Chapter 6

THE ENCHANTED STREET

In Thrums Street, as it ought to have been called, herded at least
one-half of the Thrums folk in London, and they formed a colony, of
which the grocer at the corner sometimes said wrathfully that not a
member would give sixpence for anything except Bibles or whiskey. In the
streets one could only tell they were not Londoners by their walk, the
flagstones having no grip for their feet, or, if they had come south
late in life, by their backs, which they carried at the angle on which
webs are most easily supported. When mixing with the world they talked
the English tongue, which came out of them as broad as if it had been
squeezed through a mangle, but when the day's work was done, it was only
a few of the giddier striplings that remained Londoners. For the
majority there was no raking the streets after diversion, they spent the
hour or two before bed-time in reproducing the life of Thrums. Few of
them knew much of London except the nearest way between this street and
their work, and their most interesting visitor was a Presbyterian
minister, most of whose congregation lived in much more fashionable
parts, but they were almost exclusively servant girls, and when
descending area-steps to visit them he had been challenged often and
jocularly by policemen, which perhaps was what gave him a subdued and
furtive appearance.

The rooms were furnished mainly with articles bought in London, but
these became as like Thrums dressers and seats as their owners could
make them, old Petey, for instance, cutting the back off a chair because
he felt most at home on stools. Drawers were used as baking-boards,
pails turned into salt-buckets, floors were sanded and hearthstones
ca'med, and the popular supper consisted of porter, hot water, and
soaked bread, after every spoonful of which, they groaned pleasantly,
and stretched their legs. Sometimes they played at the dambrod, but more
often they pulled down the blinds on London and talked of Thrums in
their mother tongue. Nevertheless few of them wanted to return to it,
and their favorite joke was the case of James Gloag's father, who being
home-sick flung up his situation and took train for Thrums, but he was
back in London in three weeks.

Tommy soon had the entry to these homes, and his first news of the
inmates was unexpected. It was that they were always sleeping. In broad
daylight he had seen Thrums men asleep on beds, and he was somewhat
ashamed of them until he heard the excuse. A number of the men from
Thrums were bakers, the first emigrant of this trade having drawn others
after him, and they slept great part of the day to be able to work all
night in a cellar, making nice rolls for rich people. Baker Lumsden, who
became a friend of