Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TEN.

  BALLS, BOBBY, SIR RICHARD, AND GILES APPEAR ON THE STAGE.

  As from the sublime to the ridiculous there is but a step, so, from thedining-room to the kitchen there is but a stair. Let us descend thestair and learn that while Sir Richard was expounding the subject of"the poor" to little Di, Mr Balls, the butler, was engaged on the samesubject in the servants' hall.

  "I cannot tell you," said Balls, "what a impression the sight o' thesepoor people made on me."

  "La! Mr Balls," said the cook, who was not unacquainted with low lifein London, having herself been born within sound of Bow-Bells, "you'vegot no occasion to worrit yourself about it. It 'as never bindifferent."

  "That makes it all the worse, cook," returned Balls, standing with hisback to the fireplace and his legs wide apart; "if it was only atemporary depression in trade, or the repeal of the corn laws that didit, one could stand it, but to think that such a state of things_always_ goes on is something fearful. You know I'm a country-bred manmyself, and ain't used to the town, or to such awful sights of squalor.It almost made me weep, I do assure you. One room that I looked intohad a mother and two children in it, and I declare to you that thelittle boy was going about stark naked, and his sister was only just aslight degree better."

  "P'raps they was goin' to bed," suggested Mrs Screwbury.

  "No, nurse, they wasn't; they was playing about evidently in their usualcostume--for that evenin' at least. I would not have believed it if Ihad not seen it. And the mother was so tattered and draggled anddirty--which, also, was the room."

  "Was that in the court where the Frogs live?" asked Jessie Summers.

  "It was, and a dreadful court too--shocking!"

  "By the way, Mr Balls," asked the cook, "is there any chance o' thatbrat of a boy Bobby, as they call him, coming here? I can't think whymaster has offered to take such a creeter into his service."

  "No, cook, there is no chance. I forgot to tell you about that littlematter. The boy was here yesterday and he refused--absolutely declineda splendid offer."

  "I'm glad to hear it," returned the cook.

  "Tell us about it, Mr Balls," said Jessie Summers with a reproachfullook at the other. "I'm quite fond of that boy--he's such a smartfellow, and wouldn't be bad-looking if he'd only wash his face and combhis hair."

  "He's smart enough, no doubt, but impudence is his strong point,"rejoined the butler with a laugh. The way he spoke to the master beatseverything.

  "`I've sent for you, my boy,' said Sir Richard, in his usual dignified,kindly way, `to offer you the situation of under-gardener in myestablishment.'"

  "`Oh! that's wot you wants with me, is it?' said the boy, as bold asbrass; indeed I may say as bold as gun-metal, for his eyes an' teethglittered as he spoke, and he said it with the air of a dook. Masterdidn't quite seem to like it, but I saw he laid restraint on himself andsaid: `You have to thank my daughter for this offer--'

  "`Thank you, Miss,' said the boy, turnin' to Miss Di with a low bow,imitatin' Sir Richard's manner, I thought, as much as he could.

  "`Of course,' continued the master, rather sharply, `I offer you thissituation out of mere charity--'

  "`Oh! you do, do you?' said the extraordinary boy in the coolest manner,`but wot if I objec' to receive charity? Ven I 'olds a 'orse I expecsto be paid for so doin', same as you expecs to be paid w'en you attendsa board-meetin' to grin an' do nuffin.'

  "`Come, come, boy,' said Sir Richard, gettin' redder in the face than Iever before saw him, `I am not accustomed to low pleasantry, and--'

  "`An' I ain't accustomed,' broke in the boy, `to 'igh hinsults. Do youthink that every gent what years a coat an' pants with 'oles in 'em is abeggar?'

  "For some moments master seemed to be struck speechless, an' I fearedthat in spite of his well-known gentleness of character he'd throw theink-stand at the boy's head, but he didn't; he merely said in a lowvoice, `I would dismiss you at once, boy, were it not that I havepromised my daughter to offer you employment, and you can see by herlooks how much your unnatural conduct grieves her.'

