CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
NED FROG'S EXPERIENCES AND SAMMY TWITTER'S WOES.
But Ned Frog, with strong drink combined, rendered fruitless all theefforts that were put forth in his behalf at that time.
When discharged with a lot of other jail-birds, none of whom, however,he knew, he sauntered leisurely homeward, wondering whether his wife wasalive, and, if so, in what condition he should find her.
It may have been that better thoughts were struggling in his breast forascendency, because he sighed deeply once or twice, which was not ausual mode with Ned of expressing his feelings. A growl was more commonand more natural, considering his character.
Drawing nearer and nearer to his old haunts, yet taking a roundaboutroad, as the moth is drawn to the candle, or as water descends to itslevel, he went slowly on, having little hope of comfort in his home, andnot knowing very well what to do.
As he passed down one of the less frequented streets leading intoWhitechapel, he was arrested by the sight of a purse lying on thepavement. To become suddenly alive, pick it up, glance stealthilyround, and thrust it into his pocket, was the work of an instant. Thesaunter was changed into a steady businesslike walk. As he turned intoCommercial Street, Ned met Number 666 full in the face. He knew thatconstable intimately, but refrained from taking notice of him, andpassed on with an air and expression which were meant to convey the ideaof infantine innocence. Guilty men usually over-reach themselves.Giles noted the air, and suspected guilt, but, not being in a positionto prove it, walked gravely on, with his stern eyes straight to thefront.
In a retired spot Ned examined his "find." It contained six sovereigns,four shillings, threepence, a metropolitan railway return ticket,several cuttings from newspapers, and a recipe for the concoction of acheap and wholesome pudding, along with a card bearing the name of MrsSamuel Twitter, written in ink and without any address.
"You're in luck, Ned," he remarked to himself, as he examined thesetreasures. "Now, old boy you 'aven't stole this 'ere purse, so youain't a thief; you don't know w'ere Mrs S.T. lives, so you can't find'er to return it to 'er. Besides, it's more than likely she won't feelthe want of it--w'ereas I feels in want of it wery much indeed. Ofcourse it's my dooty to 'and it over to the p'lice, but, in the firstplace, I refuse to 'ave any communication wi' the p'lice, friendly orotherwise; in the second place, I 'ad no 'and in makin' the laws, so Idon't feel bound to obey 'em; thirdly, I'm both 'ungry an' thirsty, an''ere you 'ave the remedy for them afflictions, so, fourthly--'ere goes!"
Having thus cleared his conscience, Ned committed the cash to his vestpocket, and presented the purse with its remaining contents to the ratsin a neighbouring sewer.
Almost immediately afterwards he met an Irishman, an old friend.
"Terence, my boy, well met!" he said, offering his hand.
"Hooroo! Ned Frog, sure I thought ye was in limbo!"
"You thought right, Terry; only half-an-hour out. Come along, I'llstand you somethin' for the sake of old times. By the way, have youdone that job yet?"
"What job?"
"Why, the dynamite job, of course."
"No, I've gi'n that up," returned the Irishman with a look of contempt."To tell you the honest truth, I don't believe that the way to rightIreland is to blow up England. But there's an Englishman you'll find atthe Swan an' Anchor--a sneakin' blackguard, as would sell his own motherfor dhrink--he'll help you if you wants to have a hand in the job. I'moff it."
Notwithstanding this want of sympathy on that point, the two friendsfound that they held enough in common to induce a prolonged stay at thepublic-house, from which Ned finally issued rather late at night, andstaggered homewards. He met no acquaintance on the way, and was aboutto knock at his own door when the sound of a voice within arrested him.
It was Hetty, praying. The poor wife and daughter had given up hope ofhis returning at so late an hour that night, and had betaken themselvesto their usual refuge in distress. Ned knew the sound well, and itseemed to rouse a demon in his breast, for he raised his foot with theintention of driving in the door, when he was again arrested by anothersound.
It was the voice of little Matty, who, awaking suddenly out of aterrifying dream, set up a shrieking which at once drowned all othersounds.
Ned lowered his foot, thrust his hands into his pockets, and stoodgazing in a state of indecision at the broken pavement for a fewminutes.
"No peace there," he said, sternly. "Prayin' an' squallin' don't suitme, so good-night to 'ee all."
