Delphi Complete Works of Arthur Morrison

by Arthur Morrison

  “Born with?” I repeated interrogatively. “Do you mean chalk?” For Snorkey’s philosophy was full of surprises, and the one proposition seemed as reasonable as the other.

  “Credit,” replied Snorkey, with emphasis. “If people ain’t born with it I dunno how they get it — I’ve tried hard enough, all sorts o’ ways. But I don’t believe anybody’s born with it in Shoreditch; it never was a ‘ealthy air. We can’t even raise it ‘out of each other down here.” Snorkey smoked in silence for a few seconds, and then laughed aloud. “Ha! ha! Dido Fox!” he burst out. “Dido Fox an’ old Billy Blenkin!”

  “Tell me about Dido Fox and old Billy Blenkin,” I demanded.

  “Billy Blenkin,” Snorkey repeated thoughtfully; “ah, you didn’t know old Billy Blenkin. ‘E was a reformed character, ‘e was. Ho yus! Sich a moral old party!” Snorkey shut one eye and shook his head with many chuckles. “Billy Blenkin,” he went on, “was a-climbin’ into back winders an’ Bustin’ into safes when I was a innocent nipper a-gettin’ my eddication in Spitalfields Market. He was a clever old ‘un, by all accounts; but as he got older he got a bit absent-minded. Now, a absent-minded burglar gets into all sorts of trouble; he sits down in a strange ‘ouse to ‘ave a bit o’ supper an’ a drink, an’ then he forgets the ‘ouse ain’t his, an’ goes to bed, or starts up a song or what not; or he swops his old coat for the best one he can find an’ leaves his ticket-o’-leave in the pocket, with his name an’ address all fine an’ large, or some other silly thing like that. Poor old Billy Blenkin got makin’ so many mistakes that he see clear enough he’d have to retire, afore the judge at the Old Bailey retired him, permanent, as he’d done so often temp’ry. Not only because he made so many mistakes, either; he’d got so well known to the p’lice that they ran him in sort of automatic whenever almost any place was broke into. So poor old Billy had to retire. But a burglar can’t retire so easy as some people might think. In other businesses a man makes a bit ‘fore he thinks of retirin’, but it’s quite wonderful to see how little a burglar ever ‘as to retire on.”

  “It doesn’t pay,” I interjected. “You know it doesn’t pay in the long run.”

  Snorkey winked genially and screwed his mouth aside.

  “You’ve told me that before,” he said; which was true, for I was young and a little apt to preach. “You’ve told me before though I ain’t quite sich a mug as not to ha’ found it out meself. But there! However you make it, I never ‘eard of a gonoph of any sort as ever ‘ad enough to retire on unless it was one o’ the big City sort, as is born with credit. Poor old Billy Blenkin ‘adn’t, anyhow, an’ he put in a deal o’ thinkin’ ‘ow to get a livin’ before a fust-rate plan struck him. When it did strike him at last he wondered it hadn’t been the fust thing he’d thought of. It was jest what you’d expect anybody to think of as was givin’ up burglary. He see the only thing was to ‘ave a noo ‘art.”

  “A New Art?” I queried. For a moment I had a wild vision of old Billy Blenkin seeking admission to the Guilds of them that design furniture and chintzes in dead-worm curves; and then I understood. “Oh, I see. You mean a new heart?”

  “So I said; a noo ‘art.”

  He walked round lookin’ for one o’ them mission-’alls that’s always ready to swaller an old gonoph with a noo ‘art, and the wuss he’s been the more they like him. But Billy wasn’t just workin’ the old racket plain; he had ideas of his own. Bein’ a reformed character an’ a moral party don’t pay a cent beyond the fust week or so; then they expect you to work, an’ precious cheap, too. Billy Blenkin ‘ad ‘is eye on something better than that. He found his mission-’all all right, an’ got on famous with the ringleaders; an’ then he let on his noo idea, which was lectures on his wicked life, illustriated with his beautiful kit o’ burglar’s tools.

  “The idea did fust-rate for a bit, an’ Billy Blenkin was quite the fashion at tea-fights an’ pleasant Sunday afternoons. It was wonderful how it pleased all them respectable parties to be showed ‘ow to screw a lock with a filed-out key, or bust a safe with a nice little james, made in jints. An’ Billy allus finished up by showin’ a bottle o’ whisky, which he put all the blame on.

  “‘Ah, my friends,’ says old Billy, ‘this ‘ere’s the enemy what made me go wrong! Here he is! See me shake ‘im! He’s my prisoner now,’ says he, ‘arter I been his so many times. No more of ‘im! I keep ‘im by me now jist to remind me, an’ jist to spite ‘im. I’ve done with ‘im, and ‘e can’t hurt me now!’

