_ 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 has ever 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 its palmy days might have adorned noble brows, so fashionable were its pretensions. Now, alas! it had one side caved in, and the other was green with wear and weather. The coat which arrayed his manly form was evidently one not made recently or to wearer's measure, for besides showing cracks and rents in various parts, its tails were so extravagantly long for its small occupant that they literally almost touched the ground. His nether garments, on the other hand, although they resembled the coat in their conveniences for ventilation, being all in rags and tatters, appeared to have been borrowed from a smaller pair of legs even than those owned by my present possessor, for they--at least one leg--barely reached half way below the knee, while the other stopped short very little lower. Altogether, the boy was as nondescript and "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 one was following him; then he darted across the road and proceeded to shuffle forward in so extremely leisurely and casual a way, that very few of the people who met him would have imagined he carried a stolen watch in his pocket.
Such a hole as it was! As soon as I had sufficiently recovered from my astonishment to look about me, I became aware that I was by no means the sole occupant of the receptacle he was pleased to designate by the title of a pocket, but which other people would have called a slit in the lining of his one sound coat-tail.
There was a stump of a clay pipe, with tobacco still hot in it. There was a greasy piece of string, a crust of bread, a halfpenny, a few brass buttons, and a very greasy and very crumpled and very filthy copy of a "penny awful" paper. I need hardly say that this scrutiny did not afford me absolute pleasure. In the first place, my temporary lodging was most unsavoury and unclean; and in the second place, there was not one among my many fellow-lodgers who could be said to be in my position in 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 me said, in a hoarse whisper, "What cheer, Turnip? how do you like it?"
I looked round, and perceived that the speaker was the clay pipe, who happened to be close beside me as I lay.
I held my nose--so to speak (for watches are not supposed to be gifted with that organ)--the tobacco which was smouldering in him must have been a month old, while the pipe itself looked remarkably grimy and dirty. However, thought I, there would be no use in being uncivil to my new comrades, unpleasant though they were, and I might as well make use of 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 be sure; but you won't stay there long, no error."
I secretly wished this objectionable pipe would not insist on addressing me as "Turnip," but on the whole the present did not seem exactly the time 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's uncle. Won't he, mate?"
The mate addressed was the piece of string, who, I should say, was by no means the latest addition to the Cadger's collection of valuables. He now 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's where you'll go--to Cadger's uncle."
It occurred to me that Cadger's uncle would have to be vastly more respectable and fragrant than his nephew to make the change at all advantageous 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 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 associates, 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 scraping 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 passing 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 God, ignorant of good, ignorant of their own souls. Yet even for such as they, Christ died, and the Spirit strives.
The pipe, and his friend, the string, that night had a long conversation as their master lay asleep. They evidently thought I was asleep too, for they made no effort to conceal their voices, and I consequently heard 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, you don't!"
"What I say," continued the pipe, "is that coves as gives 'emselves hairs above their stations is a miserable lot. What do _you_ think?"
"What don't I?" snuffled the string. "Do you hear, Turnip? you're a miserable 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 go second-hand in the end. People 'ud think better on 'em if they didn't think 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 a second-hand turnip, now, and that's all along of being stuck-up and thinking such a lot of yourself! You won't go off for thirty bob, you won't see!"
"Mate!" exclaimed the pipe, presently (after I had had leisure to meditate on the foregoing philosophical dialogue), "mate, I'll give you a 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, villainous joke, that had not even the pretence of wit, and I could have cried to see 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 admitted of thought I could not help reflecting how very happy some vulgar people can be with a very little sense, and how very unhappy other people who flatter themselves they are very clever and superior can at times find themselves.
By the time I had satisfied myself of this my master uncurled himself and got up. _