DOI article:
Russell, T. Baron: A Guardian of the Poor
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26392#0216
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A Guardian of the Poor
and nuzzle its cold nose against his neck, while he pulled its ears
caressingly and tried to look into the eager, welcoming eyes. To
a man humbled, lonely, and as yet childless, the demonstrative
admiration of the dog was precious: this one living thing, and the
tired woman upstairs, looked up to him, and he could not spare
even the dog’s homage.
Presently he turned to the deal table—spotless, and scrubbed
until the harder fibres of the wood stood out in ridges where the
softer parts had worn away. On one corner a piece of coarse
tablecloth, oft darned, had been spread and turned over, to cover
something that lay under it. He turned it back and began to eat
his supper of bread and cheese, cutting off snips of rind to throw
to the dog, sitting alert on its haunches with anticipatory wags.
Supper finished, Hunt took his money, in a dirty canvas bag, from
his pocket, and laid it out on the table. Seven shillings for the
rent, three shillings to complete the guinea that was hoarding for
a certain other purpose ; that left thirty shillings. Two shillings
for his own pocket; eighteen shillings, Mary’s housekeeping
money; two shillings for the old mother who lived down in
Camberwell, to be near the workhouse, whence came a small
weekly relief that helped to keep her. Eight shillings over: John
thought he knew of a shop where a second-hand frockcoat (his
strict official costume as shop-walker) was offered for ten shillings,
but might be compassed, with discretion, for eight. He gathered
up the money, and looked wistfully at the tin tobacco-box on the
dresser shelf.
No ; it was empty, he remembered. He had not been able to
save the threepence halfpenny this week. Still—there might be
a few grains of dust in it. He took down a blackened clay pipe,
ran his little finger round the bowl, and shook the box tentatively.
Something rustled within ; he put his thumb nail to the lid. Half
an
A Guardian of the Poor
and nuzzle its cold nose against his neck, while he pulled its ears
caressingly and tried to look into the eager, welcoming eyes. To
a man humbled, lonely, and as yet childless, the demonstrative
admiration of the dog was precious: this one living thing, and the
tired woman upstairs, looked up to him, and he could not spare
even the dog’s homage.
Presently he turned to the deal table—spotless, and scrubbed
until the harder fibres of the wood stood out in ridges where the
softer parts had worn away. On one corner a piece of coarse
tablecloth, oft darned, had been spread and turned over, to cover
something that lay under it. He turned it back and began to eat
his supper of bread and cheese, cutting off snips of rind to throw
to the dog, sitting alert on its haunches with anticipatory wags.
Supper finished, Hunt took his money, in a dirty canvas bag, from
his pocket, and laid it out on the table. Seven shillings for the
rent, three shillings to complete the guinea that was hoarding for
a certain other purpose ; that left thirty shillings. Two shillings
for his own pocket; eighteen shillings, Mary’s housekeeping
money; two shillings for the old mother who lived down in
Camberwell, to be near the workhouse, whence came a small
weekly relief that helped to keep her. Eight shillings over: John
thought he knew of a shop where a second-hand frockcoat (his
strict official costume as shop-walker) was offered for ten shillings,
but might be compassed, with discretion, for eight. He gathered
up the money, and looked wistfully at the tin tobacco-box on the
dresser shelf.
No ; it was empty, he remembered. He had not been able to
save the threepence halfpenny this week. Still—there might be
a few grains of dust in it. He took down a blackened clay pipe,
ran his little finger round the bowl, and shook the box tentatively.
Something rustled within ; he put his thumb nail to the lid. Half
an