Fighting the Flames

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  A LITTLE MORE HATCHING.

  One night Edward Hooper, having consulted his watch frequently, andcompared it with the clock of slow notoriety in the warehouse in TooleyStreet, until his patience was almost gone, at last received the warninghiss, and had his books shut and put away before the minute-gun began toboom. He was out at the door and half-way up the lane, with his hat agood deal on one side of his head and very much over one eye, before thelast shot was fired.

  "It's a jolly time of day this--the jolliest hour of the twenty-four,"muttered Ned to himself, with a smile.

  His speech was thick, and his smile was rather idiotic, by reason of hishaving drunk more than his usual allowance at dinner that day.

  By way of mending matters, Ned resolved to renew his potationsimmediately, and announced his intentions to himself in the followingwords:

  "Com--mi--boy--y-you'll go--ave an--urrer por-o-porer--thash yer sort!"

  At a certain point in the drunkard's downward career he ceases to haveany control over himself, and increases his speed from the usualstaggering jog-trot to a brisk zigzag gallop that generally terminatesabruptly in the grave.

  Ned Hooper, a kind-hearted fellow enough, and thinking himself not sobad as he seemed because of that same kind-heartedness, had reached thegalloping point, and was travelling unusually fast along the high roadto ruin.

  Being of a generous nature, Ned was in the habit of extending hispatronage to various beer-shops, among others to that one near LondonBridge which has been described as the property of Gorman. Business,pleasure, or fancy led him to that shop on the evening in question. Hewas standing at the counter steadying himself with his left hand andholding a pewter-pot in his right, when the door of the inner roomopened, and Gorman crossed the floor. He was in a thoughtful mood, andwas about to pass out without raising his eyes, when Ned arrested himwith:

  "Good ev-n'in', Misher Gorm'n."

  Gorman glanced back, and then turned away as if in contempt, but,suddenly checking himself, returned, and going up to Hooper with asaffable a smile as his countenance would admit of, said that he wasdelighted to shake hands with him, and that he was the very man hewanted to see, as he wished to have a word of conversation with him.

  "Conv'shas'n wi' me?" said Ned, swaying himself to and fro as heendeavoured to look steadily in the face of his friend; "fire away,shen. I'm sh' man f'r conv'shash'n, grave or gay, comic--'r--shublime,'s all the shame to me!"

  He finished the pot, and laid it, with an immense assumption of care, onthe counter.

  "Come out, we'll walk as we talk," said Gorman.

  "Ha! to b'shure; 'at's poetical--very good, very good, we'll wa-alk aswe talk--ha! ha! very good. Didn't know you wash a poet--eh? don't looklike 'un."

  "Come along, then," said Gorman, taking him by the arm.

  "Shtop!" said Ned, drawing himself up with an air of drivelling dignity,and thrusting his hand into his trouser-pocket.

  "What for?" asked the other.

  "I haven't p-paid for my b-beer."

  "Never mind the beer. I'll stand that," said Gorman, dragging hisfriend away.

  Ned consented to be dragged, and said something to the effect that hehoped to have the pleasure of standing treat on some future occasion.

  "Now, then," said Gorman, somewhat firmly, though not sternly, for heknew that Ned Hooper was not to be browbeat; "are you sober enough toattend to what I've got to say?"

  "Shober as a dudge," answered Ned.

  Gorman looked earnestly in his face for a few moments, and then began totalk to him in a continuous strain by way of testing him.

  "C'found these cabs an' b-busseses; a feller c-can't hear a word," saidNed.

  "Your lodgin's an't far off, are they?"

  "Close 't 'and," answered Ned.

  "Let's go to 'em," said Gorman.

  In silence Ned Hooper led the way, and, conducting his friend into his"chamber," as he styled his poor abode, begged him to be seated, andthrew himself into an armchair beside the little fire. There was a pipeon the chimney-piece, which Ned began to fill, while Gorman opened theconversation.

  "You're hard up, rather, just now?" said the latter.

  "'Xactly so, that's my c'ndition to a tee."

  Ned smiled as he said this, as though it were the most satisfactorystate of things possible, and lighted his pipe.

  "Of course you've no objection to make a fifty pound note or so?" askedGorman.

  "None in sh' wo'ld; always," he became very earnest here, "_always_sh'posin' that I make it honestly."

  "Of course, of course," rejoined the other; "I would never proposeanything that would lead you into a scrape. You don't suppose I woulddo that, I hope?"

  "Shertenly not," replied Ned with a smile; "fire away."