  "An' this was true, for poor Miss Di sat there with her hands clasped,her eyes full of tears, her eyebrows disappearin' among her hair withastonishment, and her whole appearance the very pictur' of distress.`However,' continued Sir Richard, `I still make you the offer, though Idoubt much whether you will be able to retain the situation. Your wageswill--'

  "`Please sir,' pleaded the boy, `don't mention the wages. I couldn'tstand that. Indeed I couldn't; it would really be too much for me.'

  "`Why, what do you mean?' says master.

  "`I mean,' says Impudence, `that I agree with you. I don't think I_could_ retain the sitivation, cause w'y? In the fust place, I ain'tgot no talent at gardenin'. The on'y time I tried it was w'en I planteda toolip in a flower-pot, an' w'en I dug it up to see 'ow it wasa-gittin on a cove told me I'd planted it upside down. However, Iwasn't goin' to be beat by that cove, so I say to 'im, Jack, I says, Iplanted it so a purpus, an' w'en it sprouts I'm a-goin' to 'ang it up tosee if it won't grow through the 'ole in the bottom. In the secondplace, I couldn't retain the sitivation 'cause I don't intend to takeit, though you was to offer me six thousand no shillin's an' no pence nofarthin's a year as salary.'

  "I r'ally did think master would ha' dropt out of his chair at that. Asfor Miss Di, she was so tickled that she gave a sort of hystericallaugh.

  "`Balls,' said master, `show him out, and--' he pulled up short, but Iknew he meant to say have an eye on the great-coats and umbrellas, so Ishowed the boy out, an' he went down-stairs, quite quiet, but the lastthing I saw of him was performin' a sort of minstrel dance at the end ofthe street just before he turned the corner and disappeared."

  "Imp'rence!" exclaimed the cook.

  "Naughty, ungrateful boy!" said Mrs Screwbury.

  "But it was plucky of him," said Jessie Summers.

  "I would call it cheeky," said Balls, "I can't think what put it intohis head to go on so."

  If Mr Balls had followed Bobby Frog in spirit, watched his subsequentmovements, and listened to his remarks, perhaps he might have understoodthe meaning of his conduct a little better.

  After he had turned the corner of the street, as above mentioned, Bobbytrotted on for a short space, and then, coming to a full stop, executeda few steps of the minstrel dance, at the end of which he brought hisfoot down with tremendous emphasis on the pavement, and said--

  "Yes, I've bin an' done it. I know'd I was game for a good deal, but Idid _not_ think I was up to that. One never knows wot 'e's fit for till'e tries. Wot'll Hetty think, I wonder?"

  What Hetty thought he soon found out, for he overtook her on the Thamesembankment on her way home. Bobby was fond of that route, though alittle out of his way, because he loved the running water, though it_was_ muddy, and the sight of steamers and barges.

  "Well, Bobby," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder, "where haveyou been?"

  "To see old Swallow'd-the-poker, Hetty."

  "What took you there?" asked the girl in surprise.

  "My legs. You don't suppose I've set up my carriage yet, do you?"

  "Come, you know what I mean."

  "Vell, then, I went because I was sent for, an' wot d'ye think? the oldgen'l'man hoffered me the sitivation of under-gardener!"

  "You don't say so! Oh! Bobby, what a lucky boy--an' what a kindgentleman! Tell me all about it now," said Hetty, pressing her handmore tenderly on her brother's shoulder. "What wages is he to giveyou?"

  "No wages wotsomever."

  Hetty looked into her brother's face with an expression of concernedsurprise. She knew some tradespeople who made her work hard for so verylittle, that it was not difficult to believe in a gentleman asking herbrother to work for nothin'! Still she had thought better of SirRichard, and expected to hear something more creditable to him.

  "Ah, you may look, but I do assure you he is to give me no wages, an'I'm to do no work."

  Here Bobby ex
ecuted a few steps of his favourite dance, but evidentlyfrom mere habit, and unconsciously, for he left off in the middle, andseemed to forget the salient point of emphasis with his foot.

