got Off. She was no longer to be sneered at 
 as the Stuck-up, the timid. She could cut a dash 
 as well as anyone else. Mr. Sam Ling Lee, too, 
 was proud. A white girl had given him the glad eye, 
 and was coming to Pennyfields to take a cup of 
 tohah and to eat with him. 
 
 At the tea-house of the Golden Chrysanthemum 
 they sat at a marble table; and she drank tea and 
 ate little cakes, and thrilled to his quaint accent 
 the turns of speech. And he leaned across the 
 table and pressed her hand, and she returned the 
 squeeze. And he told her, by many difficult words, 
 that he knew the keeper of the tea-house, and that 
 there was a nice quiet room upstairs where they 
 could sit and talk. And he would like to sit and talk 
 with her. 
 
 So they went upstairs. 
 
 It was past public-house closing-time when she 
 came down. She stepped into Pennyfields, narrow, 
 dark and deserted, and her light shoes made clear 
 staccato sounds. She walked dreamily. Her eyes 
 were heavy. But there was a warmth and fullness 
 about her face that was new, and that became her. 
 She carried herself with confidence. She was a 
 woman. The others could no longer swank before 
 her. She knew. 
 
 Then, as she turned into West India Dock 
 
192 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Road, the darkness screamed at her. Snarls and 
 growls and cat-calls met her, and vile words leapt 
 upon her. And suddenly she was surrounded by 
 a dozen of her work-fellows. Too dazed by the 
 attack to speak, she shrank away. But they were on 
 all sides: horrid faces and writhing lips that spat 
 beastly things at her. The full significance of the 
 situation scarcely reached her at the moment. It 
 was an attack; that was all she could clearly under- 
 stand; and she turned blindly to break through 
 them and run. And as she turned, one pushed her 
 between the shoulders, and she stumbled against 
 another who pushed her back. Dumb, except for 
 sobs, she waited, terrified, in their midst; and they 
 encircled her with stretched arms and pointed 
 fingers; and she stood breasting a ring of living 
 spears. 
 
 Then they joined hands, and danced about her 
 with a song: 
 
 "Who got orf with a Chink? 
 
 Who got orf with a Chink? 
 
 She did! 
 
 She did! 
 
 SHE DID! 
 
 Yah!" 
 
 And from point to point of the circle she was 
 pushed and hustled and bunted like a sack, until 
 she dropped. 
 
 Then, clamorously, they indicted her: "There's 
 
MAZUKKA 193 
 
 yer quiet ones ! There's yer pure work-girl. There's 
 yer Stuck-up! Corn with a Chink! Ugh, the 
 dirty cat! That's all that would 'ave 'er, I suppose. 
 Ugh, the dirty bitch!" They let her go then, and 
 went off in a grinning, giggling mass, chanting to 
 the night: 
 
 "Chrissie Rainbow's bin with a Chink 
 Yah! Yah! Yah!" 
 
 Slowly she crawled to her feet, and slowly she 
 crawled home, numb, sobbing, stricken. It was 
 spring no more. The scent of flowers was gone. 
 The air was heavy with the religious odour of 
 fried fish. There was no more of colour and 
 revelry and happy street life. She looked upon the 
 every-night Limehouse, and saw grey streets, gruff 
 buildings, ragged roofs and walls, tram-cars, buses, 
 dark pubs, and ugly, dolorous noise. And as she 
 staggered into her room, and collapsed upon her bed, 
 an uglier noise broke forth below, and a damned 
 jingling, hiccuping, penny-in-the-slot piano gibed and 
 reviled her with the Mazurka from Coppelia* 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 
 
XIII 
 THE SCARLET SHOES 
 
 SORROWFUL are the streets of Limehouse by 
 day; crowded with purposeless noise and cold, 
 unfruitful endeavour. But the evening is kind to 
 them, and with the coming of the dark they are set 
 a-tinkling* with brilliant girl-laughter, and the moon 
 lends grace to the most forlorn by-way. 
 
 About these streets and lanes walked one time 
 San-li-po, a maiden of the land of water-liles, whose 
 patched garments of yellow cotton, with cheap em- 
 broidery enriched, gave vigour to the flat tones of 
 warehouse walls and hovels. Willowy and dew- 
 like was San-li-po, but seldom did her laughter swell 
 the happy twilight chorus. Not since babyhood 
 had her lips opened in merriment, for there was 
 little in her life to warm her heart to satisfaction. 
 A waif, born in the Pool on an incoming tramp, 
 and abandoned to the clustering alleys, she had 
 found her first shelter with the wicked Lee Yip, and 
 with him, because she was in a strange land and 
 knew of no other shelter, she had remained these 
 seventeen years. Hard and cheerless was her life 
 with him; nor could the animated streets give her 
 
 197 
 
198 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 even a reflection of their gladness. The white men 
 mocked at her moon-like face; her countrymen re- 
 garded her not while they might feed their eyes 
 with the beauty of white girls. 
 
 Lee Yip was a man of low mind and empty of 
 all good feeling. All he desired was sufficiency of 
 rice-spirit and ongaway, and, despite all his forlorn 
 shifts and subterfuges, never could he fully satisfy 
 that desire. His nights were spent in drinking; 
 his days in petulant consideration of ways and means 
 of procuring the night's indulgence. Dirt and rags 
 were proper to him, and he seemed to shed their 
 savour wherever he walked; so that refined and 
 polished keepers of stores and of registered lodg- 
 ing-houses, coming suddenly upon him, would pass 
 him with as much space between them as could be 
 achieved. One room he had over the Laundry of 
 the Pure White Water-Lily ; and in that room lived 
 he and San-li-po. To it he would sometimes bring 
 stranded Chinese seamen of the baser kind, who 
 would not pay the price of the registered lodging- 
 houses, but could give him, in return for his shelter, 
 the few cash that would buy rice-spirit; and San- 
 li-po would crouch unhappily upon her pallet in the 
 corner, and sleep fearfully in this room with four 
 or five drunken seamen. 
 
 But it is with one night in winter that we are 
 Itere concerned; the night when sweet adventure 
 came to his sad room and stretched radiant hands 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 199 
 
 towards San-li-po. At a late hour on this night, 
 Lee Yip made his accustomed entry to their abode, 
 fumbling and shouldering his way up the stairs, and 
 emitting nasty noises from his mouth. San-li-po, 
 hearing other footsteps yet on the stairs, stood by 
 the table with blank expression, ready to receive 
 the wretched fellows who alone would consort with 
 her guardian. 
 
 And lo ! there entered to her Wing Dee, a youth 
 of fair aspect and seemly demeanour. His hair 
 was heavily oiled. His eyes were reticent. He 
 held himself upright in his canvas jacket and canvas 
 trousers, and when he perceived San-li-po, his round 
 face glowed like a lit lantern. He did not slouch 
 to a corner, with pig-like sounds, as their other 
 guests: he passed compliments to her; asked if she 
 had eaten her rice; and continued, using a courteous 
 form of phrase above the requirements of the oc- 
 casion : 
 
 "This person is mortified at the inconvenience 
 which he fears his undignified presence in this truly 
 refined apartment will bring upon the honourable 
 and flower-like maiden to whom he addresses him- 
 self. He would not have ventured, but " 
 
 He was interrupted at this point by Lee Yip^ 
 who had spoken no word since his entrance, be- 
 cause he could not. With a gentle sway he slid 
 along the wall against which he had been leaning, 
 and fell in an untidy heap to the floor and slept. 
 
200 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Wing Dee looked at him and at San-li-po, and trou- 
 ble came into his face; then, ignoring the interrup- 
 tion, he continued his courteous address. Now these 
 were the first polished words that any visitor had 
 addressed to San-li-po, and she shivered with de- 
 light as she heard them, while wondering griev- 
 ously whether the apparently gentle youth was sub- 
 jecting her to ridicule. But as he continued to 
 speak, she knew that this was not so, and her heart 
 leapt; and she hastened to prepare food for the 
 honourable guest. 
 
 With Lee Yip in his drunken sleep, they were 
 virtually alone, this man and this maid, and much 
 joyful service did she give to the making of that 
 poor meal which they were to share; the cook 
 of the highest mandarin could not have pressed 
 more care upon a banquet of forty courses than she 
 on two dishes of yak min and sam se. The eyes 
 of Wing Dee were upon her as she worked, and 
 now and then she caught them with hers, and into 
 the dishes went a sweet flavouring that was made 
 from the mixing of their glances. 
 
 When her task was done, they two sat to eat 
 in bashful intimacy; and while Lee Yip snored on 
 the floor, Wing Dee made neat praise of the dishes* 
 and smiled upon the lips of San-li-po that made 
 their first shy efforts at opening in delight. Sweet 
 lips that never formed a lie; that moved only to 
 gentle syllables and pleading phrases! Grave eyes 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 201 
 
 wherein nestled meditations pure and kindly ! Gra- 
 cious hands, busy only in service to the beast in the 
 corner! Poor, tattered clothes, so thin and worn, 
 yet clothing so aptly that small figure that should 
 have gone in silk and lace ! Thoughts of the Great 
 Night Lantern above fair gardens came to Wing 
 Dee as he gazed his fill upon her until she burned 
 and shivered and looked only at the table, and as 
 he wondered about her and about the room and 
 the pig who had brought him here; and his face 
 became suffused with the divine humility that at 
 once shames and ennobles the youth in the presence 
 of his first maid. She spoke little to him save 
 single timid words in reply to his compliments ; but 
 something more potent than words passed between 
 them. 
 
 After the meal, she pointed to a corner, and to 
 it he retired and she went to her pallet. Sleep 
 came at once to her, and with it gracious adventures 
 with a fair and high-minded youth; but Wing Dee 
 lay awake through the long night and the velvet 
 voice of silence murmured from the darkness and 
 spoke beautiful words to him. He thought of his 
 own country; of rivers; of stars; of blossomtime; 
 of a goodly house with many servants, and of San- 
 li-po in costly raiment flitting about it. Then the 
 grey of the morning fell across the coloured dream, 
 and he hid it away in his heart. He awoke to the 
 rough room, and Lee Yip's beastly noise. He rose 
 
202 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 from the chill boards and looked out upon the sun- 
 less street and its fatigued activity. He looked at 
 the sodden face of Lee Yip, and shuddered. To- 
 wards the corner where lay San-li-po his heart for- 
 bade him to look, though great was his desire to 
 go to her, and place by her pallet goodly gifts of 
 warm silk. But he knew that he had scarce suffi- 
 cient money to procure food for the space of days 
 that must elapse before the ship that had engaged 
 him left London. Even the poorest offering was 
 beyond him, for a chance game of Peh Bin had 
 cleared him of the bulk of his wages, and it was 
 in that impoverished and remorseful condition that 
 Lee Yip had found him. 
 
 Suddenly, at a movement and a grunt from Lee 
 Yop, San-li-po awoke. Hastily gathering her robe 
 about her, she exchanged morning greetings with 
 Wing Dee, and served out a small portion of rice 
 to each of them. When it was eaten he turned to 
 go. He passed to the mumbling and still bemused 
 Lee Yip the number of coins previously arranged 
 between them as the price of his lodging, and moved 
 to the door. He made a gesture of courtesy to- 
 wards San-li-po. 
 
 "This illiterate person," he said, "is totally with- 
 out words with which to express his intense gratitude 
 for the refined and elegant entertainment which he 
 has received from his dignified and high-minded 
 friends." 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 203 
 
 He hesitated at the door. He looked back. And 
 lo ! San-li-po was staring at him with rigid features 
 and blank eyes. Maiden modesty was no longer 
 in her bearing: her face spoke yearning and regret. 
 
 She knew nothing of him, nor he of her. He 
 had come to them out of the night. He had looked 
 long upon her, and had spoken fair words to her. 
 But that was all. Whence he came, whither he 
 was going, she knew not; nor could she decently 
 ask of him these questions. His movements were 
 no concern of hers. Doubtless he had spoken 
 courteously and kindly towards her, because he 
 was sorry for her situation. Yet, having had this 
 little of him, she was anxious that he should give 
 more. 
 
 "Honourable guest going going away?" she 
 murmured, and stopped with half-open lips, as 
 though about to say more. 
 
 Wing Dee caught the restrained fervour of her 
 voice, and rejoiced that she should thus have spoken. 
 So would he have spoken his regret at parting; yet 
 dared not. 
 
 "If this insignificant person might come again 
 
 to-night " he began, looking at her and Lee 
 
 Yip. 
 
