STORY TWO, CHAPTER FOUR.
Old Dick went no more to porter at the rooms when he came out of thehospital; his smoothly-shaven face did not peer out of windows where hewas hanging out hearthrugs with, pinned upon them, the bills announcingthe capital modern household furniture for sale; but when he returned toGutter-alley, Dick would always be clean-shaven of a morning, spendingan hour over the process, pulling out wrinkles to get at the silverstubble lurking in the bottoms of the furrows, and stopping at times,when his hands grew tremulous, to rest. Many was the time that hisgrandchild, Jenny, would have to run down in haste to fetch a bit ofcobweb from the cellar to stay the bleeding when that tremulous old handdid make a slip, for the nap upon Dick's Sunday hat was too scarce to beused up in so wanton a way.
But at last Dick would strop and put away his razor and shaving-brush,hang up the little glass, and then tie on a clean white apron, take hisround carpet-cap down from a nail and carefully put it on so as not todisarrange his grey locks, and then sit patiently nursing his porter'sknot and waiting, as he used to tell Jenny, for a job.
"Strong, my little lass? Strong as ever," he'd say. "If I could onlyget this leg right;" and then Jenny would drop her work, take his oldface between her plump little hands, kiss him tenderly, and tell him towait a little.
So old Dick Bradds used to wait on, day after day, waiting for the jobsthat never came, and the injured leg did not get right. The old man'sstrength sufficed to carry him down to the front door and back again.Down he would go slowly, holding tightly by the balustrade, one legalways first, till he reached the bottom, where the mat should havebeen, only they could not afford mats in Gutter-alley, and then asregularly as possible the old man, in his thankfulness at being able towalk so far, would take off the old carpet-cap and say softly, whenthere was no one by, "Thank God!" and the same again when, after a visitto the front door and a glance up and down the court, he had slowly andpainfully made his way up to his own room.
Jenny would have helped him; but no: the old man could not shake off thebelief that he was in a state to do heavy work and to help his child.There was too much determination left yet in the old piece of steel, andheedless of rust and weakness Dick struggled up and down.
People used to say that Sharpnesses, the great auctioneers, ought tohave pensioned old Bradds, but they were people who made money fast, andknew its value in too worldly a way to pension worn-out servants, so oldDick had to live as he could.
Jenny was Dick's support--Jenny, his grandchild--Jenny Blossom, as theycalled her in Gutter-alley. She was the last of the family--father,mother, and another child had died in Gutter-alley, where fevers used topractise and get themselves into full strength before issuing out toravage the districts where sanitary arrangements were so perfect.
The place was very foul, but somehow Jenny grew brighter day by day, andthe old crones of the alley used to chuckle and say no wonder, forflowers always throve in the dirt. At all events, the foul odours didnot take the bloom from her cheek, and when fever or cholera held highrevel, Jenny had passed scatheless through trials when scores had fallenaround.
Every one spoke well of Jenny; untidy women with bare arms and roughhair always had for her a pleasant look; great hulking market-attendingmen, with hoarse voices, would always stand aside for Jenny to pass; andthe slatternly girls of the alley, though they occasionally glanced ather with envious eyes, displayed no open jealousy. Away fromGutter-alley it was different, but in the forty houses of the court, andtheir four or five hundred inhabitants, there was not one who did notlook up to Jenny Blossom.
And no unsuitable title was that--Jenny Blossom; for whether taken inconnection with her young and blooming face, or her trade, the nameseemed equally adapted. Ask for her as Jane Bradds, and people wouldhave shaken their heads; though the mention of Jenny Blossom brought abright look into perhaps a scowling face; and Number 5 in the court wasindicated directly.
Dutch the Diver; Or, A Man's Mistake Page 45