The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch Part 24

"Why, what a funny chap you are, Turnip!" it said.

"Does it look like it? Cadger a thief!--oh, my eye! not at all. Eh, mate?"

The greasy string took up the laugh, and snivelled in chorus.

"Ho, ho! ain't he a funny chap? Do you hear. Turnip? ain't you a funny chap? Oh, my eye! not at all."

It was disgusting! Not only was I cooped up in an abominably filthy tail-coat pocket, with a motley rabble of disreputable a.s.sociates, but every time I opened my lips here I was insulted and laughed at for every word I spoke.

However, I gathered that the purport of the reply to my last inquiry was that the young Cadger _was_ a thief, and I made one more attempt to gain information.

"Where are we going to now?" I asked.

"Going!" cried the pipe, with his insulting jeer.

"What, don't you know where you're a-going, old Turnip? You're a-going wherever he takes yer; ain't he, mate?"

It was positively painful to see how that vile piece of string wriggled as he replied,--

"Do you hear, Turnip? You're a-going wherever young Cadger takes yer.

Now what do you think of that?"

It was impossible to continue a conversation with such low, ill-mannered creatures, and I therefore abandoned the attempt, having at least ascertained that I was at present located in a thief's pocket, that my immediate destination was vague, and that ultimately I might expect to become the property of a near relative of my present possessor.

Noticing that I became silent, the pipe and the string between them began to question me. But I was neither in the mood nor the desire to gratify their curiosity. They therefore contented themselves with cracking jokes at my expense, and thus we journeyed together a mile or two towards our unknown destination.

Presently a dirty little hand came groping down into our place of retreat. It first fumbled me and my chain, with a view, I suppose, to ascertain if we were all safe, and then proceeded among the other occupants of the pocket to secure and draw forth the half penny which I have before mentioned.

I was relieved to have even one of my unpleasant companions removed, and could not refrain from expressing my feelings by a sigh.

"What are you snivelling at, Turnip?" asked the pipe.

I did not deign to reply.

"Suppose yer think that there _sou_," (fancy the stump of a clay pipe speaking French!) "is gone for good, and good riddance, do yer? You wait a bit, that's all."

"Boh, boh!" chimed in the string. "Do you hear, Turnip? Wait till you see the soldier; then see how you'll laugh!"

"What soldier?" I inquired, my curiosity for a moment getting the better of my reserve. I could not imagine what possible connexion there could be between the military and the disreputable copper I had so lately seen depart.

I was not long in suspense, however, for before my two vulgar companions could answer my question, the "soldier" made his appearance.

The dirty little hand again entered our quarters, and let fall in our midst a red herring! At the sight and smell of him I turned sick with disgust. Fancy a silver watch sat upon, squeezed, and besmeared by a reeking red herring. He came sprawling right on the top of me, the brute, his ugly mouth wide open and his loathsome fins sc.r.a.ping along my back. Ugh!

"That there's the soldier, Turnip; ain't it, mate?" called out the pipe.

"Do you hear, Turnip? this here's the soldier. How do you like him?"

snuffled the string.

It was enough! I felt my nerves collapse, and my circulation fail, and for the remainder of that dreadful night I was speechless.

I was not, however, blind, or so far gone as to be unable to notice in a vague sort of way what happened.

The young gentleman rejoicing in the name of Cadger (but whose real cognomen I subsequently ascertained to be Stumpy Walker) proceeded on his walk, whistling shrilly to himself, exchanging a pa.s.sing recognition with one and another loafer, and going out of his way to kick every boy he saw smaller than himself, which last exertion, by the way, at twelve o'clock at night he did not find very often necessary.

I observed that he did not go out of his way to avoid the police; on the contrary, he made a point of touching his hat to every guardian of the peace he happened to meet, and actually went so far as to inform one that "he'd want his muckintogs before morning"--a poetical way of prophesying rain.

He proceeded down a succession of back streets, which it would have puzzled a stranger to remember, till he came into a large deserted thoroughfare which was undergoing a complete renovation of its drainage arrangements. All along the side of the road extended an array of huge new pipes, some three feet in diameter, awaiting their turn underground.

Into one of these Master Walker dived, and as it was just tall enough to allow of his sitting upright in its interior, and just long enough to allow his small person to lie at full length without either extremity protruding; and further, as the rain was just beginning to come down, I could not forbear, even in the midst of my misery, admiring his selection of a lodging.

Greatly to my relief, the "soldier," the crust, and the pipe were all three presently summoned from the pocket, and with the help of the first two and the consolation of the last, Master Walker contrived to make an evening meal which at least afforded _him_ satisfaction.

Before making himself snug for the night he pulled me out, and by the aid of the feeble light of a neighbouring lamp-post, made a hasty examination of my exterior and interior. Having apparently satisfied himself as to my value, he put me and the pipe back into his dreadful pocket, from which, even yet, the fumes of the "soldier" had not faded, and then curled himself up like a dormouse and composed himself to slumber.

He had not, however, settled himself many moments before another ragged figure came crawling down the inside of the pipes towards him. Stumpy started up at the first sound in a scared sort of way, but instantly resumed his composure on seeing who the intruder was.

"What cheer, Stumpy?" said the latter.

"What cheer, Tuppeny?" replied my master. "Where've yer been to?"

"Lunnon Bridge," replied Mr Tuppeny.

"An' what 'ave yer got?" asked Stumpy.

"Only a rag," said the other, in evident disgusts producing a white handkerchief.

"That ain't much; I've boned a turnip."

"Jus' your luck. Let's 'ave a look at him."

Stumpy complied, and his comrade, lighting a match, surveyed me with evident complacency.

"Jus' your luck," said he again. "Where did yer git 'im?"

"At the gaff, off a young cove as was reg'lar screwed up. I could 'ave took 'is nose off if I'd a wanted it, and he wouldn't have knowed."

"Then this 'ere rag might 'a been some use," replied the disconsolate Tuppeny. "'Tain't worth three'a'pence."

"Any marks?" inquired my master.

"Yees; there is so. C.N. it is; hup in one corner. He was sticking out of the pocket of a young chap as was going along with a face as long as a fooneral, and as miserable-lookin' as if 'e'd swallowed a cat."

C.N.! Could this handkerchief possibly have belonged to poor Charlie Newcome? His way home from Grime Street I knew would lead by London Bridge, and with the trouble of that afternoon upon him, would he not indeed have looked as miserable as the thief described?

And these two boys, having thus briefly compared notes, and exhibited to one another their ill-gotten gains, curled themselves up and fell fast asleep.

Dear reader, does it ever occur to your mind that there are hundreds of such vagrants in this great city? Night after night they crowd under railway arches and sheds, on doorsteps and in cellars. They have neither home nor friend. To many of them the thieves' life is their natural calling; they live as animals live, and hope only as animals hope, and when they die, die as animals die; ignorant of G.o.d, ignorant of good, ignorant of their own souls. Yet even for such as they, Christ died, and the Spirit strives.