• THE narrator in Mr. Lucas's new novel described himself
as
• watching the theatre of life from the stalls. In Mr. Lyons's volume—a collection of papers which have already appeared in the Clarion—the corresponding role is held by one who sees life—picturesquely rather than steadily—from the coffee-stalls. " Arthur's " is not the well-known West End club. It is, we gather, the generic name_ of some twenty coffee-stalls in South London somewhere between the Obelisk and Brixton, frequented, mainly in the small hours, by drayboys, municipal employees, compositors, cabmen, ragpickers, soldiers and sailormen, supers, and all manner of waifs and strays, male and female. It is not an aristocratic or a mealy-mouthed company. Indeed, the record of these midnight symposia is
marked by a realism -which may affront fastidious readers, and can only be recommended with a strong caveat against
placing it in the hands of the ingenuous youth of either sex.
But, having uttered this caution, we are free to admit that in its Rabelaisian way the book makes for righteousness. It has none of the lubricity of modern fashionable fiction, and it cannot be charged with attempting to glorify criminality or render vice attractive. Mr. Lyons is not concerned to minimise the squalor of low life, but, as he puts it, "if I think that the company at our stall is quainter, and dirtier, and less 'classy' and more human than the chenille of all other stalls, surely my weakness is, after all, a pardonable and a generous one." For it is with the humanity and the camaraderie of coffee- stall company that he is chiefly concerned. Most of the writers of slum fiction have been at pains to represent the dwellers in mean streets as of an almost infra-human type, subdued to their vile surroundings and incapable of happiness. The whole tendency of Mr. Lyons's book—and that is perhaps its chief significance—runs counter to this pessimistic view. By far the most convincing passages in these chapters are those which illustrate the gaiety and the good humour of those who dwell on the verge of destitution. The author does not deny the existence of unredeemed vileness—witness the portrait of "the Dartigan Donkey "—but he holds that misery teaches tolerance as well as bitterness. Mr. Lyons has his prejudices.
University Settlements excite his antipathy, and his contempt for the Oxford Movement or any benevolence of academic origin leads him into such caricatures as that of Mr. Pother- gill, M.A., who is represented as saying that he was "in favour of the suppression of all vice by Act of Parliament." But Mr. Lyons is not to be judged by the quality of his satire any more than by his sentimental and emotional passages, though he is quite right in insisting on the ineradicable• sentimentality of the poor. It is only with his method of presenting it that we quarrel. Take, • for example, this word-picture of "The gentleman who was sorry" :—" He came up to the stall—a besotted-looking man, in a great check ulster. He had a tangled beard and tangled hair, and a horrible skin, and lustreless eyes, and the mouth of a babe. Behind those leaden eyes his soul was screaming. They were the eyes of death." In this " screaming" • style, with its falsetto note of pathos, Mr. Lyons only competes • on equal terms with other journalistic exponents of spasmodic
impressionism. In "The Broomfield Squire" he reminds BB —in music-hall parlance—of a tramp Maurice Hewlett. But
as a humourist he is always entertaining, and sometimes irresistible. The chapter headed "A Pinch of Salt," describing the minstrelsy of a sailor suffering from the mumps, is a masterpiece of submerged comedy; and the ballad of Joe • Golightly haunts one with the deadly persistence of Mark Twain's "Punch, brothers, punch with care." Excellent, too, is the narrative of the piebald horse, told by "Beaky," the eccentric tramp and ex-circus attendant :— "The owner of this animal, it seemed, was in the circus business. His name was Tooney, but his aliases were many. The piebald horse made ten appearances nightly, and was so called by reason of the marking which distinguished him when performing in association with Mademoiselle Loisette, Champion Lady Rider of the Universe. For "Shaw the Life-Guardsman," ' explained Beaky, 'ole Pie-Balls 'ad to be black. An' for the dashin"Igh- School Act you wanted a friendly brown. When it come to Little Tiny, the Child Equestrienne, we give 'em a 'an'some cream
• Arthur's. By .A.. Weil Lyons. London John Lane. 16(41 direct from the royal 'stables; an" Mr. X. (ole Tooney. reelly) done 'is reckless jockey act on a dapple, grey. As I said before, the ole bloomin' stud on'y totalled-one 'orse. An' that was ole Pie-Balls. Mr. Tooney was that clever with the paint pot, it would 'a' took cleverer blokes than any o' you mugs to spot the fraud, an' don't you doubt it.'—'Well—what of it? ' demanded somebody.—' What of it?' echoed Beaky. 'it, that is just what we are comin' to. That 'orse 'e up an' died, an' there was a post- mortnum—wiv turpentine. We was all of us anxious to find out ole Pie-Balls' nat'ral colour. It took three strong men a matter of eight hours to work down to the last coat. An' when we got through that, what do you think we found?' In reply to this inquiry, Beaky was favoured with a variety of suggestions embracing every colour ever associated with horseflesh. One competitor, indeed, suggested pink. Beaky, smiling the smile of conscious triumph, shook his head. You are all wrong,' said he at last. We found a blinking zebra!'
No one can complain of the sudden generosity which impelled "Arthur," on the strength of this yarn, to engage "Beaky" as his plate-cleaner and general assistant.
Arthur's would have been a much better book if three or four chapters had been omitted. But one can hardly expect to find self-criticism highly developed in a first effort. Mr. Lyons's exuberance is for the most part the outcome of natural high spirits, and for the rest it may be pleaded in his defence that lee meilleurs auteurs portent trop.
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