Born in Exile by George Gissing Read Free Book Online

no
judicious mind assumed control of him. What is to be done with the
boy?
    All very well, if the question signified, in what way to provide
for the healthy development of his manhood. Of course it meant
nothing of the sort, but merely: What work can be found for him
whereby he may earn his daily bread? We—his kinsfolk even, not to
think of the world at large—can have no concern with his growth as
an intellectual being; we are hard pressed to supply our own mouths
with food; and now that we have done our recognised duty by him, it
is high time that he learnt to fight for his own share of
provender. Happily, he is of the robust sex; he can hit out right
and left, and make standing-room. We have armed him with
serviceable weapons, and now he must use them against the
enemy—that is to say, against all mankind, who will quickly enough
deprive him of sustenance if he fail in the conflict. We neither
know, nor in great measure care, for what employment he is
naturally marked. Obviously he cannot heave coals or sell dogs'
meat, but with negative certainty not much else can be resolved,
seeing how desperate is the competition for minimum salaries. He
has been born, and he must eat. By what licensed channel may he
procure the necessary viands?
    Paternal relatives Godwin had as good as none. In quitting
London, Nicholas Peak had ceased to hold communication with any of
his own stock save the younger brother Andrew. With him he
occasionally exchanged a letter, but Andrew's share in the
correspondence was limited to ungrammatical and often
unintelligible hints of numerous projects for money-making. Just
after the removal of the bereaved family to Twybridge, they were
surprised by a visit from Andrew, in answer to one of whose letters
Mrs. Peak had sent news of her husband's death. Though her dislike
of the man amounted to loathing, the widow could not refuse him
hospitality; she did her best, however, to prevent his coming in
contact with anyone she knew. Andrew declared that he was at length
prospering; he had started a coffee-shop at Dalston, in north-east
London, and positively urged a proposal (well-meant, beyond doubt)
that Godwin should be allowed to come to him and learn the
business. Since then the Londoner had once again visited Twybridge,
towards the end of Godwin's last school-year. This time he spoke of
himself less hopefully, and declared a wish to transfer his
business to some provincial town, where he thought his metropolitan
experience might be of great value, in the absence of serious
competition. It was not difficult to discover a family likeness
between Andrew's instability and the idealism which had proved the
ruin of Nicholas.
    On this second occasion Godwin tried to escape a meeting with
his uncle. Unable to do so, he sat mute, replying to questions
monosyllabically. Mrs. Peak's shame and annoyance, in face of this
London-branded vulgarian, were but feeble emotions compared with
those of her son. Godwin hated the man, and was in dread lest any
school-fellow should come to know of such a connection. Yet
delicacy prevented his uttering a word on the subject to his
mother. Mrs Peak's silence after Andrew's departure made it
uncertain how she regarded the obligation of kindred, and in any
such matter as this the boy was far too sensitive to risk giving
pain. But to his brother Oliver he spoke.
    'What is the brute to us? When I'm a man, let him venture to
come near me, and see what sort of a reception he'll get! I hate
low, uneducated people! I hate them worse than the filthiest
vermin!—don't you?'
    Oliver, aged but thirteen, assented, as he habitually did to any
question which seemed to await an affirmative.
    'They ought to be swept off the face of the earth!' pursued
Godwin, sitting up in bed—for the dialogue took place about eleven
o'clock at night. 'All the grown-up creatures, who can't speak
proper English and don't know how to behave themselves, I'd
transport them to the Falkland Islands,'—this