My Friend Smith Part 55

"Humph! I suppose you'd come again to-night and do the same thing if I asked you?"

I hesitated. "I don't think--" I began, but there pulled up. I knew well enough I _would_ go if he asked me.

"Of course you would," said he; "you'd go anywhere. Just because a fellow a peg above you asks you, _you'll_ go and make a fool of yourself and risk every chance you've got, because you've not the pluck to make yourself disagreeable!"

How true it all was! Yet why had I never seen it before?

"I'm afraid--I'm sure you're right," I said.

"I don't flatter myself," went on Doubleday, beginning on a new quill, "I'm very particular. I dare say I'm about as rackety a lot as any you'd pick up near here. But somehow I've no fancy for seeing a fellow going to the dogs out of sheer folly. It spoils my pleasure, in fact."

"I have been a fool, I know," I said.

"Of course you have, and so you will be unless you kick. Well, I'm off now," added he, taking up his hat. "I dare say I've offended you, and you'll call me an officious humbug. I may be a fool for concerning myself about a young m.u.f.f like you; but anyhow I've told you what I think of you. So good-night, young un."

He left abruptly, before even I could say good-night, or thank him.

That night, as I walked home solitary, I felt more humble and less satisfied with myself than I had done for many a month.

One good sign was that I was by no means disposed this time to launch out into the extravagant resolutions to turn over a new leaf which had marked my former repentances. In fact, I said to myself, I won't resolve to do anything; but, G.o.d helping me, do something I will. And the first thing to do would be to get back my old friend Smith. For since I lost him everything had gone wrong with me.

And yet, now, how was it possible for me even to speak to him?

In the midst of these reflections I reached Style Street, where I suddenly became aware that something unusual was taking place. A small crowd was collected round the spot where Billy was usually in the habit of pursuing his business, and loud voices proclaimed that the occasion was one of anything but peace.

Curiosity tempted me to draw near, and a strange sight met my view as I did so. The central figures of the group were Billy and his "old gal,"

whom I recognised at once as the woman who had so vehemently ill-used him in the court that memorable evening weeks ago. She was a sad spectacle, more than half drunk, with every trace of tenderness and womanliness stamped out of her features.

If I had not recognised her by her appearance I should probably have done so by her occupation at that moment, for she was engaged in chastising her offspring with all the vehemence and all the cruelty of her former performances. But in the present case there was a difference. Billy, instead of taking his castigation meekly, as before, was violently resisting by shout and kick the attentions of his relative. This it was which appeared to render the transaction so particularly interesting to the onlookers.

"Go it, young bantam-c.o.c.k," some one was crying as I approached, "let her have it."

"Give it up, do you hear, or I'll murder you!" shrieked the woman.

Billy replied nothing, but continued fighting tooth and nail. I never saw a child of his age so desperately active. He struggled not so much to escape his mother's blows aimed at himself, as to elude the clutches she made at a necktie he wore round his throat, which I at first glance recognised as having formerly belonged to Jack Smith.

This article of toilet the woman seemed as determined on having as her son was resolved on keeping. She probably considered it of some value-- enough, at any rate, to p.a.w.n for drink; and Billy's violent refusal to give it up only roused her the more to secure it.

It was a revolting spectacle to watch, this struggle between mother and child. The one sparing neither blow nor curse, the other silent and active as a cat, watching every movement of his adversary, and ready for the slightest chance of escape. The crowd, careless of the rights of the case, cheered on both, and only interfered when the woman, having secured the boy in her grip, bade fair to bring the interesting encounter to too abrupt an end.

I dared not interfere, even if I had been able, but was forced to stand wedged up in the crowd to watch the issue of the struggle. And it was not long in coming. Amid loud cheers from the onlookers, Billy contrived for the seventh or eighth time to wriggle himself free from the clutches of his well-nigh frantic a.s.sailant, dealing her at the same time a blow on the arm with the blacking-brush he had all along retained in his hand. The surprise and pain of the blow, the jeers of the bystanders, and the tipsy rage of the woman combined to drive her nearly mad. With a fearful yell and threat she literally flung herself in wild fury upon her little victim. But the wary Billy was too quick for her.

Stepping lightly aside, he eluded her reach, and left her to fall forward with a heavy crash on the pavement amid the howls and cheers of the brutal crowd.

Quick as thought the boy s.n.a.t.c.hed up his box and brushes, and dived head-first into the crowd just where I stood. There was a cry of "Stop him!"

"Fetch him back!" on all hands, and one young fellow near me actually made a grab at the poor boy and caught him by the arm. It was no time for ceremony or parley. It had been all I could do to stand still and watch the sickening spectacle. Now it should not be my fault if, just to please a party of blackguards, the whole thing was to be repeated.