 Lee Yip nodded his tattered head vigorously. 
 "Come every night," he grunted. "For the few 
 cash which this person charges for his lodging, 
 poor as it is, Wing Dee cannot find better. Ao I" 
 
204 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 So he came again that night, and, after leaving 
 the house the following morning, he met San-li-po 
 in the streets. There, at a corner of West India 
 Dock Road, they talked. They told each other their 
 stories. With awkward glances and shy hesitancies, 
 with gushes of speech and cold blocks of silence, 
 they exchanged talk for about an hour, each de- 
 lighting in this sudden meeting, each fearful of 
 saying too much. They parted abruptly, rudely, as 
 is the way of boy and girl in first love. But when 
 they were gone on their way, they knew that each 
 was the other's friend for ever, and great was the 
 desire of Wing Dee to lift San-li-po across his 
 threshold; great the desire of San-li-po to receive 
 the Napi of Wing Dee. 
 
 Four nights he spent as their lodger; and joy 
 illumined that musty room, and sweetness passed 
 in the air and hovered about the table as they sat 
 at rice. All things became beautiful to him. He 
 found delight in the narrow alley where she lired; 
 and its stones were to him more holy than the stones 
 of the temple. These strange streets were all part 
 of her, and she was part of the streets and the 
 hard sky and the ships; and the mean life of China- 
 town became to him suddenly noble and desirable: 
 for it was the life she knew. His immediate wish 
 was to remove her from the beast in whose charge 
 she was held, but the wish, he knew, was futile. 
 Hatred and loathing seethed in his heart as he 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 205 
 
 thought upon the things that the maid had told him, 
 and he longed again to lay violent fingers upon the 
 wry neck of Lee Yip. 
 
 At the end of the week, much thought showed 
 him the way to his desire. He would not rejoin 
 his ship. He would stay in Limehouse and work 
 at any toil, however base, until he had saved enough 
 money to carry them both to his own country. 
 There they would marry, and he would settle on 
 his father's farm and work it for her delight. To 
 this plan he moved, and, after some disappointment 
 and much perseverance, he obtained employment, 
 and employment in the Laundry of the Pure Water- 
 White Lily, above which she lived. By sparse liv- 
 ing and a little fortunate gambling, he contrived to 
 gather and hold a few coins; then, delicate of feel- 
 ing, he slept no more in her room, but obtained 
 lodging in a neighbouring Oriental store where he 
 might still be near her, and in any mischance, 
 succor her. 
 
 Each night, when his work was done, and the 
 fat Lee Yip had gone forth to seek delight in the 
 saloons and beer-houses about the waterside, he 
 would go to San-li-po, and they would spend to- 
 gether some delicious hours. 
 
 "O San-li-po, your voice is to me as the bells of 
 the Great Temple, and you are a garden where I 
 gather the most dignified rest and refreshment. 
 Soon, O San-li-po, I shall take you home to your 
 
206 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 country that you have never seen, and there by my 
 side you will taste pleasures of which you have 
 never learnt." 
 
 U O Wing Dee, lord and master, your words are 
 more intoxicating to me than the most rare per- 
 fumes. I am your slave." 
 
 As the hour grew late, he would leave her, and 
 wait in the West India Dock Road for the home- 
 coming of her drunken protector. When he saw 
 him bringing other drunkards to sleep in that room 
 with his chrysanthemum, he would approach the 
 sailors stealthily, and draw them apart from their 
 staggering guide ; and would put it to them whether 
 it were not entirely more desirable that they should 
 spend the night in his clean room without charge 
 than that they should pay valuable coins to the 
 drunken Lee Yip for the privilege of sleeping in 
 the underground den infested with rats and drain- 
 water, to which he was conducting them. By his 
 knowledge and use of sailor signs he was quickly 
 able to convince them of evil reputation of Lee Yip. 
 So that this person, arriving at the door leading to 
 his room, would be seized by vague astonishment 
 and sharp anger on finding that the guests who had 
 been following him had melted away; and San-li-po, 
 waiting upstairs, would be rid of her disquieting 
 tremors, and, smiling at her lover's ruse, would sleep 
 tranquilly. 
 
 Now it was not long before Wing Dee possessed 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 207 
 
 sufficient cash to permit him to make his first gift 
 of intentions to San-li-po. After much scrutiny of 
 shop windows, he saw something that was within 
 his means and fitting to the occasion. At a shop 
 near Limehouse Church his eye was taken by a hot 
 splash of colour a pair of slippers of scarlet silk, 
 made surely for the dainty feet of his maid. Long 
 he looked upon them, while delicious thrills tickled 
 his heart. They were to be the first gift he had 
 ever made to a girl, and they were to symbolise 
 his worship of little San-li-po, and set a glowing 
 seal upon their friendship. He looked upon the 
 warm, suave silk that sheathed them, and the little 
 pert bows that embellished them, and saw them 
 upon her feet, peeping from the patched cotton 
 robe, and thought how they would chime with and 
 confirm her olive face and golden eyes. Then, with 
 happy assurance, he entered the shop and cere- 
 moniously paid the price that should secure them. 
 Close to his heart he held them as he walked home, 
 and they seemed to pass through the canvas of his 
 coat and glow against his breast and lend him 
 warmth. 
 
 That evening, when they were alone, he made 
 his offering. He took them from the rough paper 
 in which they were wrapped, and standing before 
 her, he covered them with kisses and breathed his 
 sweet heart into him. Then, while she trilled de- 
 lightedly to him, he placed them tenderly upon her 
 
208 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 feet. Immediately she arose and pirouetted before 
 him, and pattered up and down the bare floor of 
 her home, and could look only from the shoes to 
 her lover and from her lover to the shoes; until 
 at last she tripped into the half-circle of his arms 
 and he knew that glory had been vouchsafed him. 
 Gladly she came to him, and sweetly danced the 
 hours of that evening around them. 
 
 Now vigorously and sturdily he worked in the 
 laundry, urged by the imperious patter of little 
 scarlet feet on the floor above him, tapping out 
 messages of behest and encouragement. None 
 moved about so spryly as he. None washed and 
 starched with such industry and such accompaniment 
 of smiles and polished address. The lamp of his 
 soul which he had long kept so neatly trimmed was 
 now lighted by love, and shone through his blunt face 
 for all to see. So life went fairly for them for 
 many days. 
 
 Then trouble came. One midnight, as he watched 
 near the poor temple of his lady, Lee Yip ap- 
 proached, and with him were three dishevelled 
 water-rats. Lee Yip was drunk, and reeled; turn- 
 ing now and again to beckon his guests to follow 
 him, and reeling at every turn. Swiftly Wing Dee 
 noted the situation; and as they drew near he 
 slipped from his hiding place and crept between 
 host and guests. Turning to the seamen, he mut- 
 tered a seaman's greeting, gave them a sign of 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 209 
 
 warning, and hustled them into an alley-way. There 
 he told them, with prodigal embellishment of fact, 
 of the offensive hovel to which Lee Yip was taking 
 them, and made them his accustomed offer of free 
 accommodation in his own room. Some interchange 
 of talk convinced the seamen that the offer was of 
 fair intent, and that Wing Dee was one topside 
 good fella chap; and the four went from the alley 
 by the farther outlet. 
 
 But Lee Yip, drunk as he was, retained yet some 
 control of his faculties. Too often lately had evil 
 spirits, hovering in the middle air, swooped down 
 and removed from his custody likely guests from 
 whom good measures of rice-spirit might have been 
 obtained; and when he discovered that this evening's 
 company had also vanished, he felt that the time 
 had come to turn his mind upon the matter. Call- 
 ing upon his ancestors, he slithered across the road, 
 looked at the doors about him, and found them 
 shut; and up and down the street, and found it 
 empty. He came to the mouth of the alley, and 
 looked down it, and he was there in time to see 
 four dim figures disappearing at the other end. To- 
 wards them he shuffled at an angular run, and came 
 stealthily to them. With well-nigh insufferable in- 
 dignation he recognised his guests, and heard the 
 voice of Wing Dee conversing affably with them on 
 the base reputation and horrid iniquities of himself, 
 Lee Yip. 
 
210 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 In a state of amazement and disgust he retired 
 abruptly to the shelter of the alley, and crouched 
 against the wall. The sudden shock of this dis- 
 covery drove the drink swiftly from his brain, and 
 left his faculties clear, though its poison still turned 
 and crawled in his blood. He reviewed the situation 
 in detail. He saw himself outraged, scoffed at, re- 
 viled behind his back by this pig of a seaman who 
 had eaten of his rice. Seeking a motive, he sud- 
 denly remembered San-li-po, and here he saw clearly 
 things that his bemused mind had noted without 
 fully perceiving their import. He began to remem- 
 ber certain looks that had passed between San-li-po 
 and Wing Dee in his room at evenings. He began 
 to remember that the meals that San-li-po had cooked 
 when the youth was present were more sumptuous 
 and more daintily served than those to which he 
 had accustomed him. He remembered now, very 
 sharply, how San-li-po had often served larger por- 
 tions and choicer tit-bits to the guest than to himself. 
 
 And now two streams of anger broke from his 
 breast and surged through him : one against the 
 youth; the other, the greater, against the outcast 
 waif, San-li-po, who had thus basely deceived him 
 by accepting the advances of this pig who sought 
 to rob him of his means of life. Hot was his rage 
 against the base and treacherous thing that had 
 subsisted on his charity these many years, when no 
 other would help her, and now had turned against 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 211 
 
 him. He could not conjecture why these two should 
 wish to do him harm; he only saw himself as the 
 victim of their malicious hearts; and sorely up- 
 braided himself for showing kindness to a woman. 
 
 Then the two streams of anger united, and became 
 one, and in their murky waters a dreadful dark 
 thing began to grow. He faced the way that Wing 
 Dee had gone, and made cruel signs with his hand, 
 and his mouth bristled with vile words; and his 
 brain fed on the dark things and gave back suste- 
 nance to it. By the time he reached his door the 
 thing had grown until it had full possession of him; 
 and he stumbled up the stairs to work his wrath 
 upon the corrupt deceiver whom he had so long 
 harboured in his home, and, through her, upon the 
 guest who had abused his roof. 
 
 When he entered, San-li-po was sitting on the 
 floor, and from her towzled skirt peeped the little 
 scarlet shoes which were tapping the floor to some 
 secret tune of glee. His dull eye sharply noted 
 them, for she had not yet worn them in his presence, 
 and he guessed whence they came; and the flood of 
 his anger threatened to break its gates. He con- 
 trolled himself. With deliberate thickness of speech 
 and with heavy countenance he approached her. 
 
 "O San-li-po, there is one asking for you. He 
 desires to speak at once with you. It is the young 
 guest who lately visited our dwelling. He is at 
 the tea-house of Ho Foo in some distress. There 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 was a base and undignified disturbance at the Blue 
 Lantern, and he lies wounded. I think his mind 
 wanders and he speaks from the middle air, for he 
 spoke much of you and requested me to bring you 
 to him." 
 
 Sore alarm rose to the quiet eyes of San-li-po 
 at these words, and Lee Yip noted it, and knew 
 then that she was indeed in conspiracy with that 
 person against him. She moved quickly to a peg 
 where hung a loose covering robe. This she 
 wrapped about her, and they went out to the dark 
 streets and into the flowing hum of London's silence. 
 Through road and alley they went, he lumbering in 
 his broken British boots, she in the scarlet shoes 
 that tripped along with her to the sick one who had 
 given them. They passed from the Causeway to 
 Narrow Street, and so under many arches that held 
 uncomfortable noises. 
 
 <( Did I mistake, O Sun at Noon? I thought you 
 spoke of the tea-house of Ho Foo, which is in " 
 
 Lee Yip replied with a snarl and a grunt; and, 
 lest she offend him at this time when her presence 
 was so much desired by another, she kept silence 
 and followed him. Down a sloping lane of coal- 
 dust he led her, till, at a sudden turn, they faced 
 the broad, rough river. Behind them were the 
 arches; on either side deserted wharves. Then he 
 turned upon her. 
 
 "O San-li-po, creature of corruption and deceit! 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 
 
 O venomous snake I O female dog of the city ! O 
 pig of behaviour! Your insufferable conspiracy 
 against the one who has fed you and clothed you is 
 known to me. The nature of your relations with 
 the detestable and evil-minded Wing Dee is known 
 to me. It is for some purpose which you know 
 that he takes from me my evening guests, my only 
 means of living. It is because of you that he has 
 taken to labour in the clothes-cleansing business be- 
 low our apartment. What more is in your black 
 heart I know not, but never shall it come out to 
 injure me. Hi-yah!" 
 
