I stood on one floor of the poor man’s hotel and listened.  I went from bed to bed and looked at the sleepers.  They were young men, from twenty to forty, most of them.  Old men cannot afford the working-man’s home.  They go to the workhouse.  But I looked at the young men, scores of them, and they were not bad-looking fellows.  Their faces were made for women’s kisses, their necks for women’s arms.  They were lovable, as men are lovable.  They were capable of love.  A woman’s touch redeems and softens, and they needed such redemption and softening instead of each day growing harsh and harsher.  And I wondered where these women were, and heard a “harlot’s ginny laugh.”  Leman Street, Waterloo Road, Piccadilly, The Strand, answered me, and I knew where they were.

CHAPTER XXI—­THE PRECARIOUSNESS OF LIFE

I was talking with a very vindictive man.  In his opinion, his wife had wronged him and the law had wronged him.  The merits and morals of the case are immaterial.  The meat of the matter is that she had obtained a separation, and he was compelled to pay ten shillings each week for the support of her and the five children.  “But look you,” said he to me, “wot’ll ’appen to ‘er if I don’t py up the ten shillings?  S’posin’, now, just s’posin’ a accident ‘appens to me, so I cawn’t work.  S’posin’ I get a rupture, or the rheumatics, or the cholera.  Wot’s she goin’ to do, eh?  Wot’s she goin’ to do?”

He shook his head sadly.  “No ’ope for ’er.  The best she cawn do is the work’ouse, an’ that’s ‘ell.  An’ if she don’t go to the work’ouse, it’ll be a worse ’ell.  Come along ‘ith me an’ I’ll show you women sleepin’ in a passage, a dozen of ’em.  An’ I’ll show you worse, wot she’ll come to if anythin’ ’appens to me and the ten shillings.”

The certitude of this man’s forecast is worthy of consideration.  He knew conditions sufficiently to know the precariousness of his wife’s grasp on food and shelter.  For her game was up when his working capacity was impaired or destroyed.  And when this state of affairs is looked at in its larger aspect, the same will be found true of hundreds of thousands and even millions of men and women living amicably together and co-operating in the pursuit of food and shelter.

The figures are appalling:  1,800,000 people in London live on the poverty line and below it, and 1,000,000 live with one week’s wages between them and pauperism.  In all England and Wales, eighteen per cent. of the whole population are driven to the parish for relief, and in London, according to the statistics of the London County Council, twenty-one per cent. of the whole population are driven to the parish for relief.  Between being driven to the parish for relief and being an out-and-out pauper there is a great difference, yet London supports 123,000 paupers, quite a city of folk in themselves.  One in every four in London dies on public charity, while 939 out of every 1000 in the United Kingdom die in poverty; 8,000,000 simply struggle on the ragged edge of starvation, and 20,000,000 more are not comfortable in the simple and clean sense of the word.