A Little World Part 47

D. Wragg saw it, and became directly more impressive in his manner.

"Look here, you know," he continued, earnestly; "I don't mind speaking out before you. Don't you make no mistake; we're old friends, and this is how it is. Don't you see, it's all a plant as that there Jack Screwby got up because I as good as kicked him out--a vagabond! Wanted to come sneaking here after--but there!" he jerked out, throwing himself into quite a convulsion of spasmodic kicks, and scattering imaginary turnip-seed by the handful;--"I won't talk about that no more. Only look here, you know; you're my lodger, and I like my lodgers to look up to their landlord with respect; so don't you make no mistake, and go for to think as them corks ain't all square, because they air--square as square."

Canau nodded, and lit his cigarette.

"Look here, you know," continued D. Wragg; "it's like this here--A man comes to you and he says, 'I want two score o' blue rocks'--pigeons, you know, for trap-shooting, a thing as you furriners can't understand, though you may come to some day. Well, he says, 'I want two score o'

blue rocks, and I ain't got no money, but I've got corks;' and corks, you know, is money, if there ain't no money, same as, when there warn't no money, people used to swop. Well, then, we settles it in that way-- wally for wally--he has blue rocks, and I has corks; and he'll sell his blue rocks for money to the swells, and I shall sell my corks for money to a chap I knows as makes ginger-pop. And now, what's the matter? No one can't say after that as them corks ain't square, can they?"

"But there was the ham," said Canau, apparently disposed to cavil.

"Don't you make no mistake about that. That there ham's sweet enough; nothing couldn't be squarer. We like ham, we do; and Mother Winks is mortal partial to a rasher. That's why I laid in a stock."

"Um!" said Canau, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke; "and about--about the young man?"

"Well," said D. Wragg, looking sidewise out of his little eyes, "perhaps I worn't quite square over that; for you see the young chap was all on the stare about little Pellet; and as he seemed ready to buy half the shop if she was likely to be here, I did think we might as well make a few pounds extry; for times is werry hard, you know, Mr Canau, and expenses is werry great: things runs up 'orrid."

Canau smoked fiercely, his yellow forehead growing knit and angry-looking; but he did not speak.

"She didn't like it, though," continued D. Wragg; "and don't you make no mistake: I was sorry for it afterwards, and called myself a b.u.mble-footed old beast when I see her a cryin'. But don't you make no mistake; as soon as I see she didn't like it, why, bless her little heart, I says, 'Don't you go in the shop no more than you like, my pet,'

I says; and, bless her, she said she done it for poor Janet's sake."

D. Wragg seemed to be so affected by his recollections that he drew out a pocket-handkerchief and removed a faint drop of moisture from the corner of one eye, and another from the right side of his nose with the stem of his pipe, Canau nodding satisfaction the while many times over-- seeming, too, more tranquil of spirit, for the puffs of smoke from his cigarette were evolved far more slowly, and went curling gently upwards towards the ceiling of the shop.

"I like natur, Mr Canau," said D. Wragg, "and being a spoiled child of natur myself, I always did like natur. That little Pellet's like, as you may say, natur's cream, all served up together. Dorgs is natur, and all these here's natur."

D. Wragg paused, inserted his left thumb in the armhole of his vest, and with the other hand gracefully waved round the stem of his pipe, indicating in turn the caged prisoners around.

"I loved natur, Mr Canau, when I was a boy, and went birds'-nestin' and ketchin' frogs instead of goin' to school, and took to the serciety of bird-ketchers, which is men of nat'ral habits, as is in some things a pleasure to know. It was my love of natur, Mr Canau, as fust set me beginning trade--selling 'edge-hogs and greenfinches and nesties of young birds in the streets; and it was natur as made me to prosper and get into this here large way of business. I'm a London man bred and born, though justice worn't done me in either case--for I'm wideawake to what's wrong with me; but I'll back myself in nat'ral history to tell anything you like, from a ork down to a tom-t.i.t, and t'other way from a mouse up to a helephant--if so be as they're all English. For, you see, I never went travelling, only once, when I went round for a whole year with Wombwell's nadgery, feeding the wild beasties, and helping to put the carrywans straight,--and all from a love of natur, Mr Canau, though you did get rather more natur there than you liked, 'specially as regards smells, and bein' kep' awake of a night by the hyenas a laughin', or them great furrin cats letting go like hooray--let alone the other things. And that was why I left it and took to dorgs,-- selling washed pups at carriage-doors, warranted never to get no bigger.