 Ere she could utter one word or cry he fell upon 
 her. With his curling hands he worked for some 
 minutes what beastliness he would upon her. Then 
 he took her by the throat, tore from her her gar- 
 ments, lifted her from the ground, and dropped her 
 from the wharf to the full, surging river; and the 
 waters closed upon her. 
 
 Next morning, as Wing Dee plunged a mass of 
 clothes into the boiling cauldron, and worked vigor- 
 ously upon them, he listened for his morning greet- 
 ing the patter of little shoes upon the floor above 
 and was disappointed that he did not hear it. He 
 continued his work with quickened ears, awaiting 
 it, but throughout the morning no sound came from 
 that upper room. He was disturbed; and at mid- 
 day he went upstairs to see. Neither Lee Yip nor 
 San-li-po was there. He worked automatically 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 through the afternoon without zest, wondering at 
 this interruption of habit, and fearing and di "miss- 
 ing fear. In the evening he went again to the room. 
 It was still vacant. He inquired of people about 
 the street for San-li-po, but none could answer him. 
 He sought the saloons of the Quarter for Lee Yip, 
 but found him not, nor had any seen him or had 
 word of him. When shops, teahouses and saloons 
 all were closed, he returned to his room in a spirit 
 of no-tranquillity. There he bowed before the joss, 
 and lit a joss-stick, and burned prayer papers; but 
 no comfort came to him, and the night passed with 
 hollow tread. Empty of hope, too, was the next 
 day. There was no sign or sound of San-li-po, and 
 as he worked in the laundry with languid arms, his 
 mind moved upon their happy times together. 
 Again he went to the room, and found it still de- 
 serted, and though he sought he found no poor 
 robe of hers nor the scarlet shoes. She was gone, 
 fully dressed. Now grief and dismay entered his 
 heart and settled there ; and in the evening he went 
 to his room, and stood against its wall, empty of 
 purpose and with no appetite for sleep. His mind 
 wandered, and as it wandered about their love, he 
 remembered how, when he 'had presented his gift 
 of intentions, the scarlet shoes, he had bestowed 
 his kisses upon them and breathed into them, that 
 they should be for ever part of him, and that San- 
 li-po should ever have something of him about her. 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 215 
 
 And remembering this, he called softly upon them : 
 "O little scarlet shoes that I placed upon the feet 
 of the willowy and dew-like San-li-po, if you are 
 with her bring her to me. Little shoes, you are 
 part of me, for I left myself inside you when I gave 
 you to her. Come to me, O little scarlet shoes. 
 Carry her to me or bring me news of her." 
 
 And he bowed his head to the wall, and stood 
 thus, while the hours crept across the face of the 
 night. Suddenly, when the mid-hour had newly 
 passed, he seemed to hear, through the enveloping 
 quiet, a gentle clatter as of little feet on the pave- 
 ment. With leaping heart he looked from his win- 
 dow. The street was dark and void of any human 
 figure, and no sound came up from its shadow. He 
 turned away, and his arms dropped in dolour. But 
 again he heard it, and this time it was a distinct 
 sound of feet on his stair. He stood still and 
 tense, listening. The sound drew nearer, and now 
 pattered outside his door it seemed to 'him, im- 
 patiently, pleadingly. 
 
 With vague tremblings in his breast, he stole 
 softly to the door, stretched a hesitating hand to 
 the fastening, unlatched it, and looked out. The 
 tiny landing was empty. His hand groped at the 
 darkness and touched nothing, and he knew that he 
 was deceived again. But as he moved to close the 
 door, the silence of the stairway was shattered by 
 a peremptory stamp of little feet on the landing. 
 
216 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 He bent close to the floor, and saw nothing, but very 
 clearly he heard the steps beating out their morning 
 message now on the landing, now two or three 
 steps down, now back to the landing. 
 
 Crushing down the hope that grew within him, 
 he went into his room, saluted the joss, called upon 
 his ancestors, and returned to the doorway. Down 
 the stairs ran the sharp tattoo of shoes. At the 
 bottom they stopped. Slowly he followed them, and 
 opened the lower door. As he stepped into the 
 street, he heard them tapping the pavement that led 
 to West India Dock Road, and knew that this time 
 he was not deceived; and now in full faith he com- 
 mitted himself to their direction and followed them, 
 caring not whither they led him, confident that they 
 would lead him to San-li-po. Across the road they 
 went towards the Causeway, and above the sirens 
 and the clamour of the dock trains his ears picked 
 out their chattering guidance. 
 
 As he followed them he babbled to them, crying: 
 
 "O little scarlet shoes that have trotted so softly 
 beside my noisy feet, thank you for answering my 
 call. You are leading me to her to whom you be- 
 long, and soon you will be warmed again by her 
 little feet. I hear you singing to me, little shoes, 
 and I will kiss you as I kissed you before, when we 
 are with her." 
 
 Clitter-clatter, clitter-clatter, they tripped before 
 him. Lightly they kissed the pavement of that 
 
THE SCARLET SHOES 217 
 
 Causeway upon whose face so many brute feet had 
 stamped and stumbled; and the pavement was re- 
 sponsive to their timid touch, and whispered to 
 them. And so they moved before him into Narrow 
 Street, and from Narrow Street to a sloping lane 
 of coal-dust, where he found himself on a wharf 
 facing the river, and thence along a dark landing- 
 stage. The sky was clouded; few stars were visible, 
 and the river lacked even that dull lustre thrown 
 up at night by large waters. Groping his way, he 
 followed the steps to a narrow ledge. Here they 
 ceased, and he halted in uncertainty. For some 
 seconds he stood, peering into woolly darkness, 
 listening intently for the sound of shoes. Then he 
 took a step forward. 
 
 And so Wing Dee came to San-li-po. The tide 
 was at flood and the waters rushed to receive him 
 as he fell. They sucked him down and beat over 
 him, and washed him to mid-stream, and there they 
 came together. 
 
 Next morning there was trouble in the shop of 
 a second-hand wardrobe dealer of Poplar. 
 
 "Hi!" cried the wife, "what about them Chinese 
 shoes you brought 'ome the other night, what you 
 bought orf the Chink? 'Ow much d'you give for 
 'em?" 
 
 "One-and-six. What about it?" 
 
 "What about it? Why, they ain't worth tup- 
 
218 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 pence. They're all worn out and fit fer nothing." 
 
 "Worn out be blowed! Why, they're as good 
 as new. They ain't bin worn more'n once. I reckon 
 I know me own job." 
 
 "And I reckon I know what I see. The soles is 
 worn right through, and they're smothered all over 
 in mud. Come an' 'ave a look." 
 
 Husband came and had a look. 
 
 "Well I'm damned!" 
 
 "Huh! Good as new, eh? That's the kind o j 
 thing you buy after a night at yer precious Blue 
 Lantern." 
 
 "Well, I could 'a sworn " 
 
 "Grrr!" 
 
 And the scarlet shoes, that brought two lovers 
 together, still make domestic discord in Poplar. 
 
THE GOOD SAMARITANS 
 
XIV 
 THE GOOD SAMARITANS 
 
 IF you approach the West India Dock by way of 
 Commercial Road, you will notice, west of 
 Limehouse Church, a long, narrow street of small 
 houses debouching on to the highway. It is flat, 
 colourless, empty, by day; and by night dark and 
 adumbrating queer adventure. It is the street that 
 my memory first evokes when I think of the East 
 End, for it held forward place in my childish fancies. 
 The corner of that street I would then figure as 
 my meeting-place with a girl; a girl of my own 
 creation. We would meet at nights at that dark 
 corner, and from it we would survey the great road, 
 its bronze gloom broken by gouts of gas-light, while 
 behind us waited the long ranks of silent houses, 
 threatening and alluring, behind whose windows 
 happened nightly things dreadful and things beauti- 
 ful. I did not make a paradise of that street, but 
 I gave it magic properties, and peopled it with 
 my own characters, so that, as occasion called, it was 
 a street of romance or squalor. And every night, 
 at its corner, stood the dream-child, waiting for 
 
 221 
 
222 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 me. Sometimes she had curls of yellow, and some- 
 times thick black curls, or tresses of brown; and 
 her frocks would change from filmy things to furry, 
 with the season. 
 
 I have since shown my street to other people, and 
 they have seen a hopeless, littered alley, housing 
 aims without hope and hearts that have never beat 
 high in grace or villainy. It is to-day as it always 
 was. It has not grown; it has not aged; for it has 
 spent nothing in endeavour or desire. It is now 
 a street like all other streets, and holds no more 
 the power to change its aspect or its character. It 
 is no longer wholly awful or wholly romantic. No 
 rare adventure and gallant rescue make it their 
 setting. And no dream-child now stands at its 
 corner. Women stand there all day and through 
 much of the night, between the opening and the 
 closing times of the Blue Lantern; but my girl 
 went with its vanished past. The street I had 
 built from its ugly bricks, and the child I had placed 
 there could not survive inspection under the cold 
 light of common sense. 
 
 To-day Greenstockings and Flash Florrie, two 
 of the most prominent of the Blue Lantern noctam- 
 bulists, live in that street; and I am still foolish 
 enough to cherish my fancies and to believe that 
 they have gobbled up my dream-child. For in each 
 of them is something of the grace and fluent good- 
 
THE GOOD SAMARITANS 223 
 
 ness that clothed the little girl who stood so often 
 at that corner. 
 
 Anyway, I now connect the street with them. 
 They lived together, sharing two rooms in one of 
 the crestfallen houses of the street; and they were 
 seldom without company. They kept themselves 
 decently,, and chose their men* carefully. Green- 
 stockings was of pocket size, slender, dark, frail; 
 while Flash Florrie walked with masculine stride, 
 from wide hips, and held a large head upright under 
 a mass of yellow hair. She could, and sometimes 
 did, lift Greenstockings from the floor with one 
 hand. /A strangely assorted couple, drawn towards 
 each/other. They were friendly, in a casual, man- 
 like way, for the greater part of the year; but at 
 recurrent periods the lacerated nerves of Green- 
 stockings would meet the fever-heat temper of Flash 
 Florrie; and then there were ructions. 
 
 Upon a night they sat together in the Blue Lan- 
 tern. The hours were mounting, and the crowd 
 had thinned; only a few niggers and a somnolent 
 sailor remained. Flash Florrie had undergone 
 severe ordeal by bottle, and her manner gave warn- 
 ing of trouble. The somnolent sailor failed to 
 respond to her amicable approaches, and she began 
 to look round for something to swear at. Among 
 the most prized of the appointments of the Blue 
 Lantern are four canaries, whose cage hangs from 
 the chandelier above the centre of the saloon. For 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 many years they have lived there, syncopating, with 
 their piercing cries, the sedate confabulations of 
 bookmakers and love-bargainers, who have often 
 expressed the pious wish that some hungry genera- 
 tion would tread them down. Flash Florrie, find- 
 ing her one-sided conversation with the sailor non- 
 productive in the way of business, turned her at- 
 tention to the birds. She had been telling him 
 of the country vicarage where her early years were 
 spenty&nder the care of her father, "the dear ole 
 leaf- the ole home, dearie I can see it now 
 vith roses all around the door and Gawd is Love 
 )ver the mantelpiece in fretwork and a governess 
 :art and a pony in the stable and rabbit-shooting 
 it Easter and prayers every morning I can see it 
 low, dearie./! was a fine gel then the old dad 
 was that proud of me I got engaged to a viss- 
 count. Well, one day, dearie, a stranger come to 
 the Vicarage, and the ole dad in the kindness of 
 
 his heart gave him shelter and Oh, can't' 
 
 jom'eone-kitt*tho*e-bloody-birds-I-can't-ear-meself- 
 think!" 
 
 Greenstockings stood up. ' 'Ere, stop it, Florrie. 
 Come on 'ome, dear. You're prop'ly blotto to- 
 night." 
 
 "Blotto be damned! Shan't! Don' wanner 
 g'ome. And don' in'rup' me when I'm talkin' to 
 frien'. You go'n' make those bloody birds shurrup. 
 They're doing it a-purpose to 'noy me." 
 
THE GOOD SAMARITANS 225 
 
 ( "No, they ain't, dearie. You come on 'ome." 
 