  “This allus brought down the ‘ouse an’ made a difference in the collection. But poor old Billy’s luck never would last, an’ he made them lectures that fascinatin’, an’ the Pleasant Sunday Endeavours got that interested an’ enthusiastic, that several of ‘em got run in for tryin’ experiments on their own. It seems this wasn’t what the mission-’all parties wanted at all, an’ they complained very serious to Billy. They said he was makin ‘isself a deal too interestin’ an’ it was unsettlin’ the minds o’ the congregation, as hadn’t been used to it; an’ to ‘ave ‘arf the Band of ‘Ope in the jug for ‘ousebreakin’ was quite unpresidented. Moreover, they said it wasn’t always the same bottle o’ whisky as he showed at the end o’ the lecture, an’ that looked suspicious. So Billy got sarcastic an’ told ‘em they seemed to ‘ave a better eye for a bottle o’ whisky than some o’ the most experienced boozers of ‘is acquaintance, an’ he wondered ‘ow they got so clever. An’ with that all the fat was in the fire, an’ they suspended the lectures an’ called a special committee meetin’ to consider ‘is conduck.

  “Now it happened about this time that Dido Fox had found a beautiful place for a bust.”

  Such is my disgraceful familiarity with the tongue of the disreputable that I knew what Snorkey meant. “A beautiful place for a bust” was not, as some might suppose, a convenient spot for a carousal, but a house at which a profitable burglary might be perpetrated. Snorkey went on.

  “It was sich a beautiful place,” he said “that Dido half thought, at first, of keepin’ it to himself, though it was really a place that wanted two — most places any good do. But one thing was quite plain — whether he did it alone or with a pal, it wanted a good set o’ tools, an’ a good set o’ tools was just what Dido Fox hadn’t got. Dido Fox hadn’t got ‘em, but old Billy Blenkin had. So Dido went round to old Billy Blenkin an’ wanted to borrow his.

  “‘H’m!’ says old Billy. Want ‘em for a lecture, I suppose? They’re a fast-rate set o’ tools for a lecture!’

  “‘No, I want ‘em for a job,’ says Dido, as hadn’t caught on to old Billy’s noo refined way o’ talkin’.

  “‘We never call a lecture a job,’ says old Billy, very solemn; it’s low. Well, I’ll lend you the tools; but I shall have to charge you — rather high. I expect it’s a particular good lecture you want ‘em for; a common one you could do without ‘em.’

  “‘Well, it’s pretty fair,’ says Dido. I’ll pay when the job’s done.’

  “Old Billy shook his head very decided. ‘No,’ says he, ‘arterwards won’t do. It ‘ud be wrong o’ me to encourage you to get in debt; it’s bad for a young man like you. You’ll have to leave a deposit of five pound on them tools, an’ I’ll give you back three of ‘em when you’ve busted the — the lecture.’

  “‘Can’t do it,’ says Dido. ‘What d’ye want a deposit for? ‘Fraid I’ll pinch the tools?’

  “‘Why, no,’ says old Billy, I should ‘ope not; but I’ve had experience o’ them lectures like what you want the tools for. Sometimes you get that enthusiastic over ‘em you get quite carried away, an’ your friends don’t see you again for years. I can’t afford to lose them tools.’

  “‘But I’m ‘ard up,’ says Dido Fox; ‘I sha’n’t have the money till after I’ve done the — well, the lecture, an’ sold the stuff.’

  “‘Ah, you’ll have to get some dear friend to ‘elp you with that lecture,’ says old Billy; ‘these particular good lectures allas want two. Go an’ get a dear fri
end to ‘elp you an’ make up the five quid between you.’

  “So Dido Fox thought it over, an’ made up his mind to take Joe Kelly into partnership over this job. It really was a job as needed two, when he come to think of it serious, an’ then there was the money to be made up to get the tools. So he went to Joe Kelly and let him into it. He didn’t tell him quite everythink, o’ course, in case Joe might be tempted to go in an’ do it himself first. You allus have to be careful about things like that — very careful. He didn’t tell him where he was goin’ to get the tools. He jist said he could get ‘em, but there was five quid deposit wanted, and two of it to be paid for the hire. But it appeared Joe was jist as ‘ard up as Dido. They couldn’t raise five bob between ‘em, let alone five quid.

  “Can’t you borrow it somewhere?” says Dido.

  “Joe Kelly thought a bit, and then said p’r’aps he could. He wouldn’t tell Dido where he thought he could borrow it, for the same reason that Dido wouldn’t tell him where he could borrow the tools. Each of ‘em didn’t want t’other chap to go an’ do it on his own, you see. That’s a thing you ‘ave to be careful about, o’ course.

