by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XIII.
NEW BOOTS.
It was several weeks before Tony could scrape together enough money forhis new boots, though he pinched and starved himself with heroic courageand endurance. He did not mean to buy them at a shop; for he knew a placein Whitechapel where boots quite good enough for him were to be had fortwo or three shillings. He was neither ambitious nor fastidious; oldboots patched up would do very well to start with, if he could onlymanage to get them before aunt Charlotte came up to town again. She hadsent word she was coming the last Saturday in January; and early in theafternoon of that day, before the train could come in from Stratford,Tony started off to the place where he intended to make his purchase.
It was a small open space in one of the streets of Whitechapel, wherethere was an area of flags, lying off the pavement. Several traders heldpossession of this square, sitting on low stools, or cross-legged on theground, with their stock in trade around them. One dealer bought and soldall kinds of old and rusty pieces of iron; another, a woman, ill clad andwith red eyes, displayed before her a dingy assortment of ragged clothes,which were cheapened by other spare and red-eyed women, who held almostnaked children by the hand. It was cold, and a bitter, keen east wind wassearching every corner of London streets. The salesman Tony was come todeal with had a tolerable selection of old boots, very few of them pairs,some with pretty good upper-leathers, but with no soles worth speakingof; and others thickly cobbled and patched, but good enough to keep thefeet dry, without presenting a very creditable appearance. For the firsttime in his life Tony found out the perplexity of having a choice tomake. There were none which exactly fitted him; but a good fit is aluxury for richer folks than Tony, and he was not troubled about it. Hischief anxiety was to look well in the eyes of Dolly's aunt, who mightpossibly let him see her on her way back to the station, if she approvedof him; and who would not now be obliged to carry Dolly off with her, tobe out of the way of his naked feet.
He fixed upon a pair at last, urged and coaxed to them by the dealer.They were a good deal too large, and his feet slipped about in themuncomfortably; but the man assured him that was how everybody, evengentlefolks, bought them, to leave room for growing. There was anawkward, uneven patch under one of the soles, and the other heel was worndown at the side; but at least they covered his feet well. He shambledaway in them slowly and toilsomely, hardly knowing how to lift one footafter another, yet full of pride in his new possessions. It was a longway home to old Oliver's alley, between Holborn and the Strand; but hewas in no hurry to arrive there before they had finished and cleared awaytheir tea; so he travelled painfully in that direction, stopping now andthen to regale himself at the attractive windows of tripe and cow-heelshops. He watched the lamplighters kindling the lamps, and theshopkeepers lighting up their gas; and then he heard the great solemnclock of St. Paul's strike six. Tea would be quite over now, and Tonyturned down a narrow back street, which would prove a nearer way homethan the thronged thoroughfares, and set off to run as fast as he couldin his awkward and unaccustomed boots.
It was not long before he came to a sudden and sharp fall off thekerb-stone, as he trod upon a bit of orange-peel, and slipped upon it. Hefelt stunned for a few seconds, and sat still rubbing his forehead. Theseback streets were very quiet, for the buildings were mostly offices andwarehouses, and most of them were already closed for the night. He liftedhimself up at length, and set his foot upon the flags; but a shrill cryof pain broke from his lips, and rang loudly through the quiet street. Hefell back upon the pavement, quivering and trembling, with a chillymoisture breaking out upon his skin. What hurt had been done to him? Howwas it that he could not bear to walk? He took off his new boots, andtried once more, but with no better success. He could not endure theagony of standing or moving.
Yet he must move; he must get up and walk. If he did not go home, theywould think he had run away again, for fear of meeting Dolly's aunt. Atthat thought he set off to crawl homewards upon his hands and knees, withsuppressed groans, as his foot trailed uselessly along the ground. Yet heknew he could not advance very far in this manner. What if he should haveto lie all night upon the hard paving-stones! for he could not rememberever having seen a policeman in these back streets; and there did notseem to be anybody else likely to pass that way. It was freezing fast,now the sun was gone down, and his hands scraped up the frosty mud as hedragged himself along. If he stayed out all night, he must die of coldand pain before morning.
But if that was true which old Oliver said so often, that the Lord JesusChrist loved him, and that he was always with those whom he loved, thenhe was not alone and helpless even here, in the deserted street, with theice and darkness of a winter's night about him. Oh! if he could but feelthe hand of Christ touching him, or hear the lowest whisper of his voice,or catch the dimmest sight of his face! Perhaps it was he who was helpinghim to crawl towards the stir and light of a more frequented street,which he could see afar off, though the pain he felt made him giddy andsick. It became too much for him at last, however, and he drew himselfinto the shelter of a warehouse door, and crouched down in a corner,crying, with clasped hands, and sobbing voice, "Oh! Lord Jesus Christ!Lord Jesus Christ!"
After uttering this cry Tony lay there for some minutes, his eyes growingglazed and his ears dull, when a footstep came briskly up the street, andsome one, whom he could not now see for the strange dimness of hissight, stopped opposite to him, and then stooped to touch him on the arm.
"Why," said a voice he seemed to know, "you're my young friend of thecrossing,--my little fourpenny-bit, I call you. What brings you sittinghere this cold night?"
"I've fell down and hurt myself," answered Tony, faintly.
"Where?" asked the stranger.
"My leg," he answered.
The gentleman stooped down yet lower, and passed his hand gently alongTony's leg till he came to the place where his touch gave him the mostacute pain.
"Broken!" he said to himself. "My boy, where's your home?"
"I haven't got any right home," answered Tony, more faintly than before.He felt a strange numbness creeping over him, and his lips were tooparched and his tongue too heavy for speaking. The gentleman took off hisown great-coat and wrapped it well about him, placing him at the sametime in a more comfortable position. Then he ran quickly to the neareststreet, hailed the first cab, and drove back to where Tony was lying.
TONY'S ACCIDENT.]