 "Shan't! Not till them birds shurrup. You 
 go'n' stop 'em. Else I will." 
 
 j "Now, Florrie dear!" 
 
 i The birds danced about their cage, screaming, 
 cheep-cheeping, and chirruping to the merry bang of 
 the beer-engine. With a surprisingly adroit move- 
 ment the drunken Florrie stretched a huge arm, 
 grabbed her pot of beer, and flung it fiercely up- 
 wards at the cage. It did its duty; it drenched the 
 birds, and their debate ended abruptly in a flutter of 
 
 Greenstockings turned wrathfully upon her friend. 
 
 "Oh, Florrie, you cruel thing! Oh, Florrie!" 
 
 Florrie got up. "I'll learn the bahstuds to in'er- 
 rup' me." 
 
 She put a foot on a chair and reached up to 
 them. 
 
 ^te'm alone!" squalled Greenstockings in im- 
 potent anger. "Oh, the pore li'l things! Le'm 
 alone, Florrie. Oh, you beast!" 
 
 Florrie held in her hand a lighted match. Green- 
 stockings flew at her and grabbed her about the 
 waist. Florrie shook her off, and the trouble began. 
 She came down awkwardly from the chair and 
 swerved towards the kid. 
 
 "Eh? Whassat? You call me a beast? I don* 
 'low no-no-body call me a beast. Who er you to 
 call me beast eh? You yer mangy skinnygalee 
 
226 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 you yer little rag-tag street baggage what I 
 could pick up and put in me pocket you !" 
 
 The drink was in her brain and in her eyes. She 
 was big and strong, and she knew it, and, being 
 drunk, was ready to demonstrate it. She saw 
 before her a little .slender body, taut with anger, 
 but consciously shrinking at its own daring. She 
 shot an arm across the table behind which it shrank, 
 and grabbed it by the throat. 
 
 "Come out you ! Beast, am I ? I'll learn yeh I" 
 
 Bang! went the table to a running comment of 
 smashing glass. In the next minute horrid things 
 happened. The big girl and the little girl fought in 
 naked fury. Florrie aimed blow after blow with 
 the fist at the little, worn face, while Greenstockings 
 responded with the teeth, and bit at the hand that 
 held her, and kicked and screamed. As the teeth 
 met, Florrie howled and dropped her hold. Green- 
 stockings flew in then, and clawed at her, ripping 
 from her neck the cotton blouse, and tearing with 
 frantic fingers at her breasts. She butted with her 
 head, and used her feet with dire purpose. Both 
 sobbed and emitted animal noises. 
 
 Then Florrie forced her to the lounge, and got 
 her down, and gave back what she had received, 
 and more. She tore her blouse from her, and 
 clawed and thumped her, pulling her up and beating 
 her heavily down, and tearing at her bare arms. 
 Together, in a frenzied embrace, they rolled from 
 
THE GOOD SAMARITANS 
 
 the lounge to the floor. Greenstockings drummed 
 with her feet, and struggled and cried under the 
 torture of Florrie's hands, and bit again and again. 
 Then Florrie found her throat and closed upon it, 
 and her eyes glared down upon her victim. She 
 was not then choking Greenstockings, her little com- 
 rade. She had her hands upon an enemy, upon the 
 embodiment of all the unkind things that had be- 
 fallen her; and she was wrenching its life from it. 
 No cries came from Greenstockings now; only hard 
 moans that grew fainter and fainter. 
 
 In less than a minute had all this happened: 
 before any -of the customers could follow its action, 
 and before the landlord had had time to come round 
 from his private room behind the jug-and-bottle bar. 
 
 Then two of the Malays leapt from their corner 
 and fell upon Florrie. They leapt just in time. 
 Scarcely a breath was 1 left in the torn body of 
 Greenstockings. But Flcwrie would not be denied 
 her vengeance. She freed one- hand and strove to 
 beat them off; but they were two to one, and they 
 dragged her back from her enemy. But they could 
 not hold her. With lithe movements she fought 
 them, and broke from them, and, ere Greenstock- 
 ings could stir from her prostration, seized her 
 again. 
 
 "And this time I'll finish yeh, blast yeh!" 
 
 Again the Malays came to her, and she fought 
 them and Greenstockings by turn. Manfully and 
 
228 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 whitely they stuck it. In a few moments they had 
 bleeding faces and torn clothes, and many times had 
 rolled in the muck of the floor. But at last one col- 
 lared her low, beneath the breasts; and the other 
 seized an arm and twisted it. In -this way, only, 
 could they save the poor thing that Florrie hated. 
 Straining, panting, their black faces smeared, their 
 mouths open and steaming, they dragged her from 
 her friend. Writhing within their arms, she 
 screamed, blasphemed, and spat. But slowly they 
 staggered with her to the door, and paid no heed to 
 the curses she laid upon Greens to ckings and the 
 tale of horrid punishments that she would inflict 
 upon her when she got her alone. 
 
 Then, as they pulled back the swing doors with 
 their feet, Greenstockings sat up, and looked about 
 her. She looked round for Florrie, wondering from 
 which corner the next blow would fall, and could 
 not see her. When she did see her she saw her 
 struggling in the arms of two agile black men. Next 
 moment Flash Florrie was free. A piercing cry 
 shocked the attention of her captors from their 
 charge, and an antic figure leapt upon them and 
 overwhelmed them with worse words than Florrie's 
 and with sharper fingers. A bruised, bleeding, tat- 
 tered little figure was upon them, shielding Florrie 
 from them with outstretched arms, and crying: 
 
 "Grrr, yeh dirty blasted niggers! Leave 'er be! 
 'Ow dare yeh put yer dirty black 'ands on a white 
 gel! Leave my pal alone, yeh bloody niggers!" 
 
TWELVE GOLDEN CURLS 
 

XV 
 TWELVE GOLDEN CURLS 
 
 THE little home of Quong Lee in Limehouse 
 Causeway rang with the noise of the evening 
 revellers of the Quarter, for a feast was in celebra- 
 tion. Across the blind of his window, lit by the 
 shop lamps of the narrow street, raced and raced 
 the antic shadows of those who danced and frolicked. 
 But Quong Lee is old and wise, and sits apart from 
 youth-time pleasures. As I entered his room, I 
 entered purpurical darkness in which the window- 
 blind made a single slab of radiance. In a corner 
 about half-a-yard from the floor glowed a bead of 
 blue light. The air was loaded with the reek of 
 chandu. The light spoke swiftly and softly. "Ao. 
 Baitho!" it chanted. I stood by the door and won- 
 dered how I could be expected to find a seat in a 
 room which was blank with darkness and bare of 
 furniture. Then a match spluttered, and Quong 
 Lee shuffled to his feet, lit an oil lamp, put his pipe 
 away, and showed me a cushion on the floor. 
 
 He bade me welcome; asked if I had eaten my 
 rice, and could I lend him half-a-dollar? I could 
 
 231 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 and would, on condition that he told me an entirely 
 new and true story. He accepted my condition and 
 my half-dollar; and, while the crowding noise of 
 the festival rose to alcoholic pitch, he spoke some- 
 what in this wise : 
 
 About these great docks of London, not a while 
 ago, lived one Nobby the Nark, who lounged about 
 the water-side, and ran messages for men; or, more 
 accurately, proceeded at a moderate pace upon such 
 occasional business as other men might require of 
 him. During the day, when not thus occupied, he 
 would meet men who took sums of money from 
 him, and promised him six to four, or, it mjr be, ten 
 to one, should the results of certain pefrormances 
 by horses, which were to take place in the afternoon, 
 be favourable to their doing so. At evenings he 
 would frequent the gaming-rooms kept by the 
 honourable Ho Foo. Sometimes he would gain a 
 little, and sometimes he would lose much, for very 
 highly skilled was Ho Foo in games of hazard. 
 
 There came a night when Nobby the Nark would 
 play pinkipo and chausa-bazee, games that do not 
 lightly yield their benefits to the cumbrous mental 
 processes of those who do occasional work at the 
 water-side. Very seriously did Nobby strive with 
 the games, but at the night's end honourable Ho 
 Foo held not only the cash of Nobby, but the 
 scrawled promise of Nobby to pay very much more. 
 
TWELVE GOLDEN CURLS 
 
 Now it was imperative that Nobby should hasten 
 to redeem that promise ; for, should he fail to do so, 
 he would be for ever forbidden the gaming-room 
 of Ho Foo, and Ho Foo would pass the word to 
 all other gaming-rooms ; and life without a gaming- 
 room would have but little savour for Nobby the 
 Nark. 
 
 Four days passed into the upper air, and no 
 word came to Hoo Foo from Nobby of the money 
 that should fulfil the written promise. Now Nobby 
 was the father of a daughter, who kept house for 
 him, and worked for both of them at an adjacent 
 factory; and this story to which the honourable 
 mister deigns to listen is properly the story of this 
 daughter. 
 
 On the evening following, Ho Foo was taking 
 the air around the gates of the West India Dock, 
 where the seamen gather to talk, when he heard 
 soft sounds as of one ill at ease. Drawing near 
 he saw, in a dim corner, this daughter of Nobby. 
 He knew her well; for often she had come to his 
 gaming-room to drag her father home. Very fair 
 was this maiden, and brave was her carriage. Upon 
 her head were many honey-coloured curls, cun- 
 ningly held captive by a little time-worn hat; and her 
 bright voice never failed to please those to whom 
 she addressed herself. But to-night her carriage 
 was subdued, the curls had escaped, and some hung 
 pendulous; and about her large eyes hovered many 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 tears. Now to the keeper of a gaming-house noth- 
 ing is more moving than the sight of distress; and 
 Ho Foo approached her and engaged her in sym- 
 pathetic talk. 
 
 As he heard her tale, sorrow and anger rushed 
 upon him, and he reproached himself that his 
 gaming-house should have brought such disorder of 
 mind upon so fair a maid. For, from her words, 
 he learnt that Nobby, her father, had encountered 
 much difficulty in procuring the necessary sum that 
 should redeem his written leaves and admit him once 
 more to the gaming-tables; and, growing fretful 
 from this continued abstinence from his favourite 
 pastimes had bade her go out to the dock gates, 
 where gathered the seamen, and procure it by some 
 means from them; nor should she return to their 
 home until she had done so. 
 
 Emotions of an unpleasant nature enveloped the 
 mind of honourable Ho Foo at this, and he folded 
 his hands and turned his thought, inward. There- 
 after he spoke, saying: 
 
 "This one is indeed in torment at words of daugh- 
 ter of Nobby the Nark. O maiden, go home, go 
 freely home. Turn from this base resort and go 
 home in tranquillity. Return to altogether despic- 
 able one, Nobby, and say to him that his written 
 leaves are restored to him. Take them, little chrys- 
 anthemum, and put your mind in order, and fill 
 
TWELVE GOLDEN CURLS 235 
 
 your heart once again with emotions of agreeable 
 nature." 
 
 From the fold of his canvas jacket he produced 
 the written leaves of Nobby and presented them to 
 her. These words were not the true words of 
 honourable Ho Foo, for he spoke in something of 
 his fathers' tongue and something of that of this 
 country; but his attitude of mind conveyed itself 
 to the maid; and there sprang into her face that 
 which told him his words were good to her. So 
 they parted; she happily, to her father, no longer 
 fearful of what the night might bring; while Ho 
 Foo passed on to take the air, and his mind walked 
 in the clear spaces of right-doing. 
 
 But there were certain base men, hirelings of 
 the law-givers, who, knowing nothing of this right- 
 doing, jixed their eyes upon his wrong-doing in dis- 
 regard of their laws against gambling. And so it 
 fell one night that a company of men set out from 
 an office of the law, and entered the gaming-house 
 of Ho Foo, and haled him before the justices. There 
 they laid two charges upon him: that he was the 
 keeper of a gaming-house, and that he had in his 
 possession many ounces of the Great Tobacco. 
 Heavy was the sum that he was commanded to 
 surrender to them ere he might go free; nay, all 
 he possessed, and more, so that he was driven to 
 sell the things of his house that he might satisfy 
 them. 
 
236 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Much wisdom was in the mind of the sage who 
 observed that the misfortunes of one are the enter- 
 tainment of the many. Ho Foo was now driven 
 to sleeping in a poor back room, empty of any ap- 
 pointments; and there he lay unheeded, while about 
 the streets his downfall occasioned much agreeable 
 diversion among his friends and those who had fre- 
 quented his tables. 
 
