CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
HOW I CHANGED MASTERS TWICE IN TWO DAYS, AND AFTER ALL FOUND MYSELF INPAWN.
It was scarcely four o'clock when my lord and master arose from hisbrief repose, and sallied through the rain and darkness back in thedirection of the city. He was far less anxious to salute the police nowthan he had been a few hours ago. He slunk down the back streets, andnow and then darted up a court at the sound of approaching foot steps;or retreated for some distance by the way he had come, in order tostrike a less guarded street.
In this manner he pursued his way for about an hour, till he reached avery narrow street of tumble-down houses, not far from Holborn. Downthis he wended his way till he stood before a door belonging to one ofthe oldest, dingiest, and most decayed houses in all the street. Herehe gave a peculiar scrape with his foot along the bottom of the door,and then sat down on the doorstep.
Presently a voice came through the keyhole, in a whisper.
"That you, Stumpy?" it said.
"Yas," replied my master.
"All clear?"
Stumpy looked up and down the street and then hurriedly whispered, "No."
Instantly the voice within was silent, and Stumpy was to all appearancesleeping soundly and heavily, as if tired nature in him had fairlyreached its last strait.
The distant footsteps came nearer; and still he slept on, snoring gentlyand regularly. The policeman advanced leisurely, turning his lanternfirst on this doorway, then on that window; trying now a shutter-bar,then a lock. At last he stood opposite the doorstep where Stumpy lay.It was a critical moment. He turned his lamp full on the boy's sleepingface, he took hold of his arm and gently shook him, he tried the bolt ofthe door against which he leaned. The sleeper only grunted drowsily andsettled down to still heavier slumber, and the policeman, evidentlysatisfied, walked on.
"Is he gone?" asked the voice within, the moment the retreatingfootsteps showed this.
"Yas, but he'll be back," whispered the boy.
And so he was. Three times he paced the street, and every time foundthe boy in the same position, and wrapped in the same profound slumber.Then at last he strode slowly onward to the end of his beat, and hisfootsteps died gradually away.
"Now?" inquired the voice.
"Yas," replied Stumpy.
Whereat the door half-opened, and Stumpy entered.
It was a dirty, half-ruinous house, in which the rats had grown tame andthe spiders fat. The stairs creaked dismally as Stumpy followed hisentertainer up them, while the odours rising from every nook and crannyin the place were almost suffocating.
The man led the way into a small room, foul and pestilential in itscloseness. In it lay on the floor no less than nine or ten sleepingfigures, mostly juveniles, huddled together, irrespective of decency,health, or comfort. Stumpy surveyed the scene composedly.
"Got lodgers, then," he observed.
"Yes, two on 'em--on'y penny ones, though."
Just then a sound of moaning came from one corner of the room, whicharrested Stumpy's attention.
"Who's that?" he asked.
"Old Sal; she's bad, and I reckon she won't last much longer the wayshe's a-going on. I shall pack her off to-day."
Stumpy whistled softly; but it was evident, by the frequent glances hestole every now and then towards the corner where the sufferer lay, thathe possessed a certain amount of interest in the woman described as "OldSal."
The man who appeared to be the proprietor of this one well-filledlodging-room was middle-aged, and had a hare-lip. He had an expressionhalf careworn, and half villainous, of which he gave Stumpy the fullbenefit as he inquired.
"What 'ave yer got?"
"Got, pal?" replied Stumpy; "a ticker."
"Hand it up," said the man, hurriedly.
Stumpy produced me, and the man, taking me to the candle, examined megreedily and minutely.
Then he said,--
"I shall get fifteen bob for him."
"Come, now, none of your larks!" replied Stumpy, who had produced thepipe, and was endeavouring to rekindle its few remaining embers at thecandle; "try ag'in."
"Well, I don't see as he'll fetch seventeen-and-six, but I'll do it for_you_."
"Try ag'in," coolly replied Stumpy.
The man did try again, and named a sovereign, which my master alsodeclined.
In this manner he advanced to twenty-four shillings.
"Won't do," said Stumpy.
"Then you can take 'im off," said the man, with an oath; "he ain't worththe money."
"Yas 'e is, an' a tanner more," put in Stumpy.
The man uttered a few more oaths, and again examined me. Then hedropped me in his pocket, and slowly counted out the purchase-money froma drawer at his side.
Stumpy watched the process eagerly, doubtless calculating withprofessional interest how the entire hoard of this thieves' broker couldat some convenient opportunity be abstracted. However, for the presenthe made sure of the sum given him, and dropped the coins one by one intohis tail pocket.
"Now lay down," said the man, "and make yourself comfortable."
I fancy Stumpy was a good deal more comfortable in his drain-pipe anhour or two ago than in this foul, choking lodging-room; however, hecurled himself up on the floor near the dying woman, and did his sharein exhausting the air of the apartment.
I should offend all rules of good taste and decency if I described theloathsome room; I wish I could forget it, but that I shall never do.Suffice it to say daylight broke in at last on the squalid scene, andthen one by one the sleepers rose and departed--all but Stumpy and shewhose groaning had risen ceaselessly and hopelessly the livelong night.
"Old Sal's very bad," said Stumpy to his host.
"Yas, she'll have to clear out of here."
"She's nigh dying, I reckon," said the boy.
"Can't help that; she ain't paid a copper this three weeks, and I ain'ta-going to have her lumbering up my place no longer."
"Where's she a-going to?" asked Stumpy.
"How do I know?--out of 'ere, anyways, and pretty soon, too. I can tellyer."
