God knows, thought I, if looking for employment will ever again avail
me aught. The frequent repulses, half-promises, and curt noes, the
cherished, deluded hopes, and fresh endeavours that always resulted in
nothing had done my courage to death. As a last resource, I had applied
for a place as debt collector, but I was too late, and, besides, I
could not have found the fifty shillings demanded as security. There
was always something or another in my way. I had even offered to enlist
in the Fire Brigade. There we stood and waited in the vestibule, some
half-hundred men, thrusting our chests out to give an idea of strength
and bravery, whilst an inspector walked up and down and scanned the
applicants, felt their arms, and put one question or another to them.
Me, he passed by, merely shaking his head, saying I was rejected on
account of my sight. I applied again without my glasses, stood there
with knitted brows, and made my eyes as sharp as needles, but the man
passed me by again with a smile; he had recognized me. And, worse
than all, I could no longer apply for a situation in the garb of a
respectable man.
How regularly and steadily things had gone downhill with me for a long
time, till, in the end, I was so curiously bared of every conceivable
thing. I had not even a comb left, not even a book to read, when
things grew all too sad with me. All through the summer, up in the
churchyards or parks, where I used to sit and write my articles for
the newspapers, I had thought out column after column on the most
miscellaneous subjects. Strange ideas, quaint fancies, conceits of my
restless brain; in despair I had often chosen the most remote themes,
that cost me long hours of intense effort, and never were accepted.
When one piece was finished I set to work at another. I was not often
discouraged by the editors’ “no.” I used to tell myself constantly that
some day I was bound to succeed; and really occasionally when I was in
luck’s way, and made a hit with something, I could get five shillings
for an afternoon’s work.
Once again I raised myself from the window, went over to the
washing-stand, and sprinkled some water on the shiny knees of my
trousers to dull them a little and make them look a trifle newer.
Having done this, I pocketed paper and pencil as usual and went out.
I stole very quietly down the stairs in order not to attract my
landlady’s attention (a few days had elapsed since my rent had fallen
due, and I had no longer anything wherewith to raise it).
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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