“If I takes ye, ye’ll stop turnin’ on the tear-taps?”
Ikey coughed, choked, and emitted a stifled “Yes.”
“Right you are!” said the lanky boy— “Now you know me. Wot I sez, I doos; an’ now you’ve picked me out as a father to the fatherless, which is penny track readin’, you’ve got to do as I tells ye. The ‘Dook’s’ a man of his word, I can tell ye! Come along wi’ me.”
“Where to?” faltered Ikey.
“In there!” and the “Duke,” as the lanky boy called himself, pointed with a magisterial air to the big building confronting them, which to the frightened Ikey suggested itself as a kind of glorified jail or police court. “Come on, an’ ‘ave a smell o’ the food, even if ye can’t swaller it!”
He led the way. On the steps of the building he paused and turned round to his somewhat lagging little follower with a knowing wink.
“This is my club!” he said— “An’ the ‘ed steward knows as ‘ow the Dook’s pertikler!”
Ikey stumped wearily up the steps after him, but his little feet were tired, and his little body was weak, a state of things which the “Duke” perceived, and gave him a helping hand.
“Up ye comes!” he said, almost lifting the little fellow along— “We’ll ‘ave a sit down in ‘arf a minute.” And, here arriving in a spacious entrance hall, he took from the hand of a brisk attendant who stood at the foot of another flight of stairs, a pink slip of paper, on which was set forth the following tempting propositions to the hungry:
“‘Ere’s the menoo,” said the “Duke”— “Know what a menoo is? A program! Hall the winners! Set out in beautiful print as clear as a tombstone hepitaph. Wot’ll ye ‘ave, Ikey? Ribs o’ beef?”
Ikey gasped. The poor little chap had not tasted meat for many days.
“Wot is it?” he asked. —
“You’re wot the play-hactors calls a sublime idgit,” declared the “Duke” with unction— “Beef is beef, an’ ribs is ribs. But mebbe you’d like Large Steak Pudden? That’s threepence — the beef’s twopence ‘apenny. But I’ll stand the pudden, if so be as ye fancies it.”
Here Ikey suddenly began to cry again.
“There now!” And the “Duke” frowned warningly— “What about tear-taps? Well, never mind!” This, as the poor mite suddenly stretched out a pair of gaunt little arms which showed their flesh through his tattered coat sleeves, in such a fashion of appeal as would have touched the hardest heart. “Ye’re just worn out an’ wobbly like — here goes!”
And lifting the child in his arms, he mounted him easily on his shoulder, and carried him lightly up the flight of stairs to what is known at the “Alexandra Trust “as the Men’s Dining-Room. Though it was not yet one o’clock, this room was filling fast, and the “Duke,” pausing for a moment and paying something to a man who gave him certain slips of paper in exchange, made haste to secure seats at a corner of one of the numerous tables, where he set his self-imposed burden down. Ikey was bewildered, and a little faint. He could not quite make out where he was — and such an array of tempting food as was set out on a large circular counter confronting him, he had never seen except in shop windows against which he had often pressed his little cold nose and watering mouth, in the strained eagerness of physical longing. There was Jam Roll! — yes — suety pudding roll — positively oozing with jam!
He took a fancy to that at once, and made some inarticulate remark concerning it.
“Nonsense!” said the “Duke” with parental emphasis— “You ain’t goin’ to begin yer dinner with the last course! Jam roll indeed! Tell ye wot! — yd seems a bit finnicky like — I’ll give ye some hot fried fish an’ chip potatoes. That’s fine! I’ll have some too. That’ll be tuppence each.”
“I ain’t got tuppence,” said Ikey.
“Who arskt ye for’t?” demanded the “Duke,”
“Ain’t I a ‘treatin” of ye?”
Ikey’s pale lips parted in the thin ghost of a smile.
“I’ll love ye a lot!” he said, whisperingly. Whereat the “Duke” lifted him up and set him down again more comfortably on the bench they occupied. Then he grinned sheepishly.
“Love me a lot, will ye!” he said— “Lord, wot a kid it is! Fried fish, eh?”
Ikey nodded. The dining-room was warm, and he was beginning to feel comfortable.
“Sit there till I come back with the grub,” commanded the “Duke.”