  “But no doubt you’ve ‘eard somethink about great minds jumpin’ together, an’ that was jist what was ‘appenin’ with Dido an’ Joe this time. When Joe stopped to think about who he could borrow five quid off, the fust person he thought of was old Billy Blenkin. There was old Billy, retired an’ doin’ fust-rate at tea-fights an’ lectures, an’ no doubt quite ready to make a bit extry lendin’ five quid just overnight, at good interest. So Joe made up his mind he’d get the needful off old Billy, but was precious careful not to say so to Dido. As for Dido, he was glad enough to think Joe would do the trick, an’ he quite understood why he wouldn’t give away his idea — that was on’y business, an’ each agreed to ‘tend to his own department. So Joe, he went off to get the money, an’ said he’d meet Dido the same evenin’ an’ report. When they met in the evenin’ o’ course Dido wanted to know ‘ow Joe had got on.

  “‘Oh, it’s all right,’ says Joe, grinnin’ and winkin’ very knowin’.

  “‘Hooray!’ says Dido, stickin’ out ‘is ‘and. ‘Where’s the five quid?’

  “‘Well,’ says Joe, ‘I ain’t quite what you might call got it, not yet. But it’s all right — I expect I’ll get it to-morrow. The chap don’t ‘appen to ‘ave it by ‘im just now — he’s goin’ to get it. But he’s goin’ to charge two quid for lendin’ it.’

  “‘Two quid!’ says Dido. ‘Why, we on’y want it till the next day!’

  “‘Yes, so I told ‘im,’ says Joe, ‘but he won’t do it under.’

  “‘You’re lettin’ ‘im swindle us,’ says Dido, gettin’ ratty.

  “‘Then ‘ow about you?’ says Joe. ‘You’re payin’ two quid just the same to the chap as is lendin’ the tools, and we on’y want them for a night.’

  “‘Well, yes, that’s right,’ says Dido thinkin’ of it again, ‘so I am. But it seems a lot. Why, that’s four quid it’s goin’ to cost us; we must make a bit extry out o’ the job that’s all. You get the money to-morrow an’ we’ll do the job to-morrow night. You didn’t tell ‘im what the five quid was for did you?’

  “‘Is it likely?’ says Joe. ‘Not much I didn’t. Oh no; I told ‘im a nice little tale o’ my own. He don’t know nothing.’

  “Now p’r’ays you’ll begin to catch on to old Billy Blenkin’s game,” Snorkey proceeded. “When Dido come after the tools he thought he see ‘is way to makin’ ‘em pay still, even though the lectures was stopped. An’ then when Joe Kelly came along an’ wanted to borrow five quid at interest, he thought he see ‘ow to make a bit more still. He hadn’t got any five pound of ‘is own to lend, bein’ ‘ard up, in fact, consekence o’ the lectures being stopped. But Dido Fox was goin’ to lease five pound with ‘im for the tools, and that was just what Joe Kelly wanted, for one night only. So, Bein’ a man o’ genius, thinks old Billy, why not lend Dido Fox’s five quid to Joe Kelly and do a double stroke? What ho!

  “The consekence of all this was that next mornin’ Dido Fox ‘ad ‘ardly got out o’ doors when who should he see but old Billy Blenkin, pretendin’ to be walkin’ down the street by accident.

  “‘Good mornin’,’ says old Billy, very casual. ‘Wasn’t you sayin’ somethink about borrowin’ my kit o’ tools for a very special job — lecture, I mean — an’ leavin’ five pounds deposit, me to ‘ave two for lendin’ ‘em?’

  “‘Why, yes, o’ course,’ says Dido, surprised to find old Billy so ‘alf-forgetful. ‘Though it wasn’t me as proposed payin’ the money.’

  “‘I think it must ‘a’ been,’ says old Billy lookin’ at ‘im very ‘ard, ‘but anyhow that was the arrangement. When will that there lecture come off?’

  “‘Why,’ says Dido, ‘I was thinkin’ of to-night.’

  “‘Fust-rate,’ says old Billy. ‘It’ll be a fust-rate evenin’ for a lecture, the nights bein’ so dark just now.’ And then he sticks out ‘is ‘and an’ says, ‘Where’s the five pound?’

  “‘I ain’t got it,’ says Dido.

  “‘Ain’t got it?’ says old Billy. ‘What dy’e mean? ‘Ow are you goin’ to do that — that lecture? You can’t do it without the tools, an’ you can’t ‘ave them without the money, you know. You ain’t expectin’ that are you?’