  "Well, then, I'm anxious just now to procure a dead corpse."

  Ned Hooper, drunk as he was, felt somewhat startled by this, but, beinga man of wandering and lively imagination, turned from the point inquestion to an idea suggested by it.

  "I sh'pose a living corpse wouldn't do, would it? It must be a deadone--eh?"

  "Be serious if you can," said Gorman angrily. "I want a corpse."

  Ned Hooper, who, like many good-humoured men, was easily roused when ina state of intoxication, fired at the tone of Gorman's voice, and lookedat him as sternly as he could, while he replied:

  "What have _I_ got to do with yer wants an' yer co'pses--eh? You don'tsh'pose I keep a stock of 'em on hand ready-made, do you--eh?" Thenrelapsing into a placid frame, he smiled, and added, "But fire away, ol'feller, I'm yer man for conv'sashin, specially w'en it's in the comicline."

  "That's right," said Gorman, clapping Ned on the shoulder andendeavouring to conciliate him; "now, then, the question is, how am I toget 'un?"

  "Ah, thash the question, if Shakspr's to be b'lieved."

  "Well, but couldn't you think?" said Gorman.

  "Think!" exclaimed the other, "what am I paid a salary for? What are mybrains doin' night an day--eh? Of course I can think; thash's mypr'feshion, is thinking."

  Gorman cast a scornful look at his friend, but he deemed it prudent toadmit the truth of what he said, and suggested that he might perhapsremember a certain medical student with whom he had once held pleasantconverse in his (Gorman's) house of entertainment.

  "R'member him, of course," hiccuped Ned.

  "Well, then, he could get us a corpse, you know--couldn't he?"

  Ned looked uncommonly knowing at this point, and admitted that he ratherthought he could--a dozen of them, if necessary.

  "Well, I want one, and I'll pay well for it if it's of the right sort.It must be at least six-foot two, thin about the jaws, with lanky blackhair, and a yellow complexion."

  Ned smiled facetiously, but at the same time shook his head.

  "Six f't two," said he, "an't a common height; it won't be easy to get'un so tall; but--but," he pondered here with a grave expression ofcountenance, "but it might be stretched a bit, you know--eh? As to thinjaws, most of 'em is thin about sh' jaws, an' black hair ain't un--uncommon."

  Ned yawned at this point, and looked very sleepy.

  "Well, you'll speak to him, won't you, and I'll make it worth while forboth of you?"

  "Oh yesh, I'll shpeak to him," said Ned, as his head fell on the tableand his senses utterly forsook him.

  "Bah! you beast," muttered Gorman, casting a glance of scorn on hisfriend as he rose to leave. He had the sense, before going, toextinguish the candle, lest Ned should overturn it and set the house onfire; not that he cared either for Ned or the house, but as the formerhappened to be necessary to him just then, he did not wish him to beburned too soon. Then he went out, closing the door softly after him.

  Half an hour afterwards Ned's friend and fellow-lodger, John Barret,entered the room, accompanied by Fred Auberly.

  "Come, Fred," said the former, "we can chat here without interr--hallo--"

  "What's wrong?" inquired Fred, endeavourin
g to make out objects by thefeeble flicker of the fire, while his friend struck a light.

  Barret did not reply, but the light soon revealed Ned's disreputablefigure half sprawling on and half clinging to the table.

  "Surely this is not your chum, John?" asked Fred in surprise.

  "Yes, that's him," answered Barret in a low sad voice. "Help me to gethim into bed, like a good fellow."

  Without a word the young men raised the drunken figure in their arms,and laid it like some loathsome object on one of the beds in theadjoining room.

  "How can you stay with him?" asked Auberly, after they had returned tothe other room and seated themselves at the fire.

  "He is an old schoolfellow of mine," said Barret in a low voice. "I'msorry you've seen him in this state. He was a very different fellowonce, I assure you; and if it were not for that accursed drink he wouldbe as pleasant a companion as exists. You know I have no friends inLondon save yourself, Fred, and this young fellow.--I came to stay withhim at first, not knowing his character, and now I remain to try to--to--save him; but I fear his case is hopeless. Come, Fred, we won'ttalk of it. You were saying, as we came along, that your father issterner than ever, were you not?"

  "Ay," said Fred, with a sigh, "he won't even let me call to see mysister too--that's the worst of it. For the rest I care not; my brushhas sustained me hitherto, and my love for my profession increases everyhour. I feel towards it, John, as a man may be supposed to feel towardsthe sweet, young girl whom wicked guardians had for a long time refusedto let him wed. Nothing but death shall separate us now!"

