CHAPTER XXV--THE HUNGER WAIL
"My father has more stamina than I, for he is country-born."
The speaker, a bright young East Ender, was lamenting his poor physical
development.
"Look at my scrawny arm, will you." He pulled up his sleeve. "Not
enough to eat, that's what's the matter with it. Oh, not now. I have
what I want to eat these days. But it's too late. It can't make up for
what I didn't have to eat when I was a kiddy. Dad came up to London from
the Fen Country. Mother died, and there were six of us kiddies and dad
living in two small rooms.
"He had hard times, dad did. He might have chucked us, but he didn't. He
slaved all day, and at night he came home and cooked and cared for us. He
was father and mother, both. He did his best, but we didn't have enough
to eat. We rarely saw meat, and then of the worst. And it is not good
for growing kiddies to sit down to a dinner of bread and a bit of cheese,
and not enough of it.
"And what's the result? I am undersized, and I haven't the stamina of my
dad. It was starved out of me. In a couple of generations there'll be
no more of me here in London. Yet there's my younger brother; he's
bigger and better developed.
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