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

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  TELLS OF SOME CURIOUS AND VIGOROUS PECULIARITIES OF THE LOWER ORDERS.

  Now it must not be supposed that Mrs Frog, having provided for her babyand got rid of it, remained thereafter quite indifferent to it. On thecontrary, she felt the blank more than she had expected, and hermotherly heart began to yearn for it powerfully.

  To gratify this yearning to some extent, she got into the habit ofpaying frequent visits, sometimes by night and sometimes by day, to thestreet in which Samuel Twitter lived, and tried to see her baby throughthe stone walls of the house! Her eyes being weak, as well as herimagination, she failed in this effort, but the mere sight of the housewhere little Matty was, sufficed to calm her maternal yearnings in someslight degree.

  By the way, that name reminds us of our having omitted to mention thatbaby Frog's real name was Matilda, and her pet name Matty, so that thename of Mita, fixed on by the Twitters, was not so wide of the mark asit might have been.

  One night Mrs Frog, feeling the yearning strong upon her, put on herbonnet and shawl--that is to say, the bundle of dirty silk, pasteboard,and flowers which represented the one, and the soiled tartan rag thatdid duty for the other.

  "Where are ye off to, old woman?" asked Ned, who, having been recentlysuccessful in some little "job," was in high good humour.

  "I'm goin' round to see Mrs Tibbs, Ned. D'you want me?"

  "No, on'y I'm goin' that way too, so we'll walk together."

  Mrs Frog, we regret to say, was not particular as to the matter oftruth. She had no intention of going near Mrs Tibbs, but, havingcommitted herself, made a virtue of necessity, and resolved to pay thatlady a visit.

  The conversation by the way was not sufficiently interesting to beworthy of record. Arrived at Twitter's street an idea struck Mrs Frog.

  "Ned," said she, "I'm tired."

  "Well, old girl, you'd better cut home."

  "I think I will, Ned, but first I'll sit down on this step to rest abit."

  "All right, old girl," said Ned, who would have said the same words ifshe had proposed to stand on her head on the step--so easy was he in hismind as to how his wife spent her time; "if you sit for half-an-hour orso I'll be back to see you 'ome again. I'm on'y goin' to Bundle's shopfor a bit o' baccy. Ain't I purlite now? Don't it mind you of thecourtin' days?"

  "Ah! Ned," exclaimed the wife, while a sudden gush of memory broughtback the days when he was handsome and kind,--but Ned was gone, and theslightly thawed spring froze up again.

  She sat down on the cold step of a door which happened to be somewhat inthe shade, and gazed at the opposite windows. There was a light in oneof them. She knew it well. She had often watched the shadows thatcrossed the blind after the gas was lighted, and once she had seen someone carrying something which looked like a baby! It might have been abundle of soiled linen, or undarned socks, but it might have been Matty,and the thought sent a thrill to the forlorn creature's heart.

  On the present occasion she was highly favoured, for, soon after Ned hadleft, the shadows came again on the blind, and came so near it as to bedistinctly visible. Yes, there could be no doubt now, it _was_ a baby,and as there was only one baby in that house it followed that the babywas _her_ baby--little Matty! Here was something to carry home withher, and think over and dream about. But there was more in store forher. The baby, to judge from the shadowy action of its fat limbs on theblind, became what she called obstropolous. More than that, it yelled,and its mother heard the yell--faintly, it is true, but sufficiently tosend a thrill of joy to her longing heart.

  Then a sudden fear came over her. What if it was ill, and they weretrying to soothe it to rest! How much better _she_ could do that if sheonly had the baby!

  "Oh! fool that I was to part with her!" she murmured, "but no. It wasbest. She would surely have bin dead by this time."

  The sound of the little voice, however, had roused such a tempest oflonging in Mrs Frog's heart, that, under an irresistible impulse, sheran across the road and rang the bell. The door was promptly opened byMrs Twitter's domestic.

  "Is--is the baby well?" stammered Mrs Frog, scarce knowing what shesaid.

  "_You've_ nothink to do wi' the baby that I knows on," returned MrsTwitter's domestic, who was not quite so polite as her mistress.

  "No, honey," said Mrs Frog in a wheedling tone, rendered almostdesperate by the sudden necessity for instant invention, "but the doctorsaid I was to ask if baby had got over it, or if 'e was to send roundthe--the--I forget its name--at once."

  "What doctor sent you?" asked Mrs Twitter, who had come out of theparlour on hearing the voices through the doorway, and with her came aclear and distinct yell which Mrs Frog treasured up in her thinly cladbut warm bosom, as though it had been a strain from Paradise. "Theremust surely be some mistake, my good woman, for my baby is quite well."

  "Oh! thank you, thank you--yes, there must have been some mistake," saidMrs Frog, scarce able to restrain a laugh of joy at the success of herscheme, as she retired precipitately from the door and hurried away.

  She did not go far, however, but, on hearing the door shut, turned backand took up her position again on the door-step.

  Poor Mrs Frog had been hardened and saddened by sorrow, and suffering,and poverty, and bad treatment; nevertheless she was probably one of thehappiest women in London just then.

  "_My_ baby," she said, quoting part of Mrs Twitter's remarks with asarcastic laugh, "no, madam, she's not _your_ baby _yet_!"

  As she sat reflecting on this agreeable fact, a heavy step was heardapproaching. It was too slow for that of Ned. She knew it well--apoliceman!

  There are hard-hearted policemen in the force--not many, indeed, butnothing is perfect in this world, and there are a _few_ hard-heartedpolicemen. He who approached was one of these.

  "Move on," he said in a stern voice.

  "Please, sir, I'm tired. On'y restin' a bit while I wait for my'usband," pleaded Mrs Frog.