With that he turned sharp round, and staggered away, resolving nevermore to return!
"Is that you, Ned Frog?" inquired a squalid, dirty-looking woman,thrusting her head out of a window as he passed.
"No, 'tain't," said Ned, fiercely, as he left the court.
He went straight to a low lodging-house, but before entering tied hismoney in a bit of rag, and thrust it into an inner pocket of his vest,which he buttoned tight, and fastened his coat over it. Paying therequisite fourpence for the night's lodging, he entered, and wasimmediately hailed by several men who knew him, but being in no humourfor good fellowship, he merely nodded and went straight up to his lowlybed. It was one of seventy beds that occupied the entire floor of animmense room. Police supervision had secured that this room should bewell ventilated, and that the bedding should be reasonably clean, thoughfar from clean-looking, and Ned slept soundly in spite of drink, for, aswe have said before, he was unusually strong.
Next day, having thought over his plans in bed, and, being a man ofstrong determination, he went forth to carry them into immediateexecution. He went to a lofty tenement in the neighbourhood of Dean andFlower Street, one of the poorest parts of the city, and hired a garret,which was so high up that even the staircase ended before you reachedit, and the remainder of the upward flight had to be performed on aladder, at the top of which was a trap-door, the only entrance to Ned'snew home.
Having paid a week's rent in advance he took possession, furnished theapartment with one old chair, one older table, one bundle of straw in asack, one extremely old blanket, and one brand-new pipe with acorresponding ounce or two of tobacco. Then he locked the trap-door,put the key in his pocket, and descended to the street, where atBird-fair he provided himself with sundry little cages and a few birds.Having conveyed these with some food for himself and the little birds tohis lodging he again descended to the street, and treated himself to apint of beer.
While thus engaged he was saluted by an old friend, the owner of a lowmusic-hall, who begged for a few minutes' conversation with him outside.
"Ned," he said, "I'm glad I fell in with you, for I'm uncommon 'ard upjust now."
"I never lends money," said Ned, brusquely turning away.
"'Old on, Ned, I don't want yer money, bless yer. I wants to _give_ youmoney."
"Oh! that's quite another story; fire away, old man."
"Well, you see, I'm 'ard up, as I said, for a man to keep order in myplace. The last man I 'ad was a good 'un, 'e was. Six futt one in 'issocks, an' as strong as a 'orse, but by ill luck one night, asailor-chap that was bigger than 'im come in to the 'all, an' they 'ad arow, an' my man got sitch a lickin' that he 'ad to go to hospital, an''e's been there for a week, an' won't be out, they say, for a month ormore. Now, Ned, will you take the job? The pay's good an' the fun'sconsiderable. So's the fightin', sometimes, but you'd put a stop tothat you know. An', then, you'll 'ave all the day to yourself to do asyou like."
"I'm your man," said Ned, promptly.
Thus it came to pass that the pugilist obtained suitable employment as apeacemaker and keeper of order, for a time at least, in one of thosedisreputable places of amusement where the unfortunate poor of Londonare taught lessons of vice and vanity which end often in vexation ofspirit, not only to themselves, but to the strata of society which restabove them.
One night Ned betook himself to this temple of vice, and on the way wasstruck by the appearance of a man with a barrow--a sort of book-stal
l onwheels--who was pushing his way through the crowded street. It was theman who at the temperance meeting had begun with "bah!" and "pooh!" andhad ended by putting on the Blue Ribbon. He had once been a comrade ofNed Frog, but had become so very respectable that his old chum scarcelyrecognised him.
"Hallo! Reggie North, can that be you?"
North let down his barrow, wheeled round, and held out his hand with ahearty, "how are 'ee, old man? W'y you're lookin' well, close croppedan' comfortable, eh! Livin' at Her Majesty's expense lately? Whered'ee live now, Ned? I'd like to come and see you."
Ned told his old comrade the locality of his new abode.
"But I say, North, how respectable you are! What's come over you? notbecome a travellin' bookseller, have you?"
"That's just what I am, Ned."
"Well, there's no accountin' for taste. I hope it pays."
"Ay, pays splendidly--pays the seller of the books and pays the buyersbetter."
"How's that?" asked Ned, in some surprise, going up to the barrow; "oh!I see, Bibles."
