Rogues and Vagabonds. George R. Sims
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Название: Rogues and Vagabonds
Автор: George R. Sims
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066234270
isbn:
That he put off to ‘some day.’
On the following morning, while Bess was sitting by the open window thinking of her sweetheart and talking to her father, answering at random, and dropping furtive little tears on to her needlework, George was roaming about London looking for furnished apartments suitable for a young couple with limited means.
After trying a few dozen houses where cards were exhibited in the windows, and finding everything that he did not want, such as musical societies, religious families, new babies on each floor, and high rents and low ceilings, he came to a little house in a street at Dalston, in the front window of which hung a card, and on the card was written ‘First floor to let furnished. Apply within.’
George applied, and the rooms just suited him. Sixteen shillings a week was not dear, certainly, for a bedroom and sitting-room; and though the landlady seemed a little starchy and inclined to be acidulated, she was very clean and respectable-looking.
That evening when Mr. Jabez Duck returned from the City, Miss Georgina informed him that she’d let the first floor—no references, but rent a week in advance—to a Mr. and Mrs. George Smith, a newly married couple.
‘What are they like?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Georgina, tartly; ‘I’ve only seen the gentleman at present, and he is a gentleman.’
‘Well, my dear, I didn’t expect he was a lady;’ with which remark Mr. Jabez sat down and had his tea, utterly oblivious of the terrible contempt which spread itself over the features of his sister, who despised small jokes of any kind, and her brother’s small jokes most of all.
CHAPTER VII. A CHAT OVER OLD TIMES.
There is a quiet little road in St. John’s Wood which seems specially to have been designed for ladies and gentlemen of a retiring disposition, who wish for a peaceful arcadia at a convenient distance from trams, omnibuses, and railways. You turn out of the main thoroughfare to find yourself suddenly shut in between a double row of small villas, all well set back in high-walled gardens, and further protected from the gaze of the curious by luxuriant foliage.
The Arcadian inhabitants of this out-of-the-world by-way—a by-way so narrow that a hansom cab can scarcely be driven down it without getting on to the kerb—seem to be slightly suspicious of visitors. The villas are constructed on a system of defence not unpopular during the middle ages. There is no room for a drawbridge or a moat, but this deficiency is supplied by a very high and solid garden gate, which effectually bars the progress of the attacking party—and not only his progress but his view.
Over the tops of the trees in the front garden, if you stand well back on the opposite side, you may catch sight of the tops of the villa chimney-pots, but of the villas themselves you can see nothing.
The garden gate affords you no better standpoint. It is a solid piece of woodwork, grim and forbidding as a prison door.
If you knock and ring with the idea that the gate will be opened, and you will thus get a glimpse within, you are wofully mistaken.
Your summons may be answered or not, as the case may be. If it is, a small wooden flap at the back of an iron grill is let down, and a face appears blocking up the aperture. The eyes of this face regard you carefully, and if these eyes fail to recognise you the lips move and request to know your business. If your explanation is satisfactory, you may be admitted; if it is not, up goes the wooden flap again with a bang, and silence reigns around.
At the gate of one of these curious and secluded little villas, which by the inscription on the door-posts we learn is called ‘The Lodge,’ and by the brass plate on the door we find is inhabited by Dr. Oliver Birnie, there stands a gentleman whom we have seen before.
He is a tall, good-looking fellow, very shabby about the clothes, and not particularly tidy about the hair and beard.
The face which blocks up the little peephole of The Lodge is a female face of the domestic servant order, and it evidently regards the visitor with some suspicion. There has been a preliminary verbal passage of arms, and the female face is hot and angry-looking.
‘If you can’t tell me your name, I shan’t go and disturb master,’ say the lips.
‘You go and tell your master what I say,’ answers the shabby gentleman—‘that an old friend from abroad wishes to see him.’
The lips move again—this time in a curled-up and scornful manner.
‘People as is ashamed o’ their names ain’t no friends o’ master’s, I’m sure.’
‘That’s more than you know, you impertinent hussy! Take my message.’
‘Shan’t!’
With that the flap goes to with a bang.
The shabby gentleman is not in the least abashed. He takes the bell-handle calmly and proceeds to tug at it.
He continues tugging till the female face, hotter and angrier than ever, once more appears at the peephole.
‘If you don’t go away I shall send for the perlice.’
‘Will you take my message?’
‘No, master ain’t at home.’
‘Then why the devil didn’t you say so before?’
‘Cus I didn’t choose. P’raps you’d like to know where he is, and where he was borned, Mr. Impertinence; and how many times he’s been waksinated, and what he had for dinner o’ Sunday. Come, what is it? ’Ave you called to see the meter and help yourself to the hovercoats; or d’ye want to be shown in and see which is the heasiest way through the back window on sone futur’ ercashun?’
The domestic was fully roused now, and she let the shabby gentleman have it. She knew a thing or two; and she wasn’t going to be made a fool of, like the silly girls master read to her about in the newspapers.
Her particular instructions were never, under any circumstances, to admit a visitor when her master was out, and she meant to obey them. Besides, what could a shabby fellow like this want but what he’d no right to?
The shabby gentleman wasn’t angry in the least. He accepted the attack with a smile.
‘Bravo, Jemima! or whatever your name is,’ he said. ‘You are a shrewd girl, and deserve encouragement. I’ll report to the doctor, when I see him, what an admirable watch-dog you make.’
‘Dog yourself! and my name ain’t Jemima; and if it was, I shouldn’t be ashamed on it, like you are o’ yourn. Go away. There ain’t nothing to be got here.’
Bang went the flap, and the shabby gentleman was still on the wrong side of the door.
He was about to stroll away when a carriage came dashing down the narrow roadway, and was pulled up in front of The Lodge. Dr. Birnie СКАЧАТЬ