And look here," he continued, with a grin; "if ever you should take to that there trade, I'll put you up to a breed as the pups is the werry smallest in natur, and washes the whitest in natur; but as for the size they grows up to in a swell's house, where they're fed up like bloated haristocrats, with their chicking and weal cutlet, and all that sorter thing, and the colour they gets to--my!"

Mr D. Wragg chuckled loudly as he described this freak of "natur;" but it was observable that the puffs of smoke from Canau's cigarette came swiftly, as he still watched the dealer with a strange indescribable expression.

"I love natur, Mr Canau; and that's how it is I always did love babies and little gals, for they is natur, the prettiest bits of all. I can always kiss them little soft bits of natur, babies--if so be as they're clean, but to be dirty down here in Decadia, 'tis their natur to. But you see they ain't werry fond o' being kissed by me, not being no ways handsome. Natur never took no pains with me when she made me, you know.

I don't believe as I were ever finished, and 'cordingly I wear this thick boot. But this here set out's quite upset me, Mr Canau, and I don't think I shall have any more to do with dorgs. I'll keep to birds only; for just fancy having the police in your house, and wanting to make out as you've got a young fellow burked away somewhere, and frightening them poor girls a'most to death! You know it's nothing but that upset as has made poor Mother Winks slip out to get that ginger-beer bottle of her's filled so many times. She don't generally do more in that way than we do with our 'bacco."

"I listen to all you say," said Monsieur Canau now, for D. Wragg was almost breathless; "but this does not explain. Where is the young man?"

"How should I know?" snarled D. Wragg, fiercely. "You don't suppose I've had any hand in it, do you? How should I know where he is?"

"But he came here, and he is gone," said the Frenchman.

"Well, suppose he is," said D. Wragg, sulkily. "He came here, and he is gone. How should I know where he is gone. Into the sewers or down the river for aught I know. Do you know where he is gone?"

"Who? who? do I know?" cried Canau, excitedly. "No, no--no, no! I know nothing. I have not seen him here or anywhere at all lately. I do not know anything about him--nothing at all."

"No more don't I," growled D. Wragg, sullenly.

"You do not? You will swear you know nothing at all of the poor young man?"

"Course I will," said D. Wragg, stoutly. "He's got dropped on to by somebody; and no wonder. Dessay its part of Jack Screwby's lot; but I ain't going to blow upon anybody. He thought that he was very cunning in setting it down to my door so as to get it away from his; but he didn't work much out of it anyhow. The young chap was safe to come in for it though, flashing about streets like these here with his gold watches and chains and rings, when there's hundreds of hungry mouths about, and hundreds of fingers itching to s.n.a.t.c.h at 'em. And since you come to that, don't you make no mistake; I never does nothing as ain't honest. But, mind you, I don't say as Jack Screwby knows all about it.

I'd just as soon say you do, for you know as you didn't like his coming."

"Who?--I?--I know? Not I--nothing at all," cried Canau, very heartily.

"But I will take one more little pinch of tabaque, Monsieur Wragg," he said, with the extreme of cold politeness; "and then you will excuse--I go to my promenade."

D. Wragg gazed curiously at his sallow lodger, as he prepared himself another cigarette, till, as if feeling that he was watched, Canau stealthily raised his eyes till they encountered those of the dealer, when, for a few moments the two men stood, each trying to read the other's thoughts, till, lowering his lids, Monsieur Canau lit his cigarette, raised his pinched hat a few inches, and then slowly left the shop.

Volume 3, Chapter III.

AFTER THE SEARCH.

Upon several occasions when Monsieur Canau saw Patty home to the pleasant manufacturing shades of Duplex Street, he sought to open up this affair with Jared Pellet, so as to hear his opinion upon the subject; but it was only to find Jared dull and abstracted, and ready to return monosyllabic answers to all that was said. Twice over he had called too, bringing with him his violin; but upon those occasions weary-looking Tim Ruggles had been there, and no music had followed--no Mozart, not even one of Corelli's old sad-toned minor trios, with movements named after the dances of our forefathers, corantos and sarabands; funeral marches they ought rather to have been, unless it is that music grows mellow and sad-hued with age, changing even after the fashion of wine.