  "Come, move on," repeated the unyielding constable in a tone that therewas no disputing. Indeed it was so strong that it reached the ears ofNed Frog himself, who chanced to come round the corner at the moment andsaw the policeman, as he imagined, maltreating his wife.

  Ned was a man who, while he claimed and exercised the right to treat hisown wife as he pleased, was exceedingly jealous of the interference ofothers with his privileges. He advanced, therefore, at once, andplanted his practised knuckles on the policeman's forehead with suchpower that the unfortunate limb of the law rolled over in one directionand his helmet in another.

  As every one knows, the police sometimes suffer severely at the hands ofroughs, and on this occasion that truth was verified, but the policemanwho had been knocked down by this prize-fighter was by no means a feeblemember of the force. Recovering from his astonishment in a moment, hesprang up and grappled with Ned Frog in such a manner as to convincethat worthy he had "his work cut out for him." The tussle that ensuedwas tremendous, and Mrs Frog retired into a doorway to enjoy it insafety. But it was brief. Before either wrestler could claim thevictory, a brother constable came up, and Ned was secured and borne awayto a not unfamiliar cell before he could enjoy even one pipe of the"baccy" which he had purchased.

  Thus it came to pass, that when a certain comrade expected to find NedFrog at a certain mansion in the West-end, prepared with a set ofpeculiar tools for a certain purpose, Ned was in the enjoyment of boardand lodging at Her Majesty's expense.

  The comrade, however, not being aware of Ned's incarceration, andbelieving, no doubt, that there was honour among thieves, was true tohis day and hour. He had been engaged down somewhere in the country onbusiness, and came up by express train for this particular job; hencehis ignorance as to his partner's fate.

  But this burglar was not a man to be easily balked in his purpose.

  "Ned must be ill, or got a haccident o' some sort," he said to a verylittle but sharp boy who was to assist in the job. "Howsever, you an'me'll go at it
alone, Sniveller."

  "Wery good, Bunky," replied Sniveller, "'ow is it to be? By the winder,through the door, down the chimbly, up the spout--or wot?"

  "The larder windy, my boy."

  "Sorry for that," said Sniveller.

  "Why?"

  "'Cause it _is_ so 'ard to go past the nice things an' smell 'em allwithout darin' to touch 'em till I lets you in. Couldn't you let me'ave a feed first?"

  "Unpossible," said the burglar.

  "Wery good," returned the boy, with a sigh of resignation.

  Now, while these two were whispering to each other in a box of anadjoining tavern, three police-constables were making themselves at homein the premises of Sir Richard Brandon. One of these was Number 666.

  It is not quite certain, even to this day, how and where these men werestationed, for their proceedings--though not deeds of evil--were done inthe dark, at least in darkness which was rendered visible only now andthen by bull's-eye lanterns. The only thing that was absolutely clearto the butler, Mr Thomas Balls, was, that the mansion was given overentirely to the triumvirate to be dealt with as they thought fit.

  Of course they did not know when the burglars would come, nor theparticular point of the mansion where the assault would be delivered;therefore Number 666 laid his plans like a wise general, posted histroops where there was most likelihood of their being required, and kepthimself in reserve for contingencies.

  About that "wee short hour" of which the poet Burns writes, a small boywas lifted by a large man to the sill of the small window which lightedSir Richard Brandon's pantry. To the surprise of the small boy, hefound the window unfastened.

  "They've bin an' forgot it!" he whispered.

  "Git in," was the curt reply.

  Sniveller got in, dropped to his extreme length from the sill, let gohis hold, and came down lightly on the floor--not so lightly, however,but that a wooden stool placed there was overturned, and, fallingagainst a blue plate, broke it with a crash.

  Sniveller became as one petrified, and remained so for a considerabletime, till he imagined all danger from sleepers having been awakened wasover. He also thought of thieving cats, and thanked them mentally. Helikewise became aware of the near presence of pastry. The smell wasdelicious, but a sense of duty restrained him.

  Number 666 smiled to himself to think how well his trap had acted, butthe smile was lost in darkness.

  Meanwhile, the chief operator, Bunky, went round to the back door.Sniveller, who had been taught the geography of the mansion from awell-executed plan, proceeded to the same door inside. Giles could havepatted his little head as he carefully drew back the bolts and turnedthe key. Another moment, and Bunky, on his stocking soles, stood withinthe mansion.

  Yet another moment, and Bunky was enjoying an embrace that squeezed mostof the wind out of his body, strong though he was, for Number 666 wasapt to forget his excessive power when duty constrained him to act withpromptitude.

  "Now, then, show a light," said Giles, quietly.

  Two bull's-eyes flashed out their rich beams at the word, and lit up atableau of three, in attitudes faintly resembling those of the Laocoon,without the serpents.

  "Fetch the bracelets," said Giles.

  At these words the bull's-eyes converged, and Sniveller, bolting throughthe open door, vanished--he was never heard of more!

  Then followed two sharp _clicks_, succeeded by a sigh of relief asNumber 666 relaxed his arms.

  "You needn't rouse the household unless you feel inclined, my man," saidGiles to Bunky in a low voice.

  Bunky did _not_ feel inclined. He thought it better, on the whole, tolet the sleeping dogs lie, and wisely submitted to inevitable fate. Hewas marched off to jail, while one of the constables remained behind tosee the house made safe, and acquaint Sir Richard of his deliverancefrom the threatened danger.

  Referring to this matter on the following day in the servants' hall,Thomas Balls filled a foaming tankard of ginger-beer--for, strange tosay, he was an abstainer, though a butler--and proposed, in a highlyeulogistic speech, the health and prosperity of that admirable body ofmen, the Metropolitan Police, with which toast he begged to couple thename of Number 666!