With an angry shout of "Let him go!" I sprang at the fellow and struck him full on the chest. He dropped Billy as if he had been red-hot iron, and turning with livid face to me, stared at me for a single moment, and then tearing off his coat and clenching his fists rushed at me.

For all I know he might have annihilated me, but at that moment arose a cry of "Police!" at the sound of which the crowd dispersed like beetles before a candle, my antagonist being among the first to go, leaving me and Billy alone on the scene, from which even the tipsy woman had vanished.

It was not till the coast was all clear that Billy deposited his box or noticed my presence. The exciting scene which was just over seemed in no way to have disturbed the young gentleman's equanimity. He favoured me with one of his most affable grins and saluted me with one of his habitual somersaults as he said, "Shine 'e boots, master? T'other bloke he was 'ere at ten past seving."

"Hadn't you better go somewhere else?" I said. "Your mother will be back after you."

"Well," said Billy, in his usual touchy way, "she ain't no concern of yourn."

"Aren't you afraid of her hurting you?"

"'Urting me!" cried the boy, in tones of the utmost contempt, as if he had not been half-murdered once a week for the last eight years. "No fear! Ain't you funny? But she ain't a-going to collar this 'ere choker; not if I knows it!" said he, taking off his new article of decoration with a flourish and holding it up.

The well-worn and used-up necktie did not certainly look worth the battle that had been waged over it.

"Why are you so particular about this?" I asked, half guessing beforehand what the reply would be.

"Pertikler!" he cried, "why, that there bloke give me this 'ere!"

Nothing evidently could have been more conclusive to Billy's mind. I felt almost jealous to find how much truer Jack's new friend was than his old one.

"Was he here long this evening?" I asked, presently.

"Yaas; he was jawing nigh on half a' hour, he was, while I gi'en him a shine. But, bless you, them boots of his is pretty nigh 'andy wore out, and I tell him so. `Never mind, Billy,' says he; `I'll be getting a new pair soon when I've got the money saved,' says he. `I mean to get a good strong pair,' says he, `double-soled and plates on the 'eels, my boy,' he says, `and you shall polish them up every night for me.' `That I _will_,' says I. Bless you, governor, that there bloke'll 'ave the shiniest pair of boots in town."

It was a sight to see the little grimy face glow as he expatiated on the grateful theme.

"I suppose he didn't--did he say anything about me?" I asked, hesitatingly.

"Yaas," said Billy. "Says I to him, `So t'other bloke,' (meaning you), `has lagged off,' I says. `Yes,' says he, `we don't live together no more?' says he. `I know all about it,' says I; `I seen the animal,'

(meaning you), says I, `o' Toosday.' `Did you?' says he. `Yaas,' I says, `and nice and boozy he was,' I says, `at eleving o'clock o'

night,' I says. `Did he say anything about me?' he says; and I told him, and he says he must go off, he says, 'cos he didn't want to be 'ere, he says, when you come. He do talk beautiful, he does."

I went on my lonely way more humbled than ever, but more determined, if possible, to recover my lost friend; yet thinking little or nothing of the greater and ever-present Friend against whom I had sinned so grievously.

But it was not to be for many days yet.

Smith always avoided me at the office in the same marked way, so that it was utterly impossible to make any advances to a reconciliation. The idea of writing to him occurred to me more than once, but the thought that he might throw my letter into the fire unread deterred me. No, the only thing was to bear my humiliation and wait for a chance.

Doubleday's lecture had wrought a considerable change in my habits.

Although I found it impossible all at once to give up consorting with "the usual lot," especially those of them (now not a few), to whom I owed money, I was yet a good deal more chary of my complaisance, and less influenced by their example in ordinary matters. I succeeded, greatly to my own satisfaction and much to every one else's surprise, in making myself distinctly disagreeable on more than one occasion, which Doubleday looked upon as a very healthy sign, and which, though it involved me in a good deal of persecution at the time, did not seriously affect my position as a member of their honourable society.

How I wished I might once more call Jack Smith my friend, and cast off once for all these other shallow acquaintances!

During these wretched weeks Billy became my chief comforter, for he of all people was the only one I could talk to about Jack.

I always arranged my walks by Style Street so as to pa.s.s his "place of business" after the time when I knew Jack would have left, and then eagerly drank in all the news I could hear of my lost friend.

One evening, a week after the adventure with Billy and his mother just recorded, the boy greeted me with most extraordinary and mysterious demonstrations of importance and glee. He walked at least half a dozen times round his box on his hands before he would say a word, and then indulged in such a series of winks and grimaces as almost drove me into impatience.