Monsieur Canau used to divine that there was trouble afloat, and refrained from hinting at the object of his visits, contenting himself with buying a couple of Jared's atrocious Roman strings, and then coming away.

"They have a bebe there," muttered Canau, "that is like a music-box; and I think they wind him up every night just before I go, for he is always cry."

It was as patent to Monsieur Canau as to D. Wragg that the Brownjohn Street house was under police surveillance, for there was often some stranger to be seen loitering about, one very ordinary-looking individual, trying very hard not to seem as if watching the former as he went out.

But D. Wragg was not deceived in the slightest degree, for beside his great experience of 'natur,' he had attempted to acquire something of art--to wit, police art--enough to enable him to point out, with the accompaniment of a peculiar wink, the plain-clothes officer to his French lodger, who had, however, only replied by a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, and a look in another direction.

But D. Wragg did not look another way, evidently bent upon wearing the aspect of utter defiance of the law. He stood now at his shop-door fiercely smoking, giving himself twitches and jerks that quite scared such of his stock-in-trade as were in close proximity, and sent his dogs shrinking back, snapping and snarling, whenever he turned their way.

Mr John Screwby and he had encountered more than once--the former gentleman making a practice of insulting the dealer; and, as if out of revenge for his non-success in obtaining the two hundred pounds reward,--staring up at the front of the house, or making believe, with a grin, to peer down into the cellar,--movements which made D. Wragg, under the idea that he was gnashing his teeth like an ordinary mortal, snap and snarl like a flea-bitten terrier.

Upon this day, it was fated that, as soon as Monsieur Canau was out of sight, Mr John Screwby should appear loafing along the opposite side of the road, so far from upright in his conduct, that he rubbed his right shoulder here and there against wall and window-frame as he pa.s.sed. His cap was drawn down over his ears, a piece of straw in his mouth, and his hands right above the wrists in his pockets, and their owner staring heavily here and there after something fresh, till he came in sight of D. Wragg. Now he grinned spitefully, and, walking slowly on, stopped at last opposite the dealer's house, to stare heavily up at the attic windows, shading his eyes, leaning a little on this side and a little on that, as if eagerly searching for something to be seen. Then, according to custom, he crossed the road to gaze for a moment through the cellar-grating, holding one hand to his ear as if listening attentively; and then fixing his eyes upon the dirty sash of the window seen through the grating, he began to walk slowly backwards and forwards, totally ignoring the presence of D. Wragg the while.

"There'll be a row directly, Mr Jack Screwby," said the dealer, with a sharp snarl, as he stood watching his enemy's actions.

Mr Screwby took not the slightest notice of the speaker, only stopped short as if he had caught a glimpse of something.

"I wonder wot they've done with the pore chap!" he said at last, in quite a loud voice. "I shouldn't be a bit s'prised if they've berried 'im in the kitchin."

"If I could have my way with you, young fellow, I'd serve you out for this!" said D. Wragg, shaking his fist, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of a small crowd fast collecting.

"What 'ud you do with me, eh?" said Screwby, with a grin. "Burke me, like the pore chap as come arter his dorg, eh?"

"You wouldn't dare to talk like that there, Jack Screwby, if I was a man of your own size and age," said D. Wragg, viciously.

"P'raps I should--p'raps I shouldn't," sneered Screwby. "But how about the pore young man?"

D. Wragg made a terrier-like movement, as if about to rush at a bull-dog, to the great delight of the crowd, especially as at that moment the thick new boot, freshly completed by Mr Purkis, caught in the grating, and D. Wragg nearly fell.

"Don't let him come a-nigh you," said Screwby, grinning, "or he'll serve you same as he did the pore young man."

Here there was another shout, and the popular feeling seemed to be growing so strong, that, raging within himself, D. Wragg began to think it would be prudent to retreat, and he did so, followed by a loud jeering laugh.

But even now he was not to have peace, for he had hardly reached the sanctuary of his own room before a couple of small boys, probably incited thereto by Mr John Screwby, thrust their heads in at the shop-door, to roar, at the utmost pitch of their shrill treble--