 There he lay, and to his uneasiness of mind came 
 sickness of the body. None came to succour or to 
 nourish him. On the bare floor he lay in misery; 
 and those who heard of his plight said that they 
 hoped others were providing him with what was 
 necessary. But in a space of days, the tale of his 
 sickness came to the ears of the daughter of Nobby 
 the Nark; and her heart was moved and she was 
 sorely troubled. She had not forgotten what 
 woman would? his beautiful service to her in her 
 distress, and she cast eagerly about her for means 
 to help him. But alas ! turn as she would, she found 
 none. Ho Foo, she had been told, was stricken with 
 a fever, and his malady demanded fresh fruits and 
 cool jellies and gentle draughts, which were not to 
 be had for the few pence that remained from her 
 week's wages after household dues were met. She 
 even looked about their miserable attic home lest 
 there might be something that she could spare on 
 which some shillings might be obtained. But noth- 
 
TWELVE GOLDEN CURLS 237 
 
 ing was there save the poorest and most necessary 
 appointments of daily life. 
 
 Then, one morning, as she dressed hastily for 
 the factory, pondering still the case of Ho Foo, and 
 looking blankly into a chipped scrap of mirror, it 
 suddenly came to her that she had long been carry- 
 ing money about her person. It was in her hands 
 now, fine coils of spun gold which she was piling 
 loosely upon her head. There lay her means of 
 succouring Ho Foo, and the aid would be sweeter 
 and more potent since it was part of herself. 
 
 Well, that evening, when she came home from 
 the factory, she sat down before the scratched mir- 
 ror, and let down her hair, which tumbled in a 
 cascade of light. Slowly, sadly, yet glad for the 
 service that she might bring a friend, she took 
 scissors and cut off a curl from either side, and laid 
 them on the table before her, and wept upon them. 
 Then, resolutely, she cut two more curls. So did 
 she yet four times more, till twelve golden curls 
 lay spent upon the table. These she made into a 
 small parcel. Then, 'barbed and cropped of her 
 beauty, ludicrous to look upon, she crept out to one 
 who had dealings in hair. And when that one saw 
 the refined quality of the hair, his eyes glistened, 
 and he turned his mind into itself for a space of 
 minutes. When he spoke he named a sum of money 
 which, he said, he might with great ado recover 
 when he should have treated the curls with the 
 
238 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 skill that was his; a sum utterly inadequate to the 
 purpose for which it was required. But the large 
 experience which the maid's penury had given her 
 in bargaining came to her aid, and much talk and 
 manoeuvre passed between them, until at last she 
 left with many shillings. 
 
 Then did she hasten to procure delicacies and 
 comforts for poor Ho Foo; and O my son, this 
 child, shorn and disfigured as she was, careful as 
 she was of her fair name, steadfast as she was in 
 bearing herself properly before her neighbours, 
 hesitated not to go to the bare room where lay my 
 countryman, and tend him, and lave his head, and 
 feed him with the dainty foods that he was too 
 weak to give himself. Bold was her spirit in thus 
 challenging the good report of her kind and im- 
 perilling her bright fame; bold her spirit and very 
 tender her heart. Many nights she went to him, 
 and gave him of her care, and sorely grieved was 
 he when his eyes discovered the sacrifice of her 
 beauty. He would have refused her ministrations 
 and her baskets of delicacies, but she would not hear 
 him, and he was indeed too weak to contest. So 
 she continued to visit him till the store of shillings 
 was spent. Then she came no more. But her work 
 was done, and soon Ho Foo was able to rise and 
 take the air of Pennyfields. 
 
 She came to him no more. Many days he lingered 
 about West India Dock Road, hoping to see her, 
 
TWELVE GOLDEN CURLS 239 
 
 and tell her of his thankful heart. He would not 
 go to her, lest he thus bring base remarks upon 
 her; he would wait at corners, thinking that she 
 might pass. But she came no more ; and at last he 
 dispatched a little boy as messenger to say that he 
 again was well and was burning prayer-papers in 
 her name for gratitude. 
 
 Ill-tidings came back with the messenger. Her 
 sweet service had driven the fever from Ho Foo, 
 and it had entered into her. On the bed in her 
 attic she lay, broken of beauty, and suffering, while 
 her ill-famed father gave her what casual attention 
 he could spare from the water-side and the gaming- 
 room. 
 
 Meekly did Ho Foo plead to Nobby the Nark 
 that he might be permitted to attend her; to sit 
 at her door in case of urgent need; to perform do- 
 mestic duties. But Nobby the Nark replied with 
 coarse words and evil insinuations and brutal looks 
 and snarls. So Ho Foo could but wait in the street 
 outside, and watch, and call his good spirits to her 
 aid. 
 
 In a few days it was done. From that poor attic 
 she passed, even as Ho Foo stood in the street 
 below, with bowed head, as he had stood every 
 day since his first visit. 
 
 But that is not the end. When the news came 
 to him, Ho Foo went from that darkened street 
 with a high resolve. A few small coins he had; 
 
240 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 and when he had performed rites above them, he 
 took them to a gaming-house, then newly opened, 
 and his good spirits went with him. He came away, 
 long past the noon of night, and his belt was 
 weighted with many coins and rolls of paper money. 
 
 Next day he sought piously for the merchant in 
 hair; and when he had found him he inquired of 
 him concerning twelve golden curls recently bought. 
 And lo ! there, in a small box, they lay, even as they 
 had been delivered. Then did Ho Foo inquire the 
 price at which the merchant would relinquish them ; 
 and when the merchant demanded of him four times 
 that which he had paid for them, Ho Foo quietly 
 counted out the money and carried the curls rever- 
 ently to his room. 
 
 Sorrow and misfortune had come at once to two 
 poor people remote in birth and creed Ho Foo 
 and the daughter of Nobby the Nark and from 
 this bond sprang love everlasting. For, with the 
 rest of the large sum of money that he had won, 
 Ho Foo opened a little tea-house in the Causeway; 
 and in a corner of that tea-house he made a shrine; 
 and in that shrine he hung the twelve golden curls, 
 and beneath them he wrote fairly, in his own char- 
 acters and in the characters of this country, their 
 story; and the place is known as the Tea House 
 of the Twelve Golden Curls. 
 
 The Tea House of the Twelve Golden Curls is 
 built on sacrifice and gratitude; and there, because 
 
TWELVE GOLDEN CURLS 
 
 of one white girl's gracious heart, your countrymen 
 and mine now gather in friendship and pass the 
 hours in amity. And if any dispute ever arise be- 
 tween a white man and one of us, it is the custom 
 that if one of them cry, "Let us talk of it at the Tea 
 House of the Twelve Golden Curls," the dispute is 
 ended, and courtesies pass in place of angry words. 
 And that is the story of the Twelve Golden Curls. 
 
 "Quong Lee," I cried indignantly, "it isn't true. 
 I don't believe a word of it. The Chinese and the 
 whites don't dwell together in amity. You know 
 as well as I do that they don't. And there's no 
 tea-house here called the Tea House of the Twelve 
 Golden Curls." 
 
 But Quong Lee was impenitent. Placidly he 
 picked up his hap-heem pipe. "The words of the 
 elegant visitor to this despicable hovel," he re- 
 marked, "have much truth. The nature of the 
 relations at present existing in this quarter between 
 the white men and my countrymen is undoubtedly 
 not to be described as amicable. Even to-day, if 
 the nobler sort of Englishman observes a Chinaman 
 gaze upon a white girl his instincts of chivalry are 
 aroused, and he indites stern epistles to the Printed 
 Leaves. Which is precisely the reason why this one 
 has just invented and related the unprofitable and 
 wholly fabulous story to which the refined and 
 exalted mister has so politely listened." 
 
MISS PLUM-BLOSSOM 
 
XVI 
 MISS PLUM-BLOSSOM 
 
 IT is the tale of the wooing and winning of Lily 
 Lily-Ling, called Miss Plum-Blossom; of how 
 she was pursued; and of her capture by her neigh- 
 bour and countryman Sam San Phung. 
 
 Miss Plum-Blossom was London-Chinese, and 
 first saw the fog of this world on a cargo-boat as 
 it crawled up the Thames from the great seas. She 
 was registered as a native of Stepney, but her round 
 face and blunt features and olive skin furnished a 
 clear dementi of that statement. For eighteen years 
 she had lived among her countrymen, seeing little of 
 the other corners of London which are not Chinese, 
 and now was under the care of Lee Tack, known 
 as the Dragon-with-Jaws-of-Fearful-Proportions, 
 which is to say that he was a bad man; and she 
 worked as serving-maid at his establishment. 
 
 Now Sam San Phung, as he took tea and bitter 
 melon at the tea-house of Lee Tack, cast slanting 
 eyes upon the melting beauty of Plum-Blossom, and 
 would have prepared for her a shrine in his two- 
 roomed cottage in Gill Street. But lo ! there arose 
 
 245 
 
246 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 another, one Ah Toy, the Mighty One of Bodily 
 Perfection, who had much fame as a vaudeville 
 wrestler; and upon Miss Plum-Blossom he cast di- 
 rect, disconcerting eyes, so that he dazzled her. 
 
 Where to bestow her heart the maid knew not. 
 She had walked in Poplar Gardens with each, and 
 with each had given and received certain salutations. 
 But somehow . . . Ah Toy was strong and clever 
 and admired, and he had money; but he came from 
 Canton. Phung was poor and shiftless, and cut 
 but little ice; but he was of Mongolia, like herself, 
 and, like herself, was registered as a native of Step- 
 ney. Greatly she desired to escape from the uncouth 
 voice and hands of Lee Tack; but when she decided, 
 in her mind, for the one, her heart turned straight 
 to the other. When she was with Phung she wanted 
 Ah Toy; when with Ah Toy it was Phung who 
 seemed desirable. So it is with the young maid 
 throughout the world. 
 
 And so the merry comedy went on; and when 
 the two men met in the Limehouse streets or about 
 the West India Dock, Ah Toy would thrust forth 
 the mighty stomach that had made him famous, 
 and beetle upon his withering opponent. And when 
 he had passed Phung would turn and make the sign 
 of spitting and the five fingers. 
 
 But the happiness of Miss Plum-Blossom was at 
 length achieved, and this was the way of it. 
 
 It was the night of the Feast of Lanterns, in mid- 
 
MISS PLUM-BLOSSOM 247 
 
 January, and Limehouse was doing its utmost to let 
 London know about it. In Lee Tack's tea-house 
 carnival reigned, and Miss Plum-Blossom was trot- 
 ting backwards and forwards with tea and cakes 
 and noodle and chop suey and illicit drinks. From 
 a table beyond the farthest depths of the tea-house 
 came a volume of noise that beat against the noise 
 of the streets, and those near the doorway, who 
 sat in the line of the two waves of sound, were 
 drowned beneath them. In the back room, before 
 a table, stood Sam San Phung, and with him were 
 Lee Tack and Ah Toy. Ay Toy was making his 
 presence known. 
 
 "Ho Ess! Dissa one he say to hon'ble Sam San 
 Phung 'at he fight with dissa one, and if dissa one 
 he t'row hon'ble Sam he tek Miss Plum-Blossom." 
 He swayed slightly, for his bulky form was the 
 more bulky by many doses of rice-spirit. "And if 
 hon'ble Sam he t'row dissa one, 'en he tek Miss 
 Plum-Blossom. For Miss Plum-Blossom she no can 
 say wedda she like dissa one or hon'ble Sam, so dissa 
 one he " 
 
 But here Lee Tack stepped forward with the 
 dignity of a mandarin, and raised a fat yellow hand. 
 
 u Dissa one he wan no fight in dissa mis'ble^litty- 
 o-saloon. Ho no ! Hon'ble Ah Toy he wan fight 
 cos he heap big fighting fella. Ho, Plum-Blossom !" 
 
 Plum-Blossom trotted forward at the call, and 
 sidled to the table, her hands playing at her throat 
 
 

 248 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 as she glanced from one to the other. Her flat 
 face showed perplexity. 
 
 "Which you like for husband?" demanded Lee 
 Tack. "Hon'ble and upright Sam San Phung or 
 noble and round-bodied Ah Toy?" 
 
 "No can say," she murmured after a pause, scan- 
 ning Lee Tack's face as though fearing she should 
 do wrong whatever answer she gave. 
 
 "Ho!" snapped Ah Toy, "if the son of a sea- 
 slug, Sam San Phung, no fight " 
 
 Again Lee Tack silenced him. 
 
