Whom shalt receive this Daily Bread?

Excerpt: “ You are mad! Pleased with me? You see me, look upon me stupid girl, see where I am! Behold before the devil with what I may provide.”

A voice rang out: “ Help! Police! Murder! Theft!!” Immediately all the wanting turned their apathetic heads toward the cryer. They truthfully had no empathy or concern for this person. And they cared not whom they might be. It just strikes a person, that it’s rather uncanny for another sound being to arbitrarily shout. The people became, became just onlookers and stared blankly before a broken merchant’s window. Now, the  owner consequently was rolling himself in agony upon the ground in sheer terror; he might suffer a stroke at any second. The onlookers were quite amused. Either that or they became perpetually bemused. 

The window of the modest, dusty shop lay in pieces both inside and about the outside of the shop. The landlady made haste to get out, immediately espying her husband rolling upon the floor, she made quicker expedition to the little box where the devout gentlemen and wife tightly kept their savings.

The woman turned a small key into the box, eyeing that all it’s contents were secured safely in place, she wiped sweat from her dampened forehead, and sighed in relief. “ Pray to God!” She called, while locking up the box and securing the key back into the assurance of her bosom.

In the meanwhile, the ignorant hag still failed to see her husband contorting on the ground, at least three minutes had past to father time. And no one had come to aid the man, nor had anyone attempted, at least the bit apprehend the thief. The crowd had, however, and we cannot refrain from not praising them so for it; had taken the dignity upon themselves to whisper everything they had seen occur before them, and they were quick about sharing their piece. Finally, the hopeless merchant strived in agony. “ It was a young man, yes’sir I’d seen ‘em to. Wearing red trousers, and black hair. Ah! Why! That bread.. was at least worth six shillings, ah! What shall my children wear?” 

In a few minutes more the police arrived, but it was too late. The crowd had dispersed and the man, that in a matter of seconds all to an occurrence that wasn’t his fault became estranged to everyone in the town, and the idler of their gossip - he was dead.

Behold man holding his life to material objects, and see it just as easily seized!

Who was the thief? What had he taken? Why, he was our gent, who else might we suspect?! He hadn’t taken money, he needed it of course. However, that wasn’t what was exactly dire at the time. He had taken as the merchant said: “ a loaf worth at least six shillings.” And our gent had taken a small cake as well for the run. He didn’t eat these things, he tucked them into his overcoat and became lost once again in the crowd, If there had been any good samaritan, they would have recognized and spotted him in the instant, and then they would have commenced to perform their righteous duty toward society and turned him in. But, no one espied, they only saw. A person will see, receive, but only shall release with the wagging of tongue. 

Now, we might become better acquainted with our gent. He was denominated Thomas-Mathieu Whittingham, yet he was more commonly referred to as Thomas Mathieu, or Tom, or Thomas, etc., He was seventeen years old, but toilsome labor had made him appear closer to something as twenty seven. He had a longer thin face that was very ashen, but he put some color in it by keeping a slight shadow of whiskers but not many as to be indecorous. He was very thin, and his clothes worn and tattered Sewn over, and over again with patches that had or were in dire need of patching themselves. However threadbare Thomas-Mathieu clothes, there was a certain striking characteristic about him, a depth in his eyes. A soul implanted upon his face, that seemed to transform him, and beheld him to the eyes of everyone -- Both gamins and nobility. He looked upon, and received. An appearance of utter wiseness that commanded arrant respect. Ah! but as we have just been, apparently the sole witnesses of the this grand gent that had just stolen. Is there still perhaps a grand eminence about him? For a reason, that yet had not come to light the angels still looked down upon him.

With the bread still tucked safely underarm, Thomas-Mathieu made quick haste out of the commotion which had drawn a bigger crowd upon the arrival of the police. He slipped down the superstition alleyway, and cautiously eyed the homeless gamins, whom looked up upon him as both prey and the reverend. But seeing as he had nothing worthily visible for their consume they let him be. Thomas-Mathieu had almost made out from the alley way when a wisp of a little voice made him halt in his tracks.

“ I do not see why you shouldn’t come with me, Mamma and Tom would be pleased with you.”

A harsh, cruel, devilish voice replied. “ You are mad! Pleased with me? You see me, look upon me stupid girl, see where I am! Behold before the devil with what I may provide.”

Thomas-Mathieu ran toward the two voices, squeezing the bread contained in his  coat so tight so he may not lose it, but he might have just as easily had flattened it.

He stopped before a small girl, and a withered old man, “ Lena, why are you bothering this man?”

The girl did not remove her large, widen eyes from the man. Thomas-Mathieu, crossed his arm upon his breast, and eyed the child impatiently. The old man did not stir. “ Well?” Thomas-Mathieu waited.

The child swallowed, she turned and ran to Thomas and hugged him tightly, Thomas-Mathieu dropped his arms and returned the innocent child’s embrace. “ Oh! Tom, I did not mean any harm. I thought perhaps if I were to bring this man home, well he might be able to provide for Mama-” Thomas gently stroked the child’s hair. He kissed her upon the head. Thomas-Mathieu brought his head up and laughed: “ Old John? John Urban-Faire?” The bags under Thomas’ eyes were very prominent. “ Hah! Yes, well John, why shouldn’t you return with us? Yes, Mama wouldn’t be pleased with you yet, but perhaps-.”

“ What!!?” The old man interrupted the noble King - Thomas-Mathieu. “ Why, now you are all mad-.” John stopped, he thought as he pulled from under his coat a small flask of rum, twisted the cork off, and drank heartily. John was a drunkard, but he wasn’t stupid. Underneath the glaze of his eyes lay something intelligible. He thought, in a split of a second a grand idea enlightened him, he cleared his throat. “ If your Mother shall have me -- Mrs. Whittingham. Perhaps I might, given in time, and food and drink be able to offer some service.”

Thomas-Mathieu’s eyes glowed, by reason that somewhere off in a distance someone had lightened a lantern. He pondered. He glanced down upon his sister, the creature was thin, small, with every crevice of her neck and face protruding from her delicate red rash stricken face. Thomas-Mathieu felt under his coat, in a split instant the bread he had been clenching let go and fell upon the street. His tiny sister in a second instant, instinctively darted to the ground and retrieved it. The bread, and cake, which would seem rather small to you or myself; in size overwhelmed in comparison to size of  the child. She stared at it incredulously, turning it slowly in her little hand, just as if someone had handed her a gold brick. Which, in saying so makes grand sense.

Like Lena, John too eyed the bread. He himself had not eaten for days, ah! and how so much of it there was! Now, after what commenced he looked at Thomas-Mathieu squarely in the eyes.

Thomas let his sister hold the bread. It was like letting an angel hold an infant, it was so salient to her. Thomas was not stupid, he was well learned and literate. However though, one cannot always hold literacy to wisdom to intelligence. But, for Thomas -Mathieu Whittingham we might. And for this reason he knew he would trouble his mother. No, John may not commence in doing any work. Yes, he was another mouth to feed, but what implored him to bring this man home, he did not know. All that he knew was that he must, and so he brought the drunkard home.