realises it himself.

"In a couple of years," he says, "my lease expires. My landlord is one
of our kind. He has not put up the rent on any of his houses here, and
this has enabled us to stay. But any day he may sell, or any day he may
die, which is the same thing so far as we are concerned. The house is
bought by a money breeder, who builds a sweat shop on the patch of ground
at the rear where my grapevine is, adds to the house, and rents it a room
to a family. There you are, and Johnny Upright's gone!"

And truly I saw Johnny Upright, and his good wife and fair daughters, and
frowzy slavey, like so many ghosts flitting eastward through the gloom,
the monster city roaring at their heels.

But Johnny Upright is not alone in his flitting. Far, far out, on the
fringe of the city, live the small business men, little managers, and
successful clerks. They dwell in cottages and semi-detached villas, with
bits of flower garden, and elbow room, and breathing space. They inflate
themselves with pride, and throw out their chests when they contemplate
the Abyss from which they have escaped, and they thank God that they are
not as other men. And lo! down upon them comes Johnny Upright and the
monster city at his heels. Tenements spring up like magic, gardens are
built upon, villas are divided and subdivided into many dwellings, and
the black night of London settles down in a greasy pall.




CHAPTER IV--A MAN AND THE ABYSS