Post Haste Part 23

The boy paid no regard to him, but, turning to Aspel, introduced himself as Peter Pax.

"What! the comrade-in-arms of my friend Phil Maylands?" asked Aspel.

"The same, at your service," replied the small messenger; "an' if you are the friend he talks to me so much about, as goes by the name of George Aspel, an' is descended in a direct line from the old sea-kings, I'm proud to make your acquaintance."

Aspel laughed at the consummate self-possession of the boy, and shaking hands with him heartily as a comrade of their common friend Phil, bade him take a seat, which he immediately did on the counter.

"You're surrounded by pleasant company here," observed Pax, gazing intently at the pelican of the wilderness.

"Well, yes; but it's rather silent company," said Aspel.

"Did that fellow, now," continued Pax, pointing to the owl, "die of surprise?"

"Perhaps he did, but I wasn't present at his death," returned the other.

"Well, now, I do like this sort o' thing."

Little Pax said this with such genuine feeling, and looked round him with such obvious interest, that Aspel, with some surprise, asked him why he liked it.

"Why? because from my earliest years I always was fond of animals. No matter what sort they wos, I liked 'em all--birds an' beasts an' fishes, flyers and creepers, an' squeakers and flutterers," said the boy, clasping both hands over one knee, and rocking himself to and fro on the counter, while he gazed into the owl's face with the air of one whose mind is rambling far away into the remote past.

"Once on a time," he continued, sadly, "I dwelt in the country. I was born in the country. I'm a sort o' country gentleman by nature, so to speak, and would have bin revellin' in the country to this day if a perwerse fate hadn't driven me into the town--a very perwerse fate indeed."

"Indeed?" said Aspel, unable to restrain a laugh at his visitor's old-fashioned ways, "what sort of fate was it?"

"A perwerse one, didn't I tell you?"

"Yes, but wherein consisted its perversity? How did it act, you know?"

"Ah, its perwersity consisted in drivin' me into town in a market-cart,"

said Pax. "You must know that my perwerse fate was a uncle. He was a big brute. I don't mean to speak of 'im disrespectfully. I merely give 'im his proper name. He was a market-gardener and kept cows--also a pump. He had a wife and child--a little girl. Ah! a sweet child it was."

"Indeed," said Aspel, as the boy relapsed into a silent contemplative gaze at the pelican.

"Yes," resumed Pax, with a sigh, "it _was_ a child, that was. Her name was Mariar, but we called 'er Merry. Her father's name--the Brute's, you know--was Blackadder, and a blacker adder don't wriggle its slimy way through filthy slums nowhere--supposin' him to be yet unscragged, for he was uncommon hard on his wife--that's my Aunt Georgie. _Her_ name was Georgianna. I wonder how it is that people _never_ give people their right names! Well, Mr Aspel, you must know I was nuss to baby.

An amytoor nuss I was--got no pay for it, but a considerable allowance o' kicks from the Brute, who wasn't fond o' me, as I'd done 'im a mortal injury, somehow, by being his defunct brother's orphan child. You understand?"

George Aspel having professed a thorough comprehension of these family relationships, little Pax went on.

"Well then, bein' nuss to Merry, I used to take 'er out long walks in the fields among the flowers, an' I was used to catch b.u.t.terflies and beetles for 'er, an' brought 'em home an' stuck pins through 'em an'

made c'lections; an' oh, I _did_ like to scuttle about the green lanes an' chase the cows, an' roll on the gra.s.s in the sunshine with Merry, an' tear an bu'st my trousers, for w'ich I got spanked by the Brute, but didn't care a rap, because that brought me double allowance o' coddlin'

from Aunt Georgie. One day the Brute drove me into town in the market-cart; set me down in the middle of a street, and drove away, an'

I haven't seen him, nor Aunt Georgie, nor Merry from that day to this."

"Dear me!" exclaimed George Aspel, rather shocked at this sudden and unexpected termination of the narrative; "do you mean to say--"

"It strikes me," interrupted Pax, looking pointedly at the door, "that you've got another visitor."

