The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch

by Talbot Baines Reed

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  HOW I FOUND MYSELF IN VERY LOW COMPANY.

  My capturer was a boy, and as remarkable a specimen of a boy as it hasever been my lot to meet during the whole of my career. His age was,say, fourteen. He stood four feet one in his slipshod boots.

  The hat which adorned his head was an old white billycock, which in itspalmy days might have adorned noble brows, so fashionable were itspretensions. Now, alas! it had one side caved in, and the other wasgreen with wear and weather. The coat which arrayed his manly form wasevidently one not made recently or to wearer's measure, for besidesshowing cracks and rents in various parts, its tails were soextravagantly long for its small occupant that they literally almosttouched the ground. His nether garments, on the other hand, althoughthey resembled the coat in their conveniences for ventilation, being allin rags and tatters, appeared to have been borrowed from a smaller pairof legs even than those owned by my present possessor, for they--atleast one leg--barely reached half way below the knee, while the otherstopped short very little lower. Altogether, the boy was as nondescriptand "scarecrowy" an object as one could well expect to meet with.

  As he left the hall he gave a quick look round to assure himself no onewas following him; then he darted across the road and proceeded toshuffle forward in so extremely leisurely and casual a way, that veryfew of the people who met him would have imagined he carried a stolenwatch in his pocket.

  Such a hole as it was! As soon as I had sufficiently recovered from myastonishment to look about me, I became aware that I was by no means thesole occupant of the receptacle he was pleased to designate by the titleof a pocket, but which other people would have called a slit in thelining of his one sound coat-tail.

  There was a stump of a clay pipe, with tobacco still hot in it. Therewas a greasy piece of string, a crust of bread, a halfpenny, a few brassbuttons, and a very greasy and very crumpled and very filthy copy of a"penny awful" paper. I need hardly say that this scrutiny did notafford me absolute pleasure. In the first place, my temporary lodgingwas most unsavoury and unclean; and in the second place, there was notone among my many fellow-lodgers who could be said to be in my positionin life, or to whom I felt in any way tempted to address any inquiry.

  This difficulty, however, was settled for me. A voice close beside mesaid, in a hoarse whisper, "What cheer, Turnip? how do you like it?"

  I looked round, and perceived that the speaker was the clay pipe, whohappened to be close beside me as I lay.

  I held my nose--so to speak (for watches are not supposed to be giftedwith that organ)--the tobacco which was smouldering in him must havebeen a month old, while the pipe itself looked remarkably grimy anddirty. However, thought I, there would be no use in being uncivil to mynew comrades, unpleasant though they were, and I might as well make useof this pipe to assist me to certain information I was curious to get.So I answered, "I don't like it at all. Can you tell me where I am?"

  "Where are you, Turnip? Why, you're in young Cadger's pocket, to besure; but you won't stay there long, no error."

  I secretly wished this objectionable pipe would not insist on addressingme as "Turnip," but on the whole the present did not seem exactly thetime to stand on my dignity, so I replied,--

  "Why, what's going to become of me?"

  "What's going to become of you, Turnip! Why, you'll go to Cadger'suncle. Won't he, mate?"

  The mate addressed was the piece of string, who, I should say, was by nomeans the latest addition to the Cadger's collection of valuables. Henow grinned and wriggled in reply to the pipe's appeal, and snuffled,--

  "That's right, mate; that's where he'll go. Do you hear, Turnip? that'swhere you'll go--to Cadger's uncle."

  It occurred to me that Cadger's uncle would have to be vastly morerespectable and fragrant than his nephew to make the change at alladvantageous to me.

  "Is young Cadger a thief?" I next inquired.

  The pipe laughed.

  "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 funnychap? Oh, my eye! not at all."

  It was disgusting! Not only was I cooped up in an abominably filthytail-coat pocket, with a motley rabble of disreputable associates, butevery time I opened my lips here I was insulted and laughed at for everyword I spoke.

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

  "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-goingwherever he takes yer; ain't he, mate?"

  It was positively painful to see how that vile piece of string wriggledas 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-manneredcreatures, and I therefore abandoned the attempt, having at leastascertained that I was at present located in a thief's pocket, that myimmediate destination was vague, and that ultimately I might expect tobecome the property of a near relative of my present possessor.

  Noticing that I became silent, the pipe and the string between thembegan to question me. But I was neither in the mood nor the desire togratify their curiosity. They therefore contented themselves withcracking jokes at my expense, and thus we journeyed together a mile ortwo towards our unknown destination.

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

  I was relieved to have even one of my unpleasant companions removed, andcould 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 pipespeaking French!) "is gone for good, and good riddance, do yer? Youwait a bit, that's all."

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

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

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

  The dirty little hand again entered our quarters, and let fall in ourmidst a red herring! At the sight and smell of him I turned sick withdisgust. Fancy a silver watch sat upon, squeezed, and besmeared by areeking red herring. He came sprawling right on the top of me, thebrute, his ugly mouth wide open and his loathsome fins scraping along myback. 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, andfor 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 avague sort of way what happened.