Ikey obeyed, sitting very still. He could not, however, help looking about him, and vaguely wondering where all the men and boys came from. A great number had filed in even since he had arrived, — and they were all intent on the one object — a good dinner. That they were going to have it too, was quite certain. He watched them; his earnest and wistful little face turning first in one direction, then in another. The clean, smart servers at the counter looked at him now and again, and whispered, and he fancied they were whispering about him. Perhaps they knew his mother was dead? — perhaps they saw he was a very lonely little creature in a very crowded world? He could not tell. He was glad when he saw the long-legged “Duke” returning, carrying two plates very carefully — plates full of the most deliciously fried fish and equally delicious chip potatoes.
“’Ere we are, youngster,” said the “Duke,” cheerily— “Ef there’s bones in these ’ere temptin’ lookin’ mossels, mind ye don’t choke yer little self with ’em!”
With this warning he sat down, and was more interested in watching his small protégé enjoy the food than in eating it himself.
“Ye didn’t notice me gettin’ our tickets for this ’ere,” he said— “I’m good for a whole tenpence — fivepence for myself and fivepence for you. This ’ere fried fish an’ potatoes is on’ny tuppence, — we’ve each got a whole threepence worth to come.”
“What a lot!” said Ikey.
“Ain’t it! An’ ef yer gets proper through yer fish, we’ll ‘ave a jolly dish o’ vegetables each. They doos ’em well ’ere. That’ll be another penny. Then we’ll finish with Jam Roll!”
“Will we?” and Ikey’s eyes brightened.
“Av coorse we will! But Jam Roll’s on’ny a ‘apenny — dunno ‘ow we’ll make up to fivepence, blow’d if I do!”
He meditated, — Ikey became profoundly interested.
“I’m a spendin’ too much, that’s a fact,” said the “Duke” at last. “I might a’ done it ‘and-some for fourpence. But I tell ye wot — we’ll ‘ave a pot o’ tea freshly made — that’s three ‘apence, an’ we’ll be reg’lar full!”
Ikey positively laughed — a little shrill laugh, not very merry to hear, and not at all child-like — still it was the first sign of delight he had given for many a weary day. They then both applied themselves to their food. Suddenly a tall man, wrapped in an overcoat lined with fur, strolled up to their end of the table, and bent a pair of keen blue eyes on the startled Ikey.
“Hullo!” he said— “Enjoying it?”
Ikey stared silently, first at the speaker (whom he privately considered a “toff”), and then at his plate. Did the “toff” know about the Jam Roll, and was he going to say there was no more left?
The “Duke” answered for him.
“I ‘spect he is, sir,” he said— “He’s on’ny a kid, an’ ain’t used to dinner company.”
The gentleman smiled.
“Is he your brother?”
“No, sir. I ain’t got no fam’ly. His mother went parst last night, an’ he’s offered hisself to me as a sort o’ son an’ hair, which I wasn’t wantin’ none, but bound to do my best for ’im, bein’ an orfing.”
The gentleman laughed outright — then glanced him up and down. —
“Do you mean to tell me that this child is no relation to you, and that you’ve adopted him?”
“That’s it, sir! I knows him well — seein’ we’se both sold newspapers together in the City for goin’ on a year, but ‘e’s alius ‘ad a mother to run ‘ome to till last night.”
“And now he
has none,” said the gentleman, thoughtfully— “Poor little man! And what’s your name?”
“Jimmy Duke, sir. They calls me ‘the Duke’ for common-like.”
“They calls you the Duke for common-like,” echoed the gentleman, with a shrewd smile— “Well! They might do worse, — they really might do worse!”
He walked away. Ikey, breathing very hard, pressed up close to his “ducal” friend.
“Is ’e a goin’ to ‘ave a dinner ’ere?”
“Lor’ love ye! Av coorse ’e is! ’E often dines ’ere for company!”
“‘E’s a toff!” whispered Ikey, in tragic accents.
“Toff be blowed! ‘E’s one o’ the ge’mmun as ‘elpt to build this ’ere ‘otel, an’ sure alive, if ’e ain’t goin’ to get ’is own grub in it, I’d like to know who is!”