Aspel turned and saw the dishevelled curls and pretty face of Tottie Bones in the doorway.

"Please, sir," she said, entering, "I didn't like to interrupt you, but Miss Lillycrop sent me to say that there was a strange smell of singein'

in the 'ouse, an' would Mr Aspel be so kind as to come and try to find out where it was, as she didn't understand such things."

"Smell of singeing, child!" exclaimed Aspel, rising at once and putting on his coat and hat. "Did you search for the cause, especially about your kitchen fireplace?"

"O yes, sir," exclaimed Tottie, "an' we couldn't see no cause at all-- only the flue seemed to be 'otter than usual. We looked all over the 'ouse too, but couldn't see nothink--but we could feel a most drefful smell."

Desiring Mrs Murridge to call Mr Blurt to attend to the shop, George Aspel hurried out.

"Don't try to keep up with us," said Aspel to Tottie; "I must run. It may be fire!"

"Oh! please, sir, don't leave me behind," pleaded the child.

"All right--we won't; kitch hold of my hand; give the other to Mr Aspel," said Peter Pax.

Holding on to her two friends, Tottie was swept along the streets at a rate which she had never before experienced--at least not as a foot-pa.s.senger,--and in a few minutes they were in Miss Lillycrop's dwelling.

That excellent lady was in a state of dreadful perturbation, as well she might be, for the house was filled with a thin smoke of very peculiar odour.

Few persons except the initiated are fully alive to the immense importance of checking fire at its commencement. The smoke, although not dense enough to attract the attention of people outside, was sufficiently so to make those inside commence an anxious search, when they should have sent at once for the fire-engine.

Three families occupied the tenement. Miss Lillycrop's portion was at the top. A dealer in oils and stores of a miscellaneous and unsavoury kind occupied the bas.e.m.e.nt.

George Aspel at once suspected and made for this point, followed by Miss Lillycrop, who bade Tottie remain in her kitchen, with the intention of keeping her at once out of danger and out of the way.

"There's certainly fire somewhere, Pax; run, call the engines out," said Aspel, descending three steps at a time.

Pax took the last six steps at a bound, and rushed along the street, overturning in his flight two boys bigger than himself, and a wheelbarrow.

The owner of the cellars was absent and his door locked. Where was the key? No one knew, but George Aspel knew of a key that had done some service in times past. He retreated a few steps, and, rushing at the door with all his weight and momentum, dashed it in with a tremendous crash, and went headlong into the cellar, from out of which came belching flames and smoke. Re-issuing instantly therefrom with singed hair and glaring eyes, he found Miss Lillycrop lying on her back in a faint, where the fire and smoke had floored her. To gather her up and dash into the street was the work of a moment. Scarcely less rapid was the rush of the fire, which, having been richly fed and long pent up in the cellar, now dashed up the staircases like a giant refreshed.

Meanwhile little Pax ran headlong into a policeman, and was collared and throttled.

"Now then, young 'un!"

"Fire! station!" gasped Pax.

"All right, this way--just round the corner," said the man in blue, releasing his captive, and running along with him; but the man in blue was stout, middle-aged, and heavy. Pax outran him, saw the red lamp, found the fire-station door open, and leaped through with a yell of "_Fire_!" that nearly split his little lungs.

The personification of calmness in the form of a fireman rose and demanded "Where?"

Before Pax could gasp the address, two other personifications of calmness, who had been snoring on trestle-beds, dressed and booted, when he entered, now moved swiftly out, axed and helmeted. There was a clattering of hoofs outside. The double doors flew open, and the red engine rolled out almost of its own accord. More bra.s.s helmets were seen flashing outside.

"Are you sure of the address, youngster?" asked one of the imperturbable firemen, settling his chinstrap more comfortably.

"Are you sure o' your own grandmother?" said Pax.

"You're cheeky," replied the man, with a smile.