'But the work and the long hours was killing me,' he said, 'and Ihad to chuck the job.I had a little money saved, but I spent it living and looking for another place.'
This was his first night in the spike, and he had come in only to get rested.As soon as he emerged he intended to start for Bristol, a one-hundred-and-ten-mile walk, where he thought he would eventually get a ship for the States.
But the men in the line were not all of this caliber.Some were poor, wretched beasts, inarticulate and callous, but for all of that, in many ways very human.I remember a carter, evidently returning home after the day's work, stopping his cart before us so that his young hopeful, who had run to meet him, could climb in.But the cart was big, the young hopeful little, and he failed in his several attempts to swarm up.Whereupon one of the most degraded-looking men stepped out of the line and hoisted him in.Now the virtue and the joy of this act lies in that it was service of love, not hire.The carter was poor, and the man knew it; and the man was standing in the spike line, and the carter knew it; and the man had done the little act, and the carter had thanked him, even as you and I would have done and thanked.
Another beautiful touch was that displayed by the 'Hopper' and his 'ole woman.' He had been in line about half an hour when the 'ole woman' (his mate) came up to him.She was fairly clad, for her class, with a weatherworn bonnet on her gray head and a sacking covered bundle in her arms.As she talked to him, he reached forward, caught the one stray wisp of the white hair that was flying wild, deftly twirled it between his fingers, and tucked it back properly behind her ear.From all of which one may conclude many things.He certainly liked her well enough to wish her to be neat and tidy.He was proud of her, standing there in the spike line, and it was his desire that she should look well in the eyes of the other unfortunates who stood in the spike line.But last and best, and underlying all these motives, it was a sturdy affection he bore her;for man is not prone to bother his head over neatness and tidiness in a woman for whom he does not care, nor is he likely to be proud of such a woman.
And I found myself questioning why this man and his mate, hard workers I knew from their talk, should have to seek a pauper lodging.He had pride, pride in his old woman and pride in himself.
When I asked him what he thought I, a greenhorn, might expect to earn at 'hopping,' he sized me up, and said that it all depended.
Plenty of people were too slow to pick hops and made a failure of it.A man, to succeed, must use his head and be quick with his fingers, must be exceeding quick with his fingers.Now he and his old woman could do very well at it, working the one bin between them and not going to sleep over it; but then, they had been at it for years.
'I 'ad a mate as went down last year,' spoke up a man.'It was 'is fust time, but 'e come back wi' two poun' ten in 'is pockit, an' 'e was only gone a month.'
'There you are,' said the Hopper, a wealth of admiration in his voice.'E was quick.'E was jest nat'rally born to it, 'e was.'
Two pound ten- twelve dollars and a half- for a month's work when one is 'jest nat'rally born to it'! And in addition, sleeping out without blankets and living the Lord knows how.There are moments when I am thankful that I was not 'jest nat'rally born' a genius for anything, not even hop-picking.
In the matter of getting an outfit for 'the hops,' the Hopper gave me some sterling advice, to which same give heed, you soft and tender people, in case you should ever be stranded in London Town.
'If you ain't got tins an' cookin' things, all as you can get'll be bread and cheese.No bloody good that! You must 'ave 'ot tea, an'
wegetables, an' a bit o' meat, now an' again, if you're goin' to do work as is work.Cawn't do it on cold wittles.Tell you wot you do, lad.Run around in the mornin' an' look in the dust pans.You'll find plenty o' tins to cook in.Fine tins, wonderful good some o'
them.Me an' the ole woman got ours that way.' (He pointed at the bundle she held, while she nodded proudly, beaming on me with good nature and consciousness of success and prosperity.) 'This overcoat is as good as a blanket,' he went on, advancing the skirt of it that Imight feel its thickness.'An' 'oo knows, I may find a blanket before long.
Again the old woman nodded and beamed, this time with the dead certainty that he would find a blanket before long.
'I call it a 'oliday, 'oppin',' he concluded rapturously.'A tidy way o' gettin' two or three pounds together an' fixin' up for winter.The only thing I don't like'- and here was the rift within the lute- 'is paddin' the 'oof down there.'
It was plain the years were telling on this energetic pair, and while they enjoyed the quick work with the fingers, 'paddin' the 'oof,' which is walking, was beginning to bear heavily upon them.
And I looked at their gray hairs, and ahead into the future ten years, and wondered how it would be with them.
I noticed another man and his old woman join the line, both of them past fifty.The woman, because she was a woman, was admitted into the spike; but he was too late, and, separated from his mate, was turned away to tramp the streets all night.
