Boys -- Fiction; Cricket -- Fiction; Golf stories; Love stories; Schools -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
Consequently Pip, much to his relief, was left in undisturbed possession
of his self-sought limbo, and made the recipient of an ever-increasing
load of work,--varied, strenuous, responsible work,--and for three
sturdy years he lived a life that hardened his muscles, broadened his
views, taught him self-reliance, cheery contentment with his lot, and,
in short, made a man of him.
He learned to live on a pound a week. He learned to drink four ale and
smoke shag. He became an _habitué_ of those establishments which are so
ably administered by Lord Rowton and Mr. Lockhart. He obtained an
insight into the workings of the proletariat mind. He learned the first
lesson which all who desire to know their world must learn, namely, that
mankind is not divided into three classes,--our own, another immediately
above it, and another immediately below it,--but that a motor factory
may contain as many grades and distinctions, as many social barriers and
smart sets, as many cliques and cabals, as Mayfair--or Upper Tooting. He
learned to distinguish the stupid, beer-swilling, illiterate, but mainly
honest British workman of the old-fashioned type from the precocious,
clerkly, unstable, rather weedy product of the board-school and
music-hall. He discovered earnest young men in blue overalls who read
Ruskin, and pulverised empires and withered up dynasties once a week in
a debating society. He made the acquaintance of the paid agitator, with
his stereotyped phrases and glib assertions of the right of man to a
fair day's work and a fair day's wage, oblivious of the fact that he did
not know the meaning of the first and would never have been content with
the second. He rubbed shoulders with men who struggled, amid cylinders
and accumulators, with religious doubts; men who had been "saved," and
who insisted on leaving evidence to that effect, in pamphlet form, in
their mates' coat-pockets; and men who, either through excess of
intellect or from lack of adversity, had never had any need of God, and
consequently did not believe in Him.
He saw other things, many of which made him sick. He saw child-wives of
seventeen, tied to stunted youths of twenty, already inured and almost
indifferent to a thrashing every Saturday night. He saw babies
everywhere, chiefly in public-houses, where their sole diet appeared to
consist of as much gin as they could lick off the fingers which
accommodating parents from time to time dipped into their glasses and
thrust into their wailing little mouths. He saw the beast that a woman
can make of a man and the wreck that a man can make of a woman, and the
horror that drink can make of both; and, being young and inexperienced,
he grew depressed at these sights, and came to the conclusion that the
world was very evil.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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