The Young Trawler | Page 4

Ruth Dotropy to a magnificent duchess-like woman,
"I've come to ask you about the poor--"
"Ruth, dear," interrupted the mother, "I wish you would not worry me
about the poor! They're a troublesome, ill-doing set; always grumbling,
dirty, ill-natured, suspicious, and envious of the rich--as if it was our
fault that we are rich! I don't want to hear anything more about the
poor."
Ruth, who was a soft-cheeked, soft-handed, and soft-hearted girl of
eighteen, stood, hat in hand, before her mother with a slight smile on
her rosy lips.
"You are not quite just to the poor, mother," returned Ruth, scarce able
to restrain a laugh at her parent's vehemence. "Some of them are all that
you say, no doubt, but there are many, even among the poorest of the
poor, who are good-natured, well-doing, unsuspicious, and respectful,
not only to the rich but also to each other and to everybody. There is
Mrs Wolsey, for instance, she--"
"Oh! but she's an exception, you know," said Mrs Dotropy, "there are
not many like Mrs Wolsey."
"And there is Mrs Gladman," continued Ruth.

"Yes, but she's another exception."
"And Mrs Robbie."
"Why, Ruth, what's the use of picking out all the exceptions to prove
your point? Of course the exception proves the rule--at least so the
proverb says--but a great many exceptions prove nothing that I know of,
except--that is--but what's the use of arguing, child, you'll never be
convinced. Come, how much do you want me to give?"
Easy-going Mrs Dotropy's mind, we need scarcely point out, was of a
confused type, and she "hated argument." Perhaps, on the whole, it was
to the advantage of her friends and kindred that she did so.
"I only want you to give a little time, mother," replied Ruth, swinging
her hat to and fro, while she looked archly into Mrs Dotropy's large,
dignified, and sternly-kind countenance, if we may venture on such an
expression,--"I want you to go with me and see--"
"Yes, yes, I know what you're going to say, child, you want me to go
and `see for myself,' which means that I'm to soil my boots in filthy
places, subject my ears to profanity, my eyes to horrible sights, and my
nose to intolerable smells. No, Ruth, I cannot oblige you. Of what use
would it be? If my doing this would relieve the miseries of the poor,
you might reasonably ask me to go among them, but it would not. I
give them as much money as I can afford to give, and, as far as I can
see, it does them no good. They never seem better off, and they always
want more. They are not even grateful for it. Just look at Lady
Openhand. What good does she accomplish by her liberality, and her
tearful eyes, and sympathetic heart, even though her feelings are
undoubtedly genuine? Only the other day I chanced to walk behind her
along several streets and saw her stop and give money to seven or eight
beggars who accosted her. She never can refuse any one who asks with
a pitiful look and a pathetic cock-and-bull story. Several of them were
young and strong, and quite undeserving of charity. Three, I observed,
went straight to a public-house with what she had given them, and the
last, a small street boy, went into fits of suppressed laughter after she
had passed, and made faces at her--finishing off by putting the thumb

of his left hand to his nose, and spreading out his fingers as wide as
possible. I do not understand the exact significance of that action, but
there is something in it so intensely insolent that it is quite incompatible
with the idea of gratitude."
"Yes, mother, I saw him too," said Ruth, with a demure look; "it
curiously enough happened that I was following you at the time. You
afterwards passed the same boy with a refusal, I suppose?"
"Yes, child, of course--and a reproof."
"I thought so. Well, after you had passed, he not only applied his left
thumb to his nose and spread his fingers, but also put the thumb of his
right hand against the little finger of his left, and spread out the other
five fingers at you. So, whatever he meant Lady Openhand to receive,
he meant you to have twice as much. But Lady Openhand makes a
mistake, I think, she does not consider the poor; she only feels deeply
for them and gives to them."
"Only feels and gives!" repeated Mrs Dotropy, with a look of solemn
amazement.
Being quite incapable of disentangling or expressing the flood of ideas
that overwhelmed her, the good lady relieved herself after a few broken
sentences, with the assertion that it was of no use arguing with Ruth,
for