"Pal," said the boy, after a long pause, "I charged yer a tanner toomuch for that there ticker; here you are, lay hold."
And he tossed back the sixpence. The man understood quite well themeaning of the act, and Old Sal lay undisturbed all that day.
Stumpy took his departure early. I have never seen him since; what hasbecome of him I know not; where he is now I know still less.
But to return to myself. I spent that entire day in the man's pocket,too ill to care what became of me, and too weak to notice much of whatpassed around me. I was conscious of others like Stumpy coming up thecreaking stairs and offering their ill-gotten gains as he had done; andI was conscious towards evening, when the last rays of the setting sunwere struggling feebly through the dingy window, of a groan in thatdismal corner, deeper than all that had gone before. Then I knew OldSal was dead. In an hour the body was laid in its rude coffin, and hadmade its last journey down those stairs: and that night another outcastslept in her corner.
The night was like the one which had preceded it, foul and sickening. Iwas thankful that my illness had sufficiently deadened my senses torender me unable to hear and see all that went on during those hours.Morning came at length, and one by one the youthful lodgers took theirdeparture. When the last had left, my possessor produced a bag, intowhich he thrust me, with a score or more of other articles acquired as Ihad been acquired; then, locking the door behind him, he descended thestairs and stepped out.
Oh, the delight of that breath of fresh morning air! Even as itstruggled in through the crevices and cracks of that old bag, it waslike a breath of Paradise, after the vile, pestilential atmosphere ofthat room!
As we went on, I had leisure to observe the company of which I formedone. What a motley crew we were! There were watches, snuff-boxes, andpencils, bracelets and brooches, handkerchiefs and gloves, studs, pins,and rings--all huddled togethe
r higgledy-piggledy. We none of us spoketo one another, nor inquired whither we were going; we were a sad,spiritless assembly, and to some of us it mattered little what became ofus.
Still I could not help wondering if the man in whose possession I and myfellow-prisoners found ourselves was Stumpy's "uncle," referred to bythat miserable clay pipe. If he was, I felt I could not candidlycongratulate that youth on his relative. What he could want with us allI could not imagine.
If I had been the only watch, and if there hadn't been half a dozenscarf-pins, snuff-boxes, and pencils, it would not have been soextraordinary. It would have been easy enough to imagine the person ofStumpy's "aunt" decorated with one brooch, two bracelets, and three orfour rings; but when instead of that modest allowance these articleswere present by the half-dozen, it was hardly possible to believe thatany one lady could accommodate so much splendour. How ever, I couldonly suppose the superfluous treasures were destined for Stumpy'scousins, masculine and feminine, and occupied the rest of the journey inthe harmless amusement of wondering to whose lot I was likely to fall.
The man walked some considerable distance, and strangely enough bent hissteps in a direction not far removed from Saint Elizabeth's Hospital.Surely he was not going to restore me to Tom Drift! No; we passed theend of Grime Street. There were milkmen's carts rattling up and down;servants were scrubbing doorsteps; and a few sleepy-looking men, withtheir breakfasts in their hands, were scurrying off to work. It was allthe same as usual; yet how interesting, all of a sudden, the dull streethad become to me. It was here I had last seen poor Charlie, outragedand struck by the friend he strove to save, creeping slowly home; it washere Tom Drift still dwelt, daily sinking in folly and sin, with nofriend now left to help him. Poor Tom Drift! How gladly would I havereturned to him, even to be neglected and ill-used, if only I might havethe opportunity once again of fulfilling that charge put upon me by myfirst master, and which yet ever rang in my ears,--
"Be good to Tom Drift."
But it was not to be yet. The man walked rapidly on down a streetparallel with Grime Street, at the farthest corner of which stood asmall private house.
Here he knocked.
The occupant of the house evidently knew and expected him, for he atonce admitted him, and led the way upstairs into a private parlour.Here the thieves' broker emptied the contents of his bag, laying thearticles one by one on the table.
The man of the house looked on in an unconcerned way while this wastaking place, picking up now one, now another of the objects, andexamining them superficially. When the bag was empty, and the whole ofthe ill-gotten booty displayed, he remarked, "Not so much this time,Bill."
"No; trade's bad, sir," replied he who owned the bag.
"Well, I'll send the most of 'em down to the country to-day," resumedthe master of the house.
"When shall I call, sir?" inquired Stumpy's friend.
"Monday. But look here, Bill!" said the other, taking me up, "it's nouse leaving this; I shall be able to manage the gold ones, but this isno good."
I had long lost the pride which in former days would have made me resentsuch a remark, and patiently waited for the result.
Stumpy's friend took me back. "Well," he said, "if you can't, youcan't. I'll see to him myself. Well, good-day; and I'll call onMonday."
And he turned to depart, with me in his hand. In a minute, however, hecame back. "Would yer mind lending me some togs, sir, for a fewminutes?" said he; "I don't want no questions asked at the pawnshop."
And he certainly did not look, in his present get-up, as the likeliestsort of owner of a silver watch. The man of the house, however, lenthim some clothes, in which he arrayed himself, and which so transformedhim that any one would have taken him, not for the disreputable thieves'broker he was, but for the unfortunate decayed gentleman he professed tobe. In this guise he had no difficulty in disposing of me at thenearest pawnbroker's shop, which happened to be at the corner of GrimeStreet.
The pawnbroker asked no questions, and I am sure never suspectedanything wrong. He advanced thirty shillings on me and the chain, gavethe man his ticket, and put a corresponding one on me.
Then Stumpy's friend departed, and my new master went back to hisbreakfast.
The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch Page 16