  “‘Oh, no,’ says Dido, ‘that’s all right. I know what I’ve got to pay. I ain’t got the money yet, that’s all. But I shall get it some time to-day.’

  “‘When?’ says old Billy, very eager. ‘You must let me know when you’ll bring it round, ‘cos I might be out.’

  “‘Well, I must see my pal first,’ says Dido. ‘But s’ppose we say seven this evenin’?’

  “So they made it seven in the evenin’ an’ Dido went off to find Joe Kelly an’ get the money. He didn’t find him for hours an’ when he did find him at last o’ course Joe ‘adn’t got the money — not a cent of it.

  “‘I ain’t managed it yet, Dido,’ he says ‘but I’m goin’ to ‘ave it for certain to-night.’

  “What time?’ says Dido.

  “‘Eight o’clock,’ says Joe.

  “You’re awful slow,’ says Dido. ‘Can’t you get it a bit sooner?’

  “‘Well, I tried to, but I couldn’t,’ says Joe. ‘The chap says he’s got important business up to then.’

  “‘Where’s his place?’ says Dido.

  “‘Oh, it’s a pretty good way off,’ says Joe off-handed like. Because you see he wasn’t going to give Dido a ghost of a chance o’ leavin’ him in the lurch.

  “‘Well, if it’s a pretty good way off,’ says Dido, ‘it’s goin’ to crowd up our evenin’ an’ p’raps we shall have to put the job off. I was goin’ to get the tools at seven, but if you can’t get the money till eight, an’ then ‘ave to fetch it a long way, very likely I shall miss the chap I’m getting the tools from.’

  “‘Can’t ‘elp it,’ says Joe. An’ Dido agreed they couldn’t.

  “So Dido went ‘ome and sat down to smoke a few pipes an’ wait till Joe brought the money in the evenin’. But about ‘alf-past seven up comes old Billy Blenkin after the money, blowin’ like a grampus an’ most outrageous shirty.

  “‘I thought you ‘ad an appointment with me at seven o’clock at my place,’ says old Billy. ‘I’m a man o’ business,’ he says, ‘an’ very busy, an’ I can’t afford to ‘ave my time wasted in this ‘ere disgraceful way. People as can’t keep appointments shouldn’t make ‘em. Where’s that five pound?’

  “‘Ain’t got it,’ says Dido.

  “‘But — but you was goin’ to bring it round at seven,’ says old Billy.

  “‘I know I was,’ says Dido; ‘but I’ve bin disappointed — in the City; an’ it ain’t come yet.’

  “‘But what about that job o’ yours — the lecture?’ says old Billy, in a mighty fluster. ‘‘Ow are you goin’ to do that tonight?’

  “‘Looks as though I should ‘ave to put it of
f,’ says Dido; ‘till to-morrow, any’ow. Unless I get the money in time tonight though I don’t know as it’s likely.’

  “Old Billy Blenkin just sat an’ spluttered. His short time at the mission-’all had bin just enough to spile ‘is flow o’ language, an’ at first he found it ‘ard to get goin’. But be did get goin’ presently, an’ he called Dido Fox most things he could think of, except a genelman o’ business-like ‘abits. ‘Why’ says Billy, ‘you’re puttin’ me to more trouble and ill-convenience over this ‘ere little matter than what I’d ‘a’ taken to do your bloomin’ lecture myself. An’ I’ve got a particular reason for wantin’ to finish this bit o’ business tonight, an’ I can’t wait. I’ve got another appointment — an important appointment — at eight. You’re a perfeck noosance. Now, look ‘ere. S’pose you don’t come round with the money to-night, will you make a solid, ‘ard, final, dead-beat, settled, derry down, rock-bottom agreement to bring it to-morrow mornin’?’

  “‘Why, yes,’ says Dido, ‘you can bet your ‘ead on that. Shall I come to your place?’

  “‘No,’ says old Billy. ‘I don’t want you comin’ there in daylight I’m a man o’ business with a reputation to keep up, now. Come to the Carpenters’ Arms at eleven.’

  “‘An’ will you ‘ave the tools there then?’ says Dido.

  “‘O’ course I shall,’ says the old man. ‘I keep my appointments. I don’t make fools o’ people in matters o’ business.’ An’ with that off goes old Billy to keep his appointment with Joe Kelly.

  “So when Joe Kelly turns up at Dido’s about an ‘our later, ‘Hello,’ says Dido; ‘‘ere you are at last. Hand over the pieces.’

  “‘Ain’t got ‘em,’ says Joe.

  “‘What? Ain’t got ‘em now?’ says Dick fair gaspin’.

  “‘No, I ain’t,’ says Joe. ‘It’s a fresh caper now.’