  The young gentleman rejoicing in the name of Cadger (but whose realcognomen I subsequently ascertained to be Stumpy Walker) proceeded onhis walk, whistling shrilly to himself, exchanging a passing recognitionwith one and another loafer, and going out of his way to kick every boyhe saw smaller than himself, which last exertion, by the way, at twelveo'clock at night he did not find very often necessary.

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

  He proceeded down a succession of back streets, which it would havepuzzled a stranger to remember, till he came into a large desertedthoroughfare which was undergoing a complete renovation of its drainagearrangements. All along the side of the road extended an array of hugenew pipes, some three feet in diameter, awaiting their turn underground.Into one of these Master Walker dived, and as it was just tall enoughto allow of his sitting upright in its interior, and just long enough toallow his small person to lie at full length without either extremityprotruding; and further, as the rain was just beginning to come down, Icould not forbear, even in the midst of my misery, admiring hisselection of a lodging.

  Greatly to my relief, the "soldier," the crust, and the pipe were allthree presently summoned from the pocket, and with the help of the firsttwo and the consolation of the last, Master Walker contrived to make anevening meal which at least afforded _him_ satisfaction.

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

  He had not, however, settled himself many moments before another raggedfigure came crawling down the inside of the pipes towards him. Stumpystarted up at the first sound in a scared sort of way, but instantlyresumed 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 whitehandkerchief.

  "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 withevident 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 'avetook '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 disconsolateTuppeny. "'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 outof the pocket of a young chap as was going along with a face as long asa fooneral, and as miserable-lookin' as if 'e'd swallowed a cat."

  C.N.! Could this handkerchief possibly have belonged to poor CharlieNewcome? His way home from Grime Street I knew would lead by LondonBridge, and with the trouble of that afternoon upon him, would he notindeed have looked as miserable as the thief described?

  And these two boys, having thus briefly compared notes, and exhibited toone another their ill-gotten gains, curled themselves up and fell fastasleep.

  Dear reader, does it ever occur to your mind that there are hundreds ofsuch vagrants in this great city? Night after night they crowd underrailway arches and sheds, on doorsteps and in cellars. They haveneither home nor friend. To many of them the thieves' life is theirnatural calling; they live as animals live, and hope only as animalshope, and when they die, die as animals die; ignorant of God, ignorantof good, ignorant of their own souls. Yet even for such as they, Christdied, and the Spirit strives.

  The pipe, and his friend, the string, that night had a long conversationas their master lay asleep. They evidently thought I was asleep too,for they made no effort to conceal their voices, and I consequentlyheard every word.

  It chiefly had reference to me, and was in the main satirical.

  "Some coves is uncommon proud o' themselves, mate, ain't they?--particular them as ain't much account after all?"

  "You're right, mate. Do you hear, Turnip? you ain't much account;you're on'y silver-plate, yer know, so you don't ought to be proud, youdon't!"

  "What I say," continued the pipe, "is that coves as gives 'emselveshairs above their stations is a miserable lot. What do _you_ think?"

  "What don't I?" snuffled the string. "Do you hear, Turnip? you're amiserable cove, you are. Why can't you be 'appy like me and my mate?We don't give ourselves hairs; that's why we're 'appy."

  "And, arter all," pursued the pipe, "that's the sort of coves as gosecond-hand in the end. People 'ud think better on 'em if they didn'tthink such a lot of theirselves; wouldn't they now, mate?"

  "Wouldn't they just! What do you think of that, Turnip? You're on'y asecond-hand turnip, now, and that's all along of being stuck-up andthinking such a lot of yourself! You won't go off for thirty bob, youwon't see!"

  "Mate!" exclaimed the pipe, presently (after I had had leisure tomeditate on the foregoing philosophical dialogue), "mate, I'll give youa riddle!"

  "Go it!" said the mate.

  "Why," asked the pipe, in a solemn voice, "is a second-hand pewter-plate, stuck-up turnip, like a weskit that ain't paid for?"

  "Do you hear, Turnip? Why are you like a weskit that ain't paid for?Do yer give it up? I do."

  "'Cos it's on tick!" pronounced the pipe.

  I could have howled to find myself the victim of such a low, villainousjoke, that had not even the pretence of wit, and I could have cried tosee how that greasy string wriggled and snuffled at my expense.

  "My eye, mate! that's a good 'un! Do you hear, Turnip? you're on tick,you know, like the weskit. Oh, my eye! that'll do, mate; another o'them will kill me. Oh, turn it up! do you hear? On tick!-- hoo, hoo,hoo! Do you hear, Turnip? _tick_!"

  Need I say I spent a sad and sleepless night? When my disgust admittedof thought I could not help reflecting how very happy some vulgar peoplecan be with a very little sense, and how very unhappy other people whoflatter themselves they are very clever and superior can at times findthemselves.

  By the time I had satisfied myself of this my master uncurled himselfand got up.