  "What _do_ you mean, Bobby?--be earnest, like a dear boy, for once."

  "Earnest!" exclaimed the urchin with vehemence. "I never was more inearnest in my life. You should 'ave seen Swallow'd-the-poker w'en Irefused to 'ave it."

  "Refused it?"

  "Ay--refused it. Come Hetty, I'll explain."

  The boy dropped his facetious tone and manner while he rapidly ran overthe chief points of his interview with Sir Richard.

  "But why did you refuse so good an offer?" asked Hetty, still unable torepress her surprise.

  "Because of daddy."

  "Daddy?"

  "Ay, daddy. You know he's fond o' me, is daddy, and, d'ye know, thoughp'r'aps you mayn't believe it, I'm raither fond o' _him_; but 'e's a bad'un, is daddy. He's bent on mischief, you see, an' 'e's set his 'art onmy 'elpin' of 'im. But I _wont_ 'elp 'im--that's flat. Now, what d'yethink, Hetty," (here he dropped his voice to almost a whisper and lookedsolemn), "dad wants to make use o' me to commit a burglary onSwallow'd-the-poker's 'ouse."

  "You don't mean it, Bobby!"

  "But I do, Hetty. Dad found out from that rediklous butler that goesveepin' around our court like a leeky pump, that the old gen'l'man wasgoin' to hoffer me this sitivation, an 'e's bin wery 'ard on me toaccept it, so that I may find out the ways o' the 'ouse where the platean' waluables lay, let 'im in some fine dark night an' 'elp 'im to carryoff the swag."

  A distressed expression marked poor Hetty's reception of this news, butshe said never a word.

  "Now you won't tell, Hetty?" said the boy with a look of real anxiety onhis face. "It's not so much his killin' me I cares about, but Iwouldn't bring daddy to grief for any money. I'd raither 'elp 'im thanthat. You'll not say a word to nobody?"

  "No, Bobby, I won't say a word."

  "Vell, you see," continued the boy, "ven I'd made myself so disagreeablethat the old gen'l'man would 'ave nothin' to do with me, I came straightaway, an' 'ere I am; but it _was_ a trial, let me tell you, speciallyven 'e come to mention wages--an sitch a 'eavenly smell o' roastedwittles come up from the kitchen too at the moment, but I 'ad only tolook at Miss Di, to make me as stubborn as a nox or a hass. `Wot!'thinks I to myself, `betray that hangel--no, never!' yet if I was to gointo that 'ouse I know I'd do it, for daddy's got sitch a wheedlin' waywith 'im w'en 'e likes, that I couldn't 'old hout long--so I giv' oldSwallowed-the-poker sitch a lot o' cheek that I thought 'e'd kick meright through the winder. He was considerable astonished as well asriled, I can tell you, an' Miss Di's face was a pictur', but the oldbutler was the sight. He'd got 'is face screwed up into sitch a stateo' surprise that it looked like a eight-day clock with a gamboil. Now,Hetty, I'm goin' to tell 'ee what'll take your breath away. I've madeup my mind to go to Canada!"

  Hetty did, on hearing this, look as if her breath had been taken away.When it returned sufficiently she said:

  "Bobby, what put that into your head?"

  "The 'Ome of Hindustry," said Bobby with a mysterious look.

  "The Home of Industry," repeated the girl in surprise, for she knew thatInstitution well, having frequently assisted its workers in their labourof love.

  "Yes, that's the name--'Ome of Hindustry, what sends off so many raggedboys to Canada under Miss Macpherson."

  "Ay, Bobby, it does a great deal more than that," returned the girl."Sending off poor boys and girls to Canada is only one branch of itswork. If you'd bin to its tea-meetin's for the destitute, as I have,an' its clothin' meetin's and its mothers' meetin's, an--"

  "'Ow d'ye know I 'aven't bin at 'em all?" asked the boy with an impudentlook.

  "Well, you know, you couldn't have been at the mothers' meetings,Bobby."

  "Oh! for the matter o' that, no more could you."