 "Fighting no good," he declared. "No equal 
 chance. You t'row cards, huh? Dissa one bring 
 five card, and plenty number he win huh?" 
 
 Miss Plum-Blossom, still immobile, nodded. Ah 
 Toy grunted. Sani San Phung looked agreement. 
 Lee Tack clapped and gave an order for cards. 
 While they waited, Sam San Phung moved to the 
 girl, and took her hand, and prattled a moment, 
 until Ah Toy thrust out his stomach, and sent Phung 
 staggering back many paces. Lee Tack raised a 
 reproving arm. Then from between the curtains 
 that concealed the staircase swam a figure carrying 
 a pack of Chinese cards. 
 
 The news had galloped round the tables in the 
 outer room and had been passed to the street; and 
 soon the room was full. The musicians ceased play- 
 ing. The boys stopped dicing. Two pipe-smokers 
 alone remained placid. The rest of the room 
 
MISS PLUM-BLOSSOM 249 
 
 centred, in a tangle of oily heads, about the little 
 wicker table in the centre. Lee Tack took the cards, 
 cut them, and dealt five to each man. Ah Toy took 
 his five and looked at them; and curses dropped 
 from his lips like spitting toads. Phung threw first 
 defiantly, a two. There was a bubble of exclama- 
 tion as Ah Toy threw four. 
 
 Ah Toy delivered an unnerving grimace, and the 
 men pressed hard on the players. Phung turned a 
 little pale as he threw three, and Ah Toy followed 
 it with two. He raised an arm, and pleaded with 
 the crowd: 
 
 "Back, Foo; back, Sway Lim." 
 
 Plum-Blossom watched with impassive face, won- 
 dering whither the cards would send her to the 
 bold Ah Toy or to the gracious Phung. 
 
 "Move! Move!" pleaded Phung again, as the 
 crowd hung heavily around him. He moved a hand 
 to his head, and pressed them with his elbow. He 
 threw eight. Ah Toy swore, and cleared the audi- 
 ence with a jerk of the arm as he threw eight, 
 followed by nine from Phung. But they crowded 
 still closer now, watching for the last throw. It 
 was not the excitement of the prize that held them. 
 A woman what did it matter? But the result of 
 a gamble that did interest them. 
 
 Ah Toy wiped his nose on his arm and threw, 
 airily, a six. They stood now Phung twenty-two 
 and Ah Toy twenty. What would the final cards 
 
250 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 do? The next throw settled it. Phung, with a 
 wooden face, wiped his brow, stretched his neck, 
 and turned up his last card ten. 
 
 There was a noise of indrawn breaths. The great 
 wrestler was beaten, and the girl was Phung's. Ah 
 Toy broke back, lifted up arm and voice, and 
 declared his intention of inflicting upon Phung a 
 chastisement that would cause the utmost discom- 
 fort and degradation to him and his totally in- 
 significant ancestors; but Lee Tack, alert for forms 
 and ceremonies, caught his arm and recalled him 
 to a sense of the proprieties. He opened the door. 
 From the street came crude music and the shuffle 
 of feet. Then the curtain was twitched aside, and 
 the giant form of Ah Toy was propelled into the 
 midst of the street revellers. 
 
 Well, Plum-Blossom was Phung's, and he paid 
 the bridal money and took her home with him. 
 And next day the wedding feast was held at Lee 
 Tack's a feast of many dishes, with wines, whisky, 
 rice-spirit and fruits. When the barbarity was at 
 its height of heat and clang, Phung slipped a hand 
 to Plum-Blossom and they shuffled from the restau- 
 rant, and out to Gill Street, and so to the shrine 
 that he had prepared for her, radiant with blue 
 and silver and ivory, and odorous with punk-sticks. 
 
 But on the fourth day after the card-drawing 
 there were those who twitted Ah Toy. They twitted 
 him with the loss of Plum-Blossom, and they twitted 
 
MISS PLUM-BLOSSOM 251 
 
 him for not showing better form when wrestling 
 the previous night on the stage of the Poplar Hippo- 
 drome. And they twitted him for being outdone 
 by a poor thing like Sam San Phung. Whereupon, 
 being a little discommoded by the existing order of 
 things in this and other worlds, he went from cafe 
 to cafe and from pub. to pub., and drank much 
 ongaway; and at the Blue Lantern he finished with 
 gin, and called upon his ancestors to assist him in 
 wreaking vengeance upon one who had wrought 
 such removal of gravity among those who had once 
 respected him. He swayed from the bar, and 
 marched with conquering, if erratic step down the 
 by-way of West India Dock Road to Gill Street, to 
 interview this Sam San Phung. He flung his tre- 
 mendous weight upon the door, which was not 
 fastened, and so precipitated himself into the front 
 room of his enemy. A' friendly table helped him 
 to recover his dignity, and he looked around. At 
 first the room seemed empty; then he saw Plum- 
 Blossom alone, and an enormous smile spilt his 
 moon-like face. As she was now the property of 
 Sam San Phung, she would serve his purpose of 
 vengeance equally well. 
 
 Behold him, then, lurching upon her. Behold 
 him mouthing to her in explanation of his unhappi- 
 ness. Behold the gin taking command of him, and 
 impelling him to weep tears of self-pity. Behold 
 her shrinking from him, with little low exclamations 
 
MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 of terror. Behold him grasping her in his rolling 
 arms, using her with the rage of the man who is 
 softly answered. 
 
 But now a quick whisper of feet on the stairs, 
 and a sharp cry behind the combatants. Ah Toy's 
 hands fell. He turned. Behold the insignificant 
 son of a water-rat, now transformed into an out* 
 raged husband, fearful in dignity. Behold Sam San 
 Phung in the doorway, face peering, mouth screwed. 
 
 He howled and sprang into the room. He slid 
 to Plum-Blossom, grasped her, and drew her against 
 him. Instinctively Ah Toy bent low, arms out- 
 stretched. Phung saw the movement, and under- 
 stood. This Ah Toy would fight him in his wrestling 
 way in which he was an acknowledged master. Well, 
 Phung would fight in his own way, and avenge the 
 disgrace of the mauling of his Plum-Blossom. For 
 some moments the men stared at each other: Ah 
 Toy, truculent, hands and face working, Phung im- 
 mobile. Plum-Blossom shrank into a corner, her 
 little robe of blue linen drawn about her slender 
 limbs. 
 
 Ah Toy took a preliminary step, playing for an 
 immediate throw from which the water-rat would 
 arise crippled. Phung did not meet the challenge, 
 but fell back till he stood by the little cupboard in 
 the corner. His right hand disappeared. Mr. 
 Jamrach, the St. George's dealer in wild live-stock, 
 does not get all the live-stock that is landed in Lon- 
 
MISS PLUM-BLOSSOM 253 
 
 don. Otherwise Phung would not be as happy as he 
 is to-day. 
 
 Suddenly his right hand reappeared under his 
 tunic. It quarrelled nervously with something. 
 Then it shot forward, and something went full at 
 the face of Ah Toy. At the sudden touch of the 
 furry, quivering thing he fell. The thing crawled 
 about and fastened itself now here, now there. He 
 delivered a high-pitched and far-reaching cry, and 
 fought it with his hands. Then he grabbed it. It 
 fought him hideously, with tiny claws and teeth, and 
 the champion wrestler screamed. Hero on the mat 
 as he was, this new opponent had found him out. 
 He rolled, and fought to find his feet while fighting 
 the thing; but, move as he would, the thing was 
 about him at all points. 
 
 At last, with a spasmodic heave, he scrambled to 
 his knees, and drew his knife. The monkey's teeth 
 were in his arm. He slashed at it, and missed, and 
 blubbered, while Phung stood away and smiled and 
 smiled. The second cut got home. The monkey 
 fell; and he dashed for the door. Phung, still smil- 
 ing, shot a lightning foot. Ah Toy fell again, and 
 again the little claws were about him ; but this time 
 he was up swiftly, dashed it away, and with a twist 
 brought the great knife down to 'Phung' s left side. 
 There was a rip of cloth. Phung fell. Lurching 
 and blubbering, Ah Toy bolted through the door. 
 
254 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 And now Plum-Blossom awoke, and gave a cry, 
 and would have fainted. But Phung was up and 
 at her side at once. He gathered her in his arms, 
 as one would a flower, and soothed her with gentle 
 phrases. Her little hands ran all about him, fearing 
 for her lord's safety. The knife where did it go? 
 He was wounded, yes he was in pain? 
 
 But no. Oh no ! He opened his tunic, showing 
 the long slit made by Ah Toy's knife. He displayed 
 the blue shirt, which showed no mark at all; for 
 inside the tunic, which he threw open, hung some- 
 thing that had been sliced through, and had saved 
 him. 
 
 "Phung' s mascots, O Springtime Blossom of the 
 Plum Tree. Mascots all-same devil-chasers 
 give Phung his Plum-Blossom for bride, and save 
 Phung's life." 
 
 With quick fingers he detached them from the 
 fastening that held them, and showed them to the 
 wondering Plum-Blossom. Then, with salutations, 
 he placed them before the little joss in the corner. 
 There were two Chinese cards, such as could be 
 slipped from the tunic while pressing the crowd 
 back in a hot room; the nine and ten which, pro- 
 duced at the right moment, had won for him the 
 game in Lee Tack's saloon. 
 
 He picked up the gibbering monkey and stowed 
 it in its basket beneath the cupboard. He stretched 
 
MISS PLUM-BLOSSOM 255 
 
 hands to Plum-Blossom, who trotted to him. He 
 laughed. 
 
 "Ho!" Ah Toy come here no more. Phung 
 make him plenty frighten. Ho ! embrace me, pao- 
 pei, embrace me nine and ten times 1" 
 
THE CANE 
 
xvn 
 
 THE CANE 
 
 THE schoolmaster of the mixed school in the 
 dock-side quarter was a most circumspect 
 man. He walked, as it were, in a frigid and dry 
 odour of sanctity. He took himself and his posi- 
 tion seriously, and his manner was fitting to his 
 calling. He looked upon himself as the keeper 
 of a charge. The young, rude citizens of the future 
 were under his care, and it behoved him to walk 
 warily and so comport himself as to bring no faint 
 suggestion of the indecorous before the notice of 
 the young minds among whom he spent his days. 
 
 Living in this fashion, he was, to a large extent, 
 severed from the realities of life, and there were 
 many subjects and aspects of subjects upon which 
 the young minds could have enlightened him. But, 
 by his training and calling, he was incapable of 
 crediting children with personality. Children were 
 children, and youth was youth or, as he preferred 
 to name it, young life. The child was not, to him, 
 a soul, but an immature adult. His class was not 
 a class of boys and girls, but grouped specimens of 
 
 *59 
 
260 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Child. As a giraffe was a giraffe, so a child was 
 a child. Such-and-such would a child think upon a 
 given subject; such-and-such would be its conduct. 
 He had got the child-mind standardised and taped; 
 and that was all there was to it. Psychology in the 
 schoolroom he dismissed. He had passed his exams., 
 and was a school teacher, and possessed all the 
 qualifications which, according to his managers, 
 completed a teacher's equipment. These managers 
 did not include imagination as part of this equip- 
 ment. 
 
 School and lodgings and a seaside holiday in the 
 summer were his life. Theatres were beyond his 
 means, and few new books were obtainable. His 
 evenings he spent in his bed-sitting-room, correcting 
 exercises, rereading his old books, or discussing the 
 newspaper with his landlady, and smoking two pipes 
 of tobacco. A walk round the houses preceded bed. 
 He chose his walks carefully: there were such ter- 
 rible places in the neighbourhood public-houses 
 and low places of entertainment. He gave these 
 places a sad glance and walked hurriedly past them, 
 lest he should receive contamination which might 
 affect his pupils. Apart from their reputation and 
 unsavoury atmosphere, he never would have entered 
 these places. So conscientious was he, this meagre, 
 parched little man, that he felt that he must, like 
 the clergy, hold himself aloof from all human 
 pleasure save of the mildest sort. He must stand 
 
THE CANE 261 
 
 outside even the suggestion of reproach; and he 
 had therefore enforced upon himself total abstinence 
 from liquor. He strove to be a shining example and, 
 like King Wenceslas, to exude moral worth and 
 integrity from his very footsteps. 
 