Ikey was silent. He wondered why there was only one “toff” dining there that day. All the other “ge’mmun” were anything but “toffs.” They looked very hungry — and some of them looked sadder than even hunger could make them. The room was so crowded now that it seemed a perfect wilderness of faces, — faces on which nature had unerringly written the history of many a struggle with poverty, many a sorrow, and many a sin, born not so much of wilful wish to do wrong, but of hard temptation and bitter suffering. Men of the roughest type were seated closely round the tables — yet not one jostled another purposely or indulged in any “horse-play.” There was a perpetual buzz of voices, yet no coarse language — and each man assisted his neighbour to pass the plates of food along with care that nothing should be spilt or broken. One thin old fellow, sitting at the same table with the “Duke” and Ikey, brought from the counter a cup of cocoa, and putting it down with hands that trembled nervously, took out a dirty newspaper parcel from his pocket, which he opened carefully, disclosing sundry scraps of broken meat, crusts of bread and cold potatoes.
“‘Ullo!” said the “Duke” good-humouredly, “That’s a fine dish you’ve got there! Wasn’t cooked in this ’ere kitchen, I bet!”
The old man looked up and smiled feebly.
“No, it wasn’t. But I can’t spare more than a half-penny to-day for ‘extras’ like this!” And he looked at his steaming cup of cocoa tenderly.
“I see! And it’s a good ‘apenny worth, that cocoa is! You bet! I knows it!” And the “Duke” smacked his lips. “But as for yer roast an’ biled in that there bit o’ newspaper, I ain’t goin’ to compliment ye!”
The old man sighed a little.
“It’s as good as I often get,” he said, patiently; “I mustn’t complain. And it’s kind of the people here to let a man bring his own dinner in if he likes, and get something hot to wash it down with.”
“Yes, it’s mighty kind!” said the “Duke,”
“Though I calls it a reg’lar doin’ of the ‘stablishment! ‘Owsomever, ye’ve got the leave to do it, an’ ye’re one o’ those as does it. Mean to say ye can’t earn tuppence?”
“I’ve got to put by a copper or so for a bed,” said the old man— “And I’ve had an unlucky day.”
He looked, as he spoke, at I key, who was now feasting on the much-desired Jam Roll.
“I heard what you said to the gentleman just now,” he went on— “Are you goin’ to keep that little chap?”
At this Ikey lifted Up his head defiantly. — !
“No ’e ain’t! I’m a’ goin’ to keep myself, an’ ’im too when ’e gets old.”
The “Duke” burst into a guffaw of laughter. “Ain’t ’e a nipper!” he ejaculated— “Not gone sivin yet, an’ talkin’ about me gettin’ old! Mad j on Jam Roll ’e be! Look at ’is mouth, all stickin’ with it! We ain’t got no cambric blow-noses ’ere, so I’ll ‘ave to wipe it on my coat sleeve.”
Which he did, with considerable pride, Ikey permitting his mouth to be somewhat fiercely rubbed in the cleansing process.
“I had two children — little boys — once,” said the old man, tremulously, taking a sip at his cocoa, “But they’re both dead.”
“Gone parst,” commented the “Duke.”
“Is that what you say? ‘Gone past’?”
“Well, av coorse! Wheer should they be goned to?” And the “Duke” waved his hand explanatorily. “When folks go down a turnin’ like for a bit an’ you don’t see ’em no more an’ ain’t quite sure of their ‘ome adress in future, you Sez they’se gone parst. ‘Tain’t perlite to call ’em dead.”
“That’s a pretty way of putting it.”
“Glad ye like it!” said the “Duke” graciously.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen! Only sixteen! All the world before you,” — and the old man shook his head and laughed somewhat sadly— “All the world before you!”
The “Duke” gave him a suspicious glance.
“Now look ‘ee ’ere, don’t go shakin’ that ‘ed o’ yours over yer broken victuals,” he said, severely— “Or ef ye do, I’ll take it as ‘ow ye’re makin’ tracks for a ‘sylum wheer they puts folks as gits a buzzin’ in the upper storey. All the world before me, indeed! I like that! Sellin’ ‘apenny papers ain’t a millionaire biz, you bet! Ikey’s in it along wi’ me, an’ we can’t say shares is at a premium!”
He laughed, and scraped the last remains of Jam Roll off his plate with exceeding heartiness. The old man, meanwhile, began to eat his poor “broken victuals,” Ikey watching him with grave interest.
“Is it nice?” the child asked.
“Nice?” broke in the irrepressible “Duke”— “I should think it was! Rather! It’s a R’yal gift, from the ‘ands of ’is own R’yal Tghness’s flunkey at the gates o’ Buckin’am Palace! Nice! It’s just scrumptious! — pertikler the cold pertatis!”