  "True, but I've heard of them all many and many a time; but come, tellme all about it. How did you come to go near the Home of Industry atall after refusing so often to go with me?"

  "Vell, I didn't go because of bein' axed to go, you may be sure o' that,but my little dosser, Tim Lumpy, you remember 'im? The cove wi' thenose like a button, an' no body to speak of--all legs an' arms, like a'uman win'-mill; vell, you must know they've nabbed 'im, an' given 'im arig-out o' noo slops, an' they're goin' to send 'im to Canada. So I'appened to be down near the 'Ome one day three weeks past, an' I seeLumpy a-goin' in. `'Allo!' says I. `'Allo!' says 'e; an' then 'e toldme all about it. `Does they feed you well?' I axed. `Oh! don't they,just!' said 'e. `There's to be a blow hout this wery night,' said 'e.`I wonder,' says I, `if they'd let me in, for I'm uncommon 'ungry, Itell you; 'ad nuffin' to heat since last night.' Just as I said that, alot o' fellers like me came tumblin' up to the door--so I sneaked in wi'the rest--for I thought they'd kick me hout if they knowed I'd comewithout inwitation."

  "Well, and what then?" asked Hetty.

  Here our little street-Arab began to tell, in his own peculiar languageand style, how that he went in, and found a number of ladies in an upperroom with forms set, and hot tea and bread to be had--as much as theycould stuff--for nothing; that the boys were very wild and unruly atfirst, but that after the chief lady had prayed they became better, andthat when half-a-dozen nice little girls were brought in and had sung ahymn or two they were quite quiet and ready to listen. Like many otherpeople, this city Arab did not like to speak out freely, even to hissister, on matters that touched his feelings deeply, but he said enoughto let the eager and thankful Hetty know that not only had Jesus and Hislove been preached to the boys, but she perceived that what had beensaid and sung had made an unusual impression, though the little raggedwaif sought to conceal it under the veil of cool pleasantry, and she nowrecognised the fact that the prayers which she had been putting up formany a day in her brother's behalf had been answered.

  "Oh! I'm so happy," she said; and, unable to restrain herself, flungher arms round Bobby's neck and kissed him.

  It was evident that the little fellow rather liked this, though hepretended that he did not.

  "Come, old gal," he said brusquely, "none o' that sort o' thing. Ican't stand it. Don't you see, the popilation is lookin' at us insurprise; besides, you've bin an' crushed all my shirt front!"

  "But," continued Hetty, as they walked on again, "I'm not happy to hearthat you are goin' to Canada. What ever will I do without you, Bobby?"

  Poor girl, she could well afford to do without him in one sense, for hehad hitherto been chiefly an object of anxiety and expense to her,though also an object of love.

  "I'm sorry to think of goin' too, Hetty, for your sake an' mother's, butfor daddy's sake and my own I _must_ go. You see, I can't 'old houtagin 'im. W'en 'e makes up 'is mind to a thing you know 'e sticks toit, for 'e's a tough un; an' 'e's got sitch a wheedlin' sort o' way with'im that I can't 'elp givin' in a'most. So, you see, it'll be betterfor both of us that I should go away. But I'll come back, you know,Hetty, with a fortin--see if I don't--an' then, oh! won't I keep acarridge an' a ridin' 'oss for daddy, an' feed mother an' you onplum-duff an' pork sassengers to breakfast, dinner, an' supper, with icecream for a relish!"

  Poor Hetty did not even smile at this prospect of temporal felicity.She felt that in the main the boy was right, and that the only chance hehad of escaping the toils in which her father was wrapping him by thestrange union of affection and villainy, was to leave the country. Sheknew, also, that, thanks to the Home of Industry and its promoters, thesending of a ragged, friendless, penniless London waif, clothed and inhis right mind, to a new land of bright and hopeful prospects, was anevent brought within the bounds of possibility.