"Yes, Ned, Bibles, the Word of God. Will you buy one?"
"No, thank 'ee," said Ned, drily.
"Here, I'll make you a present o' one, then," returned North, thrustinga Bible into the other's hand; "you can't refuse it of an old comrade.Good-night. I'll look in on you soon."
"You needn't trouble yourself," Ned called out as his friend went off;and he felt half inclined to fling the Bible after him, but checkedhimself. It was worth money! so he put it in his pocket and went hisway.
The hall was very full that night, a new comic singer of great promisehaving been announced, and oh! it was sad to see the youths of bothsexes, little more than big boys and girls, who went there to smoke, anddrink, and enjoy ribald songs and indecent jests!
We do not mean to describe the proceedings. Let it suffice to say that,after one or two songs and a dance had been got through, Ned, part ofwhose duty it was to announce the performances, rose and in a loud voicesaid--
"Signor Twittorini will now sing."
The Signor stepped forward at once, and was received with a roar ofenthusiastic laughter, for anything more lugubrious and woe-begone thanthe expression of his face had never been seen on these boards before.There was a slight look of shyness about him, too, which increased theabsurdity of the thing, and it was all _so natural_, as one half-tipsywoman remarked.
So it was--intensely natural--for Signor Twittorini was no other thanpoor Sammy Twitter in the extremest depths of his despair.Half-starved, half-mad, yet ashamed to return to his father's house, themiserable boy had wandered in bye streets, and slept in lowlodging-houses as long as his funds lasted. Then he tried to getemployment with only partial success, until at last, recollecting thathe had been noted among his companions for a sweet voice and a certainpower of singing serio-comic songs, he thought of a low music-hall intowhich he had staggered one evening when drunk--as much with misery aswith beer. The manager, on hearing a song or two, at once engaged himand brought him out. As poor Sammy knew nothing about acting, it wasdecided that he should appear in his own garments, which, beingshabby-genteel, were pretty well suited for a great Italian singer inlow society.
But Sammy had over-rated his own powers. After the first burst ofapplause was over, he stood gazing at the audience with his mouth halfopen, vainly attempting to recollect the song he meant to sing, andmaking such involuntary contortions with his thin visage, that a renewedburst of laughter broke forth. When it had partially subsided, Sammyonce more opened his mouth, gave vent to a gasp, burst into tears, andrushed from the stage.
This was the climax! It brought down the house! Never before had theyseen such an actor. He was inimitable, and the people made the usualdemand for an _encore_ with tremendous fervour, expecting that SignorTwittorini would repeat the scene, probably with variations, and finishoff with the promised song. But poor Sammy did not respond.
"I see,--you can improvise," said the manager, quite pleased, "and I'veno objection when it's well done like that; but you'd better go on now,and stick to the programme."
"I can't sing," said Sammy, in passionate despair.
"Come, come, young feller, I don't like actin' _off_ the stage, an' theaudience is gittin' impatient."
"But I tell you I can't sing a note," repeated Sam.
"What! D'ye mean to tell me you're not actin'?"
"I wish I was!" cried poor Sam, glancing upward with tearful eyes andclasping his hands.
"Come now. You've joked enough. Go on and do your part," said thepuzzled manager.
"But I tell you I'm _not_ joking. I couldn't sing just now if you wasto give me ten thousand pounds!"
It might have been the amount of the sum stated, or the tone in which itwas stated--we know not--but the truth of what Sam said was borne soforcibly in upon the manager, that he went into a violent passion;sprang at Sam's throat; hustled him towards a back door, and kicked himout into a back lane, where he sat down on an empty packing case,covered his face with his hands, bowed his head on his knees, and wept.
The manager returned on the stage, and, with a calm voice and manner,which proved himself to be a very fair actor, stated that SignorTwittorini had met with a sudden disaster--not a very serious one--which, however, rendered it impossible for him to re-appear just then,but that, if sufficiently recovered, he would appear towards the closeof the evening.
This, with a very significant look and gesture from Ned Frog, quietedthe audience to the extent at least of inducing them to do nothing worsethan howl continuously for ten minutes, after which they allowed theperformances to go on, and saved the keeper of order the trouble ofknocking down a few of the most unruly.