 His school was a mixed school, and he took 
 classes of girls and boys alternately. The scholars 
 were gathered from the two-roomed cottages of 
 the side-alleys of the district, and were a difficult 
 team. The street was their first playground, and 
 when they came to school the task of breaking them 
 in to concentrated study was no casual matter. Born 
 in those cramped alleys, and running wild from 
 babyhood, their sense of social values was choked 
 in birth. Among the methods of breaking them 
 in, the managers gave first place to corporal punish- 
 ment, administered indiscriminately to boys and girls 
 alike. They held that it was the only punishment 
 the children understood, and that it showed beneficial 
 results; and inattentive or unruly girls received the 
 cane from the men teachers in the same measure 
 as the boys. 
 
 When he had first taken up his duties he was 
 much averse from observing this rule against the 
 girls. He was a shy man, and the mere fact of 
 taking a girl's class had somewhat perplexed and 
 disconcerted him. The order to inflict punishment 
 with the cane when, in his opinion, the children 
 merited it, still further abashed him; he had even 
 
262 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 protested. Somehow ... it seemed to him . . . 
 it wasn't quite . . . But the managers said "Rub- 
 bish," and pointed out that this was a low and unruly 
 district, and that they were a rough lot of girls 
 from slummy homes, and he would have endless 
 trouble and disorder unless he followed the school 
 system. It was all for their good, and he would 
 be failing in his duty as teacher if he did not use 
 these measures. If they were not taught to behave 
 now, they would never learn: they would follow 
 their elders of the district and develop into street 
 wastrels. They concluded by telling him not to be 
 silly, and there was then nothing more to be said. 
 When, at any time, he was told not to be silly, he 
 collapsed, for he recognised that worldly wisdom 
 was not his strong point; and if a thing were ac- 
 cepted as usual, he, too, accepted it without further 
 examination. 
 
 So, in a few weeks, he had become accustomed 
 to the school and his classes, and now inflicted 
 punishment on the girls, perfunctorily and in an 
 absent way, whenever their conduct required it, 
 and thought no more about it. He had discovered 
 the truth of what the managers had said about 
 unruly characters. Naturally nervous, he hated dis- 
 order of any kind, and soon found that without 
 the cane he could not maintain quiet. 
 
 He thought no more about it for some years. 
 Then some silly busybody, without knowledge of 
 
THE CANE 263 
 
 the district, discovered the practice of this form 
 of discipline, and wrote to a leading daily paper 
 about it. Quickly it became public; and, when other 
 newspapers took it up, in a large way, the story 
 of this school where girls were caned by men, a 
 storm broke over the school and its managers. Let- 
 ters appeared denouncing the "odious practice," the 
 "frightfulness" of it, the "appalling degradation" of 
 it, for masters and pupils. For weeks the con- 
 troversy raged, and drastic action was threatened; 
 but a sudden political crisis arising at this point, the 
 papers dropped it, and it passed out of the public 
 mind. The managers ordered that the system 
 should continue. 
 
 The public controversy led, naturally, to discus- 
 sions among the teachers, who dismissed it pro- 
 fessionally, as a journalistic "stunt;" as foolish 
 vapourings by people who didn't understand; and 
 it led this particular teacher to a study of the corre- 
 spondence. This correspondence set him thinking. 
 Some of the arguments advanced against the prac- 
 tice were curiously vague, full of dark hints that were 
 strange to him. 
 
 He began to be disturbed. He began to take an 
 interest in the matter, and to find in these letters 
 much that he had never before perceived. Grim, 
 covert suggestions had been made, and they re- 
 mained with him. He remembered having read 
 somewhere that every man carried with him a demon, 
 
264 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 and he had accepted the theory about other meru 
 Had anyone suggested that he nursed a demon, he 
 would have laughed. But that week something 
 happened that filled him with fear. He had occa- 
 sion to call out for punishment a girl who had 
 hitherto given him no trouble ; Dolly Latham, a big 
 girl of thirteen. Dolly was pert; dark of hair and 
 eye and gay-footed; a girl of apple-blossom, pink 
 and white, adumbrating the golden beauty to come. 
 She moved with the delicious insouciance of the 
 child, mixed with the first conscious grace of woman; 
 and the shy, uncertain lines of her figure carried in 
 their promise as much beauty as the perfect achieve- 
 ment. 
 
 The thing that startled him, that left him sitting 
 scared and dumb at his desk, was, that after he 
 had used the cane upon her, and she was returning 
 to her seat, she flashed a backward glance at him 
 from the depths of her big eyes: a glance that 
 linked itself in his mind with the curious things 
 upon which he had lately pondered. Until this 
 day he had hardly noticed her. She had given little 
 trouble, and had been to him but one of a group 
 of children, a unit, identified only by a name. It 
 was not until this close relationship occurred be- 
 tween delinquent and master, and that curious 
 glance. ... It sat upon his mind. 
 
 Next day he had occasion again to punish her, 
 and a sharp emotion swept over him and drove out 
 
THE CANE 265 
 
 the detached judicial motive. An emotion which 
 filled him, on the one side, with disgust, as he 
 tried to ignore it, and, on the other side, with a 
 cold and dark delight. He feared it and fought 
 it while secretly hugging it. That night he walked 
 home in a mixed state of concern and abandon; and 
 his landlady noted his condition, and he was con- 
 scious of her attention, and cunningly gave her 
 cause to think he had been drinking. This low sub- 
 terfuge, so unusual to him, set him wondering still 
 further about himself. He hardly dared to think, 
 lest he should discover somewhere in a recess of 
 his mind something that knew and understood the 
 cause of his disorder. 
 
 He wanted to talk to his colleagues about it; to 
 discover whether they, too, had suffered these queer 
 disturbances on similar occasions; but he felt some 
 awkwardness in approaching the question. If he 
 introduced it and threw out hints, they might mark 
 him as a monster. Perhaps he was a monster. Or 
 perhaps it was stupid sensitiveness on his side. From 
 the attitude they had taken on the newspaper at- 
 tacks, it was clear that they were in no way troubled 
 by their duty and thought nothing of the detailed 
 indictments. It was a part of the day's routine 
 to which they gave no consideration. No, he could 
 not talk to them : he could only wonder and specu- 
 late, and, by wondering, he slowly fed this strange 
 disorder. 
 
266 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 All through the class hours he was conscious of 
 the girl, and began to notice that, from this raw, 
 unkempt herd, she stood out bold, bright, alert. 
 He found himself making a mark of her, and doing 
 deliberately what hitherto he had done perfunc- 
 torily. He seized every trivial occasion to indulge 
 himself with this intoxicating power, concentrating 
 upon her, and even manufacturing excuses for call- 
 ing her out; and when her large eyes clashed with 
 his he was filled with a quiet ferocity. He wanted 
 to hurt her. He flicked and lashed her with his 
 tongue throughout the day, holding her up to the 
 laughter of the class; and he noted, with a pleasure 
 he could not stifle, the slow crimson that crept up 
 her face as the chosen words stung her. He dared 
 not honestly recognise the dreadful enjoyment that 
 was his as he stood over her, cane in hand, and 
 she stood shrinking before him; and how each gasp 
 of pain that he drew from her was coldly echoed 
 within him. But something in him did recognise 
 with horror that Dolly set herself in every way, 
 by inattention and unruly behaviour, to challenge 
 him. The more often she was whipped, the more 
 she seemed to presume some sinister alliance be- 
 tween them ; unspoken, yet known to both. 
 
 "Can't think what's come over my genterman 
 lately," his landlady said to her next-door lady. 
 " 'E don't seem like the same man. Always was 
 
THE CANE 267 
 
 quiet, but Vs got quieter lately. And a funny way 
 about him sheepish, like." 
 
 He grew more and more morose, shutting him- 
 self away from all intercourse. He began to won- 
 der whether the ideas that rambled in his mind 
 were perceived by others. It seemed at times, to 
 his heated fancy, that the girls of his class began 
 to give him closer attention. Each time he pun- 
 ished a girl it seemed to him that they watched 
 him with cute, secret glances. When he called 
 Dolly out, she walked out flirtatiously, and it seemed 
 to him that his class was one broad grin. He knew 
 that all of them were aware of the newspaper 
 attacks on the school, and he began to wonder if 
 they saw; if they knew. But it was of Dolly that 
 he most thought. No matter how severe the punish- 
 ment, always, as she returned to her seat, she would 
 toss that backward glance of understanding. He 
 began to want earnestly to talk with her; to discover 
 what that bright head held; to reassure himself that 
 she was just an idle, careless hoyden of the slums, 
 answering discipline with the facetious defiance of 
 ill-breeding. 
 
 So he thought and thought, and day by day the 
 beast grew within him, and night by night he would 
 go TTome to his lodgings, stricken. Horror walked 
 at his elbow and plucked at his sleeve, and stabbed 
 him with wink and leer. He lived in a spate of light 
 intoxication, as though a fluent fire were playing 
 
268 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 within him. He began to cast about him for means 
 of escape from this possession. He thought of re- 
 signing his position, and finding another school 
 where the custom was not in operation, but the 
 thought of change was startling to him : he had lived 
 in this district for twenty years now. And some 
 quiet, chuckling voice inside him said No; a quiet 
 voice, but stronger than the strongest of the op- 
 posing voices. 
 
 He knew now what it was that he nursed within 
 him, and he ceased to think or to care. He sur- 
 rendered himself to the exquisite drug, and thought 
 with delight of the secret paradise to which he 
 had access. 
 
 And one afternoon, when he had dismissed the 
 class, he kept Dolly in, and punished her in private, 
 ferociously, and talked with her. 
 
 It was late when he let her go, and the sidelong 
 rays of the evening sun as they slid through the 
 schoolroom windows slanted upon his desk, and a 
 poor, crumpled man that sat before it, bowed and 
 sick. When, after some long time, he raised his 
 eyes they fell upon the school cane. With a sudden 
 effort he roused himself. He sprang from the chair, 
 seized the frightful thing, twisted it into many shape- 
 less fragments, and hurled it to a corner, with horrid 
 curses upon those who had compelled him to use it. 
 
 Then he took.his hat and coat and went out. He 
 was last seen on a wharf at the river's edge. 
 
THE SONG OF HO LING 
 
xvm 
 
 THE SONG OF HO LING 
 
 BEHIND the small candle-lit windows of a cot- 
 tage in Poplar High Street maladroit fingers 
 were plucking from a Chinese guitar a yearning 
 song of two notes, and a metallic voice was singing 
 out of time and out of tune with the guitar. Fingers 
 and voice belonged to young Ho Ling, and the 
 song was a song of Acknowledgment and Avowal, 
 On the first notes of the song the curtains of the 
 window opposite were twitched aside, and between 
 them appeared the head and shoulders of Amber 
 Goldstein. About the head and shoulders swirled 
 an eddy of dense auburn curls, and the bright mouth 
 and fine nose were lit by yet brighter eyes. A 
 girl of spirit and ability. 
 
 Nightly this ceremony was performed. Nightly 
 at six o'clock Ho Ling would drag his guitar from 
 its place beneath the bed and carry it to the win- 
 dow; and there he would sit and sing to Amber 
 Goldstein his song of a service rendered and of 
 an holy obligation as yet unfulfilled, but to be ful- 
 filled at whatsoever time he should be called upon 
 
 271 
 
872 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 by his benefactress, the young lady across the road. 
 And nightly the young lady would appear at her 
 window and smile a quick acknowledgment of his 
 declaration of fidelity. And Ho Ling would smile 
 back, worshipping the marvellous, pale, bright 
 beauty of her. 
 
 Very pious was Ho Ling in his observance of 
 the teachings of the Four Books. None so devote 
 in worship of his ancestors and in service to his 
 aged father with whom he lived. None so careful 
 a student of the Book of Filial Piety and the I-li 
 and the Li-Chi. From the hands of the white 
 woman across the road he had received a service. 
 He was under a deep obligation to her. His faith 
 required that that obligation be discharged; now 
 or later, he or some other member of the house 
 of Ho must serve that woman at any time when 
 she stood in need of service. Nothing must come 
 between him and the performance of that solemn 
 duty. He must wait and watch until occasion arose 
 for the redemption of his assurance. 
 
 The favour which she had bestowed upon him 
 was of a somewhat intimate nature; nothing less 
 than misleading the police in their marshalling of 
 evidence against his old and too gay-hearted father. 
 It was Amber Goldstein who, for some womanly 
 whimsy possibly some amused concern at the im- 
 potent despair of Ho Ling; possibly some fleeting 
 thought of his forlorn butterfly smile it was she 
 
THE SONG OF HO LING 273 
 
 who smeared her fresh lips with a lie, and proved 
 to the police that old Ho Wong was not a bird, 
 and could not be in two places at once. Dearer 
 than life to Ho Ling was this aged and roguish 
 father of his. For him he lived and worked and 
 strove, and sometimes stole, following the precepts 
 of the Books; and a service done to the old man 
 was esteemed by him more highly than a greater 
 service done to himself. 
 