  That night Bob Frog stood with his dosser, (i.e. his friend), Tim Lumpy,discussing their future prospects in the partial privacy of arailway-arch. They talked long, and, for waifs, earnestly--both as tothe land they were about to quit and that to which they were going; andthe surprising fact mi
ght have been noted by a listener--had there beenany such present, save a homeless cat--that neither of the boysperpetrated a joke for the space of at least ten minutes.

  "Vy," observed little Frog at length, "you seem to 'ave got all the fundrove out o' you, Lumpy."

  "Not a bit on it," returned the other, with a hurt look, as though hehad been charged with some serious misdemeanour, "but it do seem sitch ashabby thing to go an' forsake my blind old mother."

  "But yer blind old mother wants you to go," said Bobby, "an' says she'llbe well looked arter by the ladies of the 'Ome, and that she wouldn'tstand in the way o' your prospec's. Besides, she ain't yer mother!"

  This was true. Tim Lumpy had neither father nor mother, nor relative onearth, and the old woman who, out of sheer pity, had taken him in andallowed him to call her "_mother_," was a widow at the lowest possibleround of that social ladder, at the top of which--figurativelyspeaking--sits Her Gracious Majesty the Queen. Mrs Lumpy had found himon her door-step, weeping and in rags, at the early age of five years.She had taken him in, and fed him on part of a penny loaf which formedthe sole edible substance for her own breakfast. She had mended hisrags to the extent of her ability, but she had not washed his face,having no soap of her own, and not caring to borrow from neighbours whowere in the same destitute condition. Besides, she had too hard abattle to fight with an ever-present and pressing foe, to care muchabout dirt, and no doubt deemed a wash of tears now and then sufficient.Lumpy himself seemed to agree with her as to this, for he washedhimself in that fashion frequently.

  Having sought for his parents in vain, with the aid of the police, MrsLumpy quietly kept the boy on; gave him her surname, prefixed that ofTimothy, answered to the call of mother, and then left him to do verymuch as he pleased.

  In these circumstances, it was not surprising that little Tim soon grewto be one of the pests of his alley. Tim was a weak-eyed boy, andremarkably thin, being, as his friend had said, composed chiefly of legsand arms. There must have been a good deal of brain also, for he waskeen-witted, as people soon began to find out to their cost. Tim wasobservant also. He observed, on nearing the age of ten years, that inthe great river of life which daily flowed past him, there were certainfaces which indicated tender and kindly hearts, coupled with defectivebrain-action, and a good deal of self-will. He became painfully shrewdin reading such faces, and, on wet days, would present himself to themwith his bare little red feet and half-naked body, rain water, (doingduty for tears), running from his weak bloodshot eyes, and falsehoods ofthe most pitiable, complex, and impudent character pouring from his thinblue lips, whilst awful solemnity seemed to shine on his visage. Thecertain result was--coppers!

  These kindly ones have, unwittingly of course, changed a text ofScripture, and, for the words "_consider_ the poor," read "throw coppersto the poor!" You see, it is much easier to relieve one's feelings bygiving away a few pence, than to take the trouble of visiting, inquiringabout, and otherwise _considering_, the poor! At all events it wouldseem so, for Tim began to grow comparatively rich, and corrupted, stillmore deeply, associates who were already buried sufficiently in thedepths of corruption.

  At last little Tim was met by a lady who had befriended him more thanonce, and who asked him why he preferred begging in the streets to goingto the ragged school, where he would get not only food for the body, butfor the soul. He replied that he was hungry, and his mother had novictuals to give him, so he had gone out to beg. The lady went straightto Mrs Lumpy, found the story to be true, and that the poor half-blindold woman was quite unable to support the boy and herself. The ladyprevailed on the old woman to attend the meetings for poor, aged, andinfirm women in Miss Macpherson's "Beehive," and little Tim was takeninto the "Home for Destitute Little Boys under ten years of age."

