Brownsmith's Boy Part 38

"I say, what would you have done if I hadn't come?"

"I don't know," I said. "I suppose they would have let me go at last.

They got all my money."

"They did?"

"Yes," I said dolefully; "and then there's the rope. What will Mr Brownsmith say?"

"Nothin' at all," said Ike.

"But he will," I cried again.

"No he won't, because we'll buy a new one 'fore we goes back."

"I thought of that," I said, "but I've no money now."

"Oh, all right! I have," he said. "We may think ourselves well out of a bad mess, my lad; and I don't know as we oughtn't to go to the police, but we haven't no time for that. There'll be another load o' strawb'ys ready by the time we get back, and I shall have to come up again to-night. Strawb'ys sold well to-day. No: we've no time for the police."

"They deserve to be taken up," I said.

"Ay, they do, my boy; but folks don't get all they deserve."

"Or I should be punished for letting that boy steal the rope."

"Hang the rope!" he said crustily. "I mean, hang the boy or his father, and that's what some of 'em'll come to," he cried grimly, "if they don't mind. They're a bad lot down that court. Lor' a mussy me! I'd sooner live in one of our sheds on some straw, with a sack for a pillow, than be shut up along o' these folk in them courts."

"But they wouldn't have hurt me, Ike?" I said.

"I dunno, my lad. P'r'aps they would, p'r'aps they wouldn't. They might have kept you and made a bad un of yer. Frightened you into it like."

I shook my head.

"Ah! you don't know, my lad. How much did they get?"

"Two shillings and ninepence halfpenny," I said dolefully.

"And a nearly new rope. Ah, it's a bad morning's work for your first journey."

"It is, Ike," I said; "but I didn't know any better. How did you know where I was?"

"How did I know? Why, Shock saw you and followed you, and come back and fetched me, when I was staring at the cart and wondering what had gone of you two."

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"What, Shock? Oh, I don't know. He's a queer chap. P'r'aps they've got him instead of you."

I stopped short and looked at him, but saw directly that he was only joking, and went on again:

"You don't think that," I said quickly; "for if you did you would not have come away. Do you think he has gone back to the cart?"

"Oh, there's no knowing," he replied. "P'r'aps when we get back there won't be any cart; some one will have run away with it. They're rum uns here in London."

"Why, you haven't left the cart alone, Ike," I cried.

"That's a good one, that is," he exclaimed. "You haven't left the cart alone! Why, you and Shock did."

"Yes," I said; "but--"

"There, come and let's see," he said gruffly. "We should look well, we two, going back home without a cart, and old Bonyparty took away and cut up for goodness knows what and his skin made into leather. Come along."

We walked quickly, for it seemed as if this was going to be a day all misfortunes; but as we reached the market again I found that Ike had not left the cart untended, for a man was there by the horse, and the big whip curved over in safety from where it was stuck.

"Seen anything of our other boy?" said Ike as we reached the cart.

"No," was the reply.

"Hadn't we better go back and look for him?" I said anxiously.

"Well, I don't know," said Ike, rubbing one ear; "he ain't so much consequence as you."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Do-ho-ver."

"Why, there he is," I cried; and, climbing up the wheel, there lay Shock on his back right on the top of the baskets, and as soon as he saw my face he grinned and then turned his back.

"He's all right," I said as I descended; and just then there was a creaking noise among the baskets, and Shock's head appeared over the edge.

"Here y'are," he cried. "That there tumbled out o' window, and I ketched it and brought it here."

As he spoke he threw down the coil of nearly new rope, and I felt so delighted that I could have gone up to him and shaken hands.

"Well, that's a good un, that is," said Ike with a chuckle. "I am 'bout fine and glad o' that."

He took the rope and tied it up to the ladder again, and then turned to me.

"Come along and get some breakfast, my lad," he said. "I dessay you're fine and hungry."

"But how about Shock?"

"Oh, we'll send him out some. Here, you, Shock, look after the cart and horse. Don't you leave 'em," Ike added to the man; and then we made our way to a coffee-house, where Ike's first act, to my great satisfaction, was to procure a great mug of coffee and a couple of rolls, which he opened as if they had been oysters, dabbed a lump of b.u.t.ter in each, and then put under his arm.

"He don't deserve 'em," he growled, "for coming; but he did show me where you was."

"And he saved the rope," I said.

Ike nodded.

"You sit down till I come back, my lad," he said; and then he went off, to return in a few minutes to face me at a table where we were regaled with steaming coffee and grilled haddocks.

"This is the best part of the coming to market, my lad," he said, "only it's a mistake."