The old man bore the jesting patiently — in fact he seemed rather to enjoy it, and when some of the other men round the table laughed, he joined in their laughter. But now the last, the very last scrap of the Jam Roll was finished, and the “Duke” with a brief sigh of regret over the departed good victuals, prepared to vacate his place at table.
“Must we go?” asked Ikey, plaintively.
“Av coorse we must! Didn’t think we was going to live ’ere for good, did ye? Wish we was! But there’s others wantin’ seats, Ikey — an’ we must clear out.”
Ikey slipped down from the bench obediently, but he felt very tired and sleepy, and wished he might lie down on the floor. He whispered as much to the “Duke.”
“Lie down on the floor!” echoed that personage, aghast— “Wot! Arter such a feed as ye’ve ‘ad? Wants to sleep it off, I s’pose, like a reg’lar old ‘un. Well, this ain’t no nussin’ ‘ome, — it’s the Alexandra Trust Dinin’ Rooms, and they ain’t goin’ in for no baby cribs yet awhile. Ye’ll ‘ave to buck up an’ come along wi’ me — the fust speshuls’ll be out directly, an’ ye can ‘elp to make a bit.”
Ikey smiled, and his pinched face brightened, despite its pallor.
“All right!” he said, and he gave a vigorous stamp of his little feet, and shook himself together like a small terrier preparing for “sport”— “I ‘spect the sleep’ll go w’en I begins to run!”
“That it will!” affirmed the “Duke I’d like to see ye tryin’ to sleep wi’ a bundle of ‘apenny speshuls under yer arm an’ a few motor waggins comin’ sharp round a corner!”
And guiding the little fellow carefully through the now dense crowd of customers in the diningrooms, he made for the door of exit. Suddenly a man placed himself in his way, holding a scrap of paper in his hand, which he glanced at before speaking.
“Is your name Jimmy Duke?” he asked.
The “Duke” at once straightened himself with an air of defiance.
“That’s me!” he said, “Wot of it?”
“Are you the one they ‘calls the Duke for common-like’?” the man proceeded, a slight smile moving the corners of his mouth under his neatly trimmed moustache.
“That’s me again,” replied the “Du
ke”— “An’ I sez again, — Wot of it?”
“Kindly follow me,” said the man— “Someone wants to speak to you.”
Ikey caught at his friend’s coat pleadingly.
“You’re to come too,” said the man, looking down at the little white face compassionately enough— “Please step this way.”
The “Duke” gave vent to a whistle, and stared about him bewllderedly.
“I say!” he whispered, hoarsely, “Wot game is this ’ere? I ain’t done nothink — I’ve paid for wot I’ve ate.”
The man smiled, and looked quite pleasant.
“Oh yes, that’s all correct!” he said— “There’s nothing wrong! It’s only a gentleman wants to ask you a question.”
“Arsk me a question!” The “Duke” repeated this in a stage aside to Ikey, whereat Ikey replied —
“Don’t let ’im!”
They passed out of the crowd into a little passage, and from thence to a side-door which opened into a small private room, where their escort introduced them, saying briefly— “These are the boys you wanted, sir,” and left them. Here, walking leisurely up and down, was the very “toff” who had spoken to them in the dining-rooms some twenty minutes previously. He was all alone, and the “Duke” recognising him, drew a long breath and knuckled his forehead extensively, while Ikey, holding fast to his protector’s ragged coat, stared at him in mingled affright and appeal. For somehow, in the little room where they stood, the “toff” looked taller and more terrifying — moreover he had put on a pair of glasses through which his keen blue eyes seemed to pierce like gimlets, — and though there was the very decided glimmer of a smile under his iron-grey moustache, Ikey was not observant enough to see this. His short experience of this world had proved to him that “toffs” generally were more often cruel than kind, and a foreboding of something dreadful about to happen to his friend the “Duke” or to himself, caused his meagre little chest to swell, and his eyes to fill with tears.
“Hullo!” said the “Toff” quite gently. “Don’t cry!”
“That’s wot I tells ’im, sir,” murmured the “Duke,” apologetically—”’E’s alius a turnin’ on the main, an’ the supply don’t ever seem to give out. P’raps you’ll ‘xcuse ’im, sir, seein’ ’is mother’s gone parst, an’ ’e bin wantin’ to lie down on the floor since ’is dinner.”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 943
