It took a collision to cure him of his noble ambition, and the last time I saw him in court he was fined heavily, and afterwards the police court knew him no more. But I saw him several times, and he told me that he was no longer going to be a fool for half a pint of four-ale.
Occasionally the drink, acting on some pet belief, brings the individual into more serious trouble, and ruins his character and prospects for life. An intelligent artisan that I knew something of, and upon whose honesty there did not rest a shadow of doubt, got a reputation as a burglar, and twelve months’ imprisonment beside, owing to the combination of drink and decided Socialistic views. He was a tall man with a very long nose. I have heard that men with big noses have a great deal of character. I can’t say if it is true generally, but, anyhow, this man had plenty of both. I had seen him at the court several times when some question about working men’s clubs had to be settled. Any question of this sort, or of the freedom of speech, or Socialism, was sure to bring him, and he was an attentive listener.
One day, to my surprise, he stood in the dock on a serious charge of burglary. A policeman stood on each side of him holding him up, for he was half asleep, and half insensible from drink. He was remanded for a week, that he might have time to get sober and to waken up. When he came up on the remand, I had a long conversation with him, and from what he told me and from what I gathered from the prosecutor, I offer the following as a fair account of what took place.
The prosecutor, who lived in a good neighbourhood, went to bed about 1 a.m. As he was last up, he closed and bolted the doors, and fastened the windows. He was of the opinion that he did not bolt one of the doors, but he knew it was closed, and it could only be opened from the outside with a latch-key that fitted it. The prisoner had been at his club all day on Sunday and Monday, and had been drinking heavily. He started homeward about half-past one on Tuesday morning. He had some recollection of opening a house-door with his latch-key; he knew it was not his own, but he felt somehow that he had a perfect right to go in, so he went in and lit the gas. He did not remember anything more till he found himself in Holloway. It was a singular thing that his latch-key should fit the prosecutor’s door, but it was more singular that he, in his muddled condition, should walk up to that one particular house, and that the door of that house should not be bolted; but so it was. He entered, and lit the gas in the hall. A nice gray overcoat was hanging in the hall; he put it on. A silk hat was with it; he threw away his cap and put on the hat. A silk hat demands a silk umbrella, so he appropriated one. He went into the dining-room and lit the gas--all four lights on the chandelier. On the mantelpiece lay a silver cigar-case; that, after he had lit a cigar, went into the overcoat pocket, and other valuables went in to keep it company. He then proceeded to explore the house, and found the larder; again he lit the gas, and discovered cold meat, pickles, etc. These he brought into the dining-room and invited himself to supper. On the principle that ‘good eating deserveth good drinking,’ he helped himself to a half-gallon can full of beer from a barrel which he found in the larder, left the tap running and the gas burning, and, having thought for the future, he filled the coat-pockets from a dish of uncooked sausages. Then he returned to the dining-room, where he drew a couch close to the table, and proceeded to smoke and drink till blissful sleep came upon him.