  It was not all smooth sailing in that Home after Tim Lumpy entered it!Being utterly untamed, Tim had many a sore struggle ere the temper wasbrought under control. One day he was so bad that the governess wasobliged to punish him by leaving him behind, while the other boys wentout for a walk. When left alone, the lady-superintendent tried toconverse with him about obedience, but he became frightfully violent,and demanded his rags that he might return again to the streets.Finally he escaped, rushed to his old home in a paroxysm of rage, andthen, getting on the roof, declared to the assembled neighbours that hewould throw himself down and dash out his brains. In this state aBible-woman found him. After offering the mental prayer, "Lord, helpme," she entreated him to come down and join her in a cup of tea withhis old mother. The invitation perhaps struck the little rebel ashaving a touch of humour in it. At all events he accepted it andforthwith descended.

  Over the tea, the Bible-woman prayed aloud for him, and the poor boybroke down, burst into tears, and begged forgiveness. Soon afterwardshe was heard tapping at the door of the Home--gentle and subdued.

  Thus was this waif rescued, and he now discussed with his former comradethe prospect of transferring themselves and their powers, mental andphysical, to Canada. Diverging from this subject to Bobby's father, andhis dark designs, Tim asked if Ned Frog had absolutely decided to breakinto Sir Richard Brandon's house, and Bobby replied that he had; thathis father had wormed out of the butler, who was a soft stupid sort ofcove, where the plate and valuables were kept, and that he and anotherman had arranged to do it.

  "Is the partikler night fixed?" asked Tim.

  "Yes; it's to be the last night o' this month."

  "Why not give notice?" asked Tim.

  "'Cause I won't peach on daddy," said Bob Frog stoutly.

  Little Tim received this with a "quite right, old dosser," and thenproposed that the meeting should adjourn, as he was expected back at theHome by that time.

  Two weeks or so after that, Police-Constable Number 666 was walkingquietly along one of the streets of his particular beat in the West-end,with that stateliness of step which seems to be inseparable from place,power, and six feet two.

  It was a quiet street, such as Wealth loves to inhabit. There were fewcarriages passing along it, and fewer passengers. Number 666 hadnothing particular to do--the inhabitants being painfully well-behaved,and the sun high. His mind, therefore, roamed about aimlessly,sometimes bringing playfully before him a small abode, not very fardistant, where a pretty woman was busy with household operations, and aferocious policeman, about three feet high, was taking into custody anincorrigible criminal of still smaller size.

  A little boy, with very long arms and legs, might have been seenfollowing our friend Giles Scott, until the latter entered upon one ofthose narrow paths made by builders on the pavements of streets whenhouses are undergoing repairs. Watching until Giles was half way alongit, the boy ran nimbly up and accosted him with a familiar--

  "Well, old man, 'ow are you?"

  "Pretty bobbish, thank you," returned the constable, for he was agood-natured man, and rather liked a little quiet chaff with street-boyswhen not too much engaged with duty.

  "Well, now, are you aweer that there's a-goin' to be a burglairycommitted in this 'ere quarter?" asked the boy, thrusting both handsdeep into his pockets, and bending his body a little back, so as to lookmore easily up at his tall friend.

  "Ah! indeed, well no, I didn't know it, for I forgot to examine thebooks at Scotland Yard this morning, but I've no doubt it's enteredthere by your friend who's goin' to commit it."

  "No, it ain't entered there," said the boy, with a manner and tone thatrather surprised Number 666; "and I'd advise you to git out yournote-book, an' clap down wot I'm a-goin' to tell ye. You know the 'ouseof Sir Richard Brandon?"

  "Yes, I know it."

  "Well, that 'ouse is to be cracked on the 31st night o' this month."

  "How d'you know that, lad?" asked Giles, moving towards the end of thebarricade, so as to get nearer to his informant.

  "No use, bobby," said Tim, "big as you are, you can't nab me. Believeme or not as you like, but I advise you to look arter that there 'ouseon the 31st if you valley your re
pitation."

  Tim went off like a congreve rocket, dashed down a side street, slopedinto an alley, and melted into a wilderness of bricks and mortar.

  Of course Giles did not attempt to follow, but some mysteriouscommunications passed between him and his superintendent that nightbefore he went to bed.