Ned was the first to quit the hall when all was over. He did so by theback door, and found Sam still sitting on the door-step.
"What's the matter with ye, youngster?" he said, going up to him."You've made a pretty mess of it to-night."
"I couldn't help it--indeed I couldn't. Perhaps I'll do better nexttime."
"Better! ha! ha! You couldn't ha' done better--if you'd on'y gone on.But why do ye sit there?"
"Because I've nowhere to go to."
"There's plenty o' common lodgin'-'ouses, ain't there?"
"Yes, but I haven't got a single rap."
"Well, then, ain't there the casual ward? Why don't you go there?You'll git bed and board for nothin' there."
Having put this question, and received no answer, Ned turned awaywithout further remark.
Hardened though Ned was to suffering, there was something in the fallenboy's face that had touched this fallen man. He turned back with a sortof remonstrative growl, and re-entered the back lane, but SignorTwittorini was gone. He had heard the manager's voice, and fled.
A policeman directed him to the nearest casual ward, where the loweststratum of abject poverty finds its nightly level.
Here he knocked with trembling hand. He was received; he was put in alukewarm bath and washed; he was fed on gruel and a bit of bread--quitesufficient to allay the cravings of hunger; he was shown to a room inwhich appeared to be a row of corpses--so dead was the silence--eachrolled in a covering of some dark brown substance, and stretched outstiff on a trestle with a canvas bottom. One of the trestles was empty.He was told he might appropriate it.
"Are they dead?" he asked, looking round with a shudder.
"Not quite," replied his jailer, with a short laugh, "but dead-beat mostof 'em--tired out, I should say, and disinclined to move."
Sam Twitter fell on the couch, drew the coverlet over him, and became abrown corpse like the rest, while the guardian retired and locked thedoor to prevent the egress of any who might chance to come to lifeagain.
In the morning Sam had a breakfast similar to the supper; was made topick oakum for a few hours by way of payment for hospitality, and leftwith a feeling that he had at last reached the lowest possible depth ofdegradation.
So he had in that direction, but there are other and varie
d depths inLondon--depths of crime and of sickness, as well as of suffering andsorrow!
Aimlessly he wandered about for another day, almost fainting withhunger, but still so ashamed to face his father and mother that he wouldrather have died than done so.
Some touch of pathos, or gruff tenderness mayhap, in Ned Frog's voice,induced him to return at night to the scene of his discreditablefailure, and await the pugilist's coming out. He followed him a shortway, and then running forward, said--
"Oh, sir! I'm very low!"
"Hallo! Signor Twittorini again!" said Ned, wheeling round, sternly."What have I to do with your being low? I've been low enough myself attimes, an' nobody helped--"
Ned checked himself, for he knew that what he said was false.
"I think I'm dying," said Sam, leaning against a house for support.
"Well, if you do die, you'll be well out of it all," replied Ned,bitterly. "What's your name?"
"Twitter," replied Sam, forgetting in his woe that he had not intendedto reveal his real name.
"Twitter--Twitter. I've heard that name before. Why, yes. Father'sname Samuel--eh? Mother alive--got cards with Mrs Samuel Twitter on'em, an' no address?"
"Yes--yes. How do you come to know?" asked Sam in surprise.
"Never you mind that, youngster, but you come along wi' me. I've got asort o' right to feed you. Ha! ha! come along."
Sam became frightened at this sudden burst of hilarity, and shrank away,but Ned grasped him by the arm, and led him along with such decision,that resistance he felt would be useless.
In a few minutes he was in Ned's garret eating bread and cheese withravenous satisfaction.
"Have some beer!" said Ned, filling a pewter pot.
"No--no--no--no!" said Sam, shuddering as he turned his head away.
"Well, youngster," returned Ned, with a slight look of surprise, "pleaseyourself, and here's your health."
He drained the pot to the bottom, after which, dividing his straw intotwo heaps, and throwing them into two corners, he bade Sam lie down andrest.
The miserable boy was only too glad to do so. He flung himself on thelittle heap pointed out, and the last thing he remembered seeing beforethe "sweet restorer" embraced him was the huge form of Ned Frog sittingin his own corner with his back to the wall, the pewter pot at hiselbow, and a long clay pipe in his mouth.
Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure Page 23