  Barret smiled, and was about to make some rejoinder, but he checkedhimself and changed the subject.

  "How is your sister?" said he, "I have not heard of her for a longtime."

  "Not well," answered Fred; "the doctors shake their heads and speak ofthe shock having been too much for her. Dear Loo, she never was strong,and I'm afraid that she has received fatal injury on the night of thefire. I'm told that my poor father is sadly cut up about her--attendson her night and day, and humours her every whim. This is so unlike himthat it fills me with anxiety on account of dear Loo, whom I have notseen since I went to live at Kensington."

  "Kensington, Fred? I did not know you had gone to live there."

  "I was just going to mention that when we came in. I have got a verycomfortable lodging with--who do you think? you'll never guess--MrsWillders, the mother of our young friend Willie who works with old TomTippet upstairs. You may well look surprised. I came upon the lodgingquite accidentally, and, finding that it suited my inclinations and mypurse, I took it at once for a few weeks. It's in a very poor locality,no doubt, but you know a man must cut his coat according to his cloth,and my cloth is not broad at present. But then," continued Fred, withsudden animation, "it's a splendid place for a painter! There are suchpicturesque regions and bits near it. Why, Kensington Gardens aresufficient to make the fortune of a landscape-painter--at least in theway of trees; then an hour's walk takes you to rural scenery, or canalscenery, with barges, bridges, boats, old stores, cottages, etcetera.Oh! it's a magnificent spot, and I'm hard at work on a picturesque oldpump near Shepherd's Bush Common, with a bit of old brick wall behindit, half-covered with ivy, and a gipsy-like beggar-girl drinking at itout of her hand; that--that'll make an impression, I think, on the RoyalAcademy, if--if _they take it in_."

  "Ah! _if_ they take it in," said John Barret, smiling.

  "Well," retorted Fred Auberly, "I know that is a point of uncertainty,and I'm not very sanguine, because there is great lack of room.Nevertheless, I mean to send it. And you know, John, `faint heart neverwon fair lady,' so--"

  At this point the conversation was interrupted by a shrill whistle atthe top of the house, which, as it drew nearer, became identified withthe air of "Rule Britannia!"

  "That's Willie Willders," said Barret, laughing.

  "I guessed as much, and with your leave I'll call him in. He knows ofmy having become an inmate of his mother's house, and as he is probablygoing home I would like to send a message to his mother. Hallo,Willie."

  "Ay, ay, sir!" answered the youth, in the tones of a thoroughbredseaman. Not that Willie had ever been at sea, but he was so fond ofseamen, and had mingled with them so much at the docks, as well as thoseof them who had become firemen, that he tried to imitate their gait andtones.

  "Come here, you scamp, and stop your noise."

  "Certainly, sir," said Willie, with a grin, as he entered the room, capin hand.

  "Going home, lad?" asked Fred.

  "Yes, sir--at least in a permiscuous sort of way entertainin' myself asI goes with agreeable talk, and improvin' obsarvation of the shopwinders, etceterrer."

  "Will you take a message to your mother?"

  "Sure-ly," answered Willie.

  "Well, say to her that I have several calls to make to-night and may belate in getting home, but she need not sit up for me as I have thedoor-key; tell her not to forget to leave the door on the latch."

  "Wery good, sir," said Willie. "May I make so bold as to ask how MissLoo was when you seed her last?"

  "Not well, I regret to say," replied Fred.

  "Indeed! I'm surprised to hear that, for she's agoin' out to teato-morrow night, sir."

  "My surprise is greater than yours, lad; how d'you know that, and whereis she going to?" asked Auberly.

  Here Willie explained in a very elaborate manner that a note had arrivedthat forenoon from Miss Tippet, inviting Mr Tippet to tea the followingevening, and expressing a hope that he would bring with him his clerk,"_Mister_" Willders, the brother of the brave fireman who had savedLoo's life, and that Miss Louisa Auberly was to be there, and that MrTippet had written a note accepting the same.

  "Then you'll have to take another message from me, Willie. Tell MissTippet when you go to-morrow that I will give myself the pleasure oflooking in on her in the course of the evening," said Fred. "MrAuberly is not to be there, is he?"

  "No, not as I knows of."

  "Well, good-night, Willie."

  Willie took his departure, marching to the usual national air, and soonafter Fred Auberly bade his friend good-night and left him.