 The charge was that old Ho Wong was con- 
 cerned in the stabbing of Lop-ear Langford, an 
 officer of the Blue Lantern's Army of Hiccupation. 
 The charge was truly laid. Lop-ear Langford had 
 pulled the nose of Ho Wong and had knocked over 
 his drink : "learning the yeller bahstuds to keep their 
 places/' he called it; and the" night following Ho 
 Wong had waited in an alley-way for the Lop-ear, 
 and had used his knife upon him in a way sufficient 
 to justify a conviction for causing grievous bodily 
 harm. Two people saw and identified Ho Wong, 
 and the case looked bad for him. In exceeding 
 agitation of mind and body, his dutiful son went 
 about the Quarter, seeking to discover some who 
 had seen his sire at that hour in other places; but 
 as he had but four or five shillings to his hand, he 
 found none who could say, assuredly, that they had 
 seen him. 
 
 It chanced, however, that the two witnesses 
 against him had themselves made frequent appear- 
 
274 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 ances in the dock, and the magistrate hinted to the 
 police that such witnesses required corroboration. 
 This could not be brought; wherefore, when Amber 
 Goldstein voluntarily came forward, and stated that 
 Ho Wong had spent the whole evening in her shop, 
 playing chess, the charge was dismissed. For Amber 
 was a respectable young woman, with a thriving 
 second-hand clothes business. The police had no 
 official knowledge of her, and agreed that her testi- 
 mony might be considered as unimpeachable. 
 
 Upon this, young Ho Ling came to Amber with 
 many protestations of gratitude, desiring to know 
 in what manner he might repay her. But Amber 
 made light of it; dismissed it, airily, .s a matter of 
 no consequence; as a thing that was done perfunc- 
 torily, the outcome of a mood, carrying with it 
 nothing to justify a second thought. She did not 
 say that virtue was its own reward; but she implied 
 that she had done this to please herself, and that 
 there was nothing to make a song about. But 
 Ho Ling ransacked his poor room ; and came across 
 with gifts; a cast-off opium pipe of bamboo, a Chi- 
 nese banner, two little tasselled devil-chasers, an 
 empty ginger-jar and his guitar. But Amber would 
 have nothing. She smiled upon his gifts, and 
 refused them; and when he pressed them upon her, 
 she drove him, in mock exasperation, from her shop, 
 and commanded him never to mention it again. 
 
 But he was not so easily quieted. What was 
 
THE SONG OF HO LING 275 
 
 to her a trifle, an idle digression, an unrehearsed 
 gesture, was to him a sacrament, a precious gift, 
 something whose value could not be weighed or 
 measured or computed; something that would rest 
 upon him and his family until requited. Had it 
 been a mere casual service, costing her nothing, its 
 effect upon him would have been the same. But 
 it was more: she had made a sacrifice for him; 
 she had told a lie in his behalf. It could not be 
 forgotten. 
 
 And, deliberately flouting her statement, that it 
 was nothing to make a song about, he retired to 
 his room and made a song about it; and, as I have 
 told you, sang it to her every evening thereafter. 
 
 His honourable papa, however, was not so zealous 
 as himself in observing the precepts of the founder 
 of the ancient line of Ho, and the song made 
 frequent quarrels between them. Ho Wong's at- 
 titude towards these matters was rather that of 
 the white man than the yellow "I didn't ask her 
 to do it. If it pleases people to go out of their 
 way to help others, let them do it. If they didn't 
 like doing it they wouldn't do it. We didn't ask 
 for it. We have given thanks, and that's enough." 
 And he rated his son soundly for wasting his eve- 
 nings by singing to Amber Goldstein, and hanging 
 about her shop during the day, watching for oppor- 
 tunity to serve her. And as young Ho Ling loved 
 his father, he suffered under these reproaches. 
 
276 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Often he tried to make his father acknowledge the 
 solemn obligation under which the house of Ho 
 rested, but his father only made signs with his 
 fingers and spoke the Chinese equivalent of "Rats!" 
 It seems that his father had little respect for the 
 ancient house of Ho : so long as he could eat his 
 rice in tranquillity he felt that he could comfortably 
 leave the house of Ho to look after itself. Venera- 
 tion of family history, usually strong in fathers and 
 weak in sons, was here to be found only in the son. 
 
 Ho Wong spoke further, and in harsh terms, of 
 his son's subjection to this white woman, fearing 
 that she was doing him a bit of "no-good," and was 
 making him neglectful of his true business of touting 
 for lodgers for the lodging-houses on commission 
 and thereby reducing the slender income and sup- 
 plies of rice-spirit of himself. It did not need a 
 peevish father to observe that Ho Ling, from grati- 
 tude for service rendered, was speedily drifting 
 towards a deeper feeling for the benefactress. 
 
 "She is a woman, and she is white, O son with 
 the brains of the peacock. If she looks thus fondly 
 upon you at evenings in response to your song 
 which, to my untutored ear, is as the grinding of 
 iron wheels upon sandstone it is because she desires 
 to ensnare you and work her guile upon you. This 
 person, who has seen the passing of many vears, 
 might were he to cast off the restraint of experi- 
 ence find something not wholly displeasing in her 
 
THE SONG OF HO LING 277 
 
 pale-faced beauty. But I am past your age, and 
 am wise and poor. Think not that I speak against 
 her out of rivalry with you. Were I dowered with 
 your youth and vigour and attainments and 
 ignorance and she smiled upon me, I do not say 
 that I would not in some measure imitate the accom- 
 plished manoeuvres of the duck expiring under a 
 thunder-storm. But it is not so. I am of an age to 
 be read in the ways of woman. Mysterious and 
 deadly are they all towards men, and most dark 
 and hostile when they are white-skinned. There- 
 fore, O son, take heed. For there is that in the face 
 of the white woman which is not for your good. 
 She will bring sorrow upon you, my son. Ay, and 
 sorrow upon me also. Did you not last week bring 
 home a barely-to-be-looked-upon three shillings for 
 the sustenance of your much-enduring father? Take 
 heed." 
 
 Whereto Ho Ling lifted up his voice and cried: 
 "O my father, nothing holds with me before the 
 desire to serve my august and venerable father. 
 But is it not clear to you that but for this white 
 woman my august father would be languishing in 
 a cold and indescribably dreadful English prison, 
 eating the food of coolies and toiling for white mas- 
 ters? O my father, great debt our house owes to 
 this woman, for she saved us from dishonour and 
 you from misery. I cannot look upon her without 
 thinking of that load of service to be discharged. 
 
278 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Surely virtue and beauty must dwell in one who 
 could so venture herself as to render service to 
 us who are nothing to her?" 
 
 To which old Ho Wong again spoke the Chinese 
 phrase implying "Rats!" 
 
 But a week later the occasion of their quarrel was 
 removed. Opportunity was given to Ho Ling to 
 redeem his vows, and set free the house of Ho from 
 its obligation. He came home on Saturday evening, 
 and handed two shillings to his venerable father, as 
 his week's allowance for social dalliance; and when 
 his father demanded more, he replied that his 
 labours had been but ill rewarded that week, and 
 there was no more, save what should keep them in 
 food. And his father rose and employed terms of 
 no-veneration against his son, accusing him of hav- 
 ing wasted time upon the white woman which might 
 better have been used in earning money. He spoke 
 of himself as suffering under emotions of the most 
 disagreeable and hardly-to-be-endured nature, and 
 went angrily. 
 
 Left alone, Ho Ling moved for awhile about 
 the room; then, having sung his evening song, and 
 waited vainly for acknowledgment from the op- 
 posite wwidow, he too went out and mixed himself 
 in the melancholy turmoil of Chinatown's evening. 
 He walked up West India Dock Road, and stopped 
 at the Causeway, and stood looking along its narrow 
 length. In its primrose twilight many figures 
 
THE SONG OF HO LING 279 
 
 strolled, stood, shuffled and turned. He stood in 
 blank indecision for some moments ; then, moved by 
 some impulse, he glided into its inviting dusk, and 
 passed through it to Narrow Street. Along this he 
 walked some way until he came to the derelict 
 wharves. Here he stood for some moments snuffing 
 like a dog at the dark perfume of the water-side, 
 and gazing across the river, which threw up a leaden 
 light. 
 
 He was turning to the Causeway again when he 
 heard voices. He looked round, and saw nobody; 
 but from behind a pile of rotting barrels fell a 
 cascade of sibilants; and following it a firm, sharp 
 voice: "You leave me alone! D'y'ear? Else I'll 
 call the police!' 1 
 
 The voice of Amber Goldstein. Hot upon it fol- 
 lowed the thin, shrilly voice of his father, who spoke 
 English so chaotically that even sailors could not 
 understand him. Ho Ling moved forward to get 
 a view of the disputants and discover what was to-do. 
 Here were his two nearest oiies quarrelling: he must 
 intervene, and skilfully, without giving offence to 
 either. As he turned the corner, Amber's voice rose 
 again. "I dunno wod yer talking about. But you 
 
 leave me alone, yeh dirty beast! Else I'll " 
 
 And he saw that his father held Amber by the wrist, 
 and was pushing her, and that she stood on the edge 
 of the wharf with her back to the water. A mo- 
 ment's loss of balance and she would be over. 
 
280 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Without thinking, he sprang forward to place 
 himself between them and part them. But, as he 
 did so Amber, already scared, saw only an antic 
 figure leaping upon her out of the dusk; and, antici- 
 pating some fresh peril, tried to step aside to avoid 
 it. Flurried, she missed her footing and slipped 
 She slithered and kicked for a moment over the edge 
 of the wharf, and grabbed the sleeve of Ho Wong, 
 who had her wrist. Then, together, they shot over 
 into the river. 
 
 A flood-tide was beating up; and Ho Ling saw 
 his father and his benefactress struggling against the 
 currents. Neither, he knew, could swim. A quick 
 glance satisfied him that thre was no boat within 
 hail and that the wharf was bare of rope or belt. 
 He knew that he must go in; he knew that with 
 that tide running he could not save both. In that 
 moment, he was faced with a frightful problem. 
 Which must come first his sacred blood-tie with 
 his father or the equally sacred obligation to the 
 white woman who had served his house. 
 
 Through his mind flashed the words of The Book 
 of Filial Piety enjoining utmost sacrifice for the 
 parent's sake ; and with them the words of Mencius 
 on the solemnity of discharging services rendered 
 by strangers. His father was at the point of death, 
 and he could save him. But his benefactress was 
 in like position, and he recalled his song and its 
 solemn vow made before the joss. Here now was 
 
THE SONG OF HO LING 281 
 
 the opportunity to perform that vow and discharge 
 the obligation from the house of Ho, Now or 
 never for he knew that Amber Goldstein had no 
 family, no blood-relation upon whom he might later 
 discharge it. Now was the time or for ever he 
 must wander with this burden upon him and his 
 house, this unrequited service to lie as a curse upon 
 his children and their children's children. 
 
 Yet his father dare he neglect him even for such 
 a vow as this? After all, his father was a man, 
 a father of a son, and this other was but a woman 
 a white woman. Too, she herself had made 
 nothing of the service, and had persistently declared 
 that it called for no reward. But there were his 
 vow and his song. Yet the most holy of all ties 
 bound him to his father. What would be said of 
 him by the spirits when it became known that he 
 left his father to die and saved some white woman? 
 Yet how would he stand when the charge was made 
 that he had left a benefactress to die, with his ob- 
 ligations undischarged, when the power to save her 
 was in his hands? There was the unchangeable law 
 of requital of service and sacrifice ; the more stringent 
 in such a case as his, where the service was bestowed 
 by a white. And there was the everlasting law of 
 utmost duty to parents. 
 
 For two seconds Ho Ling stood, while he thought 
 of these things. This short, sharp conflict of in- 
 stincts, battling with each other, lasted no longer. 
 
282 MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS 
 
 Then, his head whirling with the combating im- 
 pulses, he dropped his canvas coat, poised on his toes, 
 and leapt to the water. As his head split the water, 
 the icy shock of it cleared him, and he made his 
 decision. With sturdy strokes he swam towards one 
 of the struggling figures. 
 Which? 
 
 THE END 
 
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