Rogues and Vagabonds. George R. Sims

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Sometimes they get lost, every now and then one or two will be run over by a cab or a brewer’s dray, and sometimes an epidemic will swoop down upon Little Queer Street, and thin the ranks of the great gutter army, and make more room for the remainder.

      All day long these human waifs loiter in the street, at the peril of life and limb. They have no regular meal-times. They get a slice of bread-and-butter, occasionally a slice of bread-and-treacle, at irregular periods, and this constitutes their staple sustenance.

      Many of them are turned out at seven, when mother and father go to work, and called in again at whatever hour it may suit father and mother to return. It is considered safer to leave them outside than in. Out of doors they may get killed; indoors they might damage the ‘furniture’ or set fire to the house.

      Two days after Edward Marston’s strange meeting with Dr. Birnie, a little girl sat at one of the open doorways in Little Queer Street, gazing vacantly at the busy scene around her. A stranger would have been instantly attracted by the extraordinary appearance of her face. It was quite clean. Her hair was neatly brushed, and over her plain little brown merino frock she actually wore a white pinafore. Not only would a stranger be struck with amazement at the phenomenal appearance—a clean and tidy little girl on a Little Queer Street door-step—but the inhabitants have been for a long time so struck with it that Gertie Heckett, the child in question, has become quite a local celebrity.

      ‘That gal ‘ll die a orful death,’ said Mrs. Maloney, of the fish-shop at the corner, to her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Moss. ‘Larst night she came for a pen’orth o’ fried fish, and I guv her a ha’penny too much change out o’ sixpence, and she guv it me back.’

      ‘Lor,’ replied Mrs. Moss, ‘you don’t say so! I fancy she can’t be quite right ‘ere.’ And Mrs. Moss put a very dirty and very fat forefinger on her matronly brow.

      ‘I don’t believe she’s old Heckett’s gal at all,’ added Mrs. Maloney, as she stared hard across the road to the doorway where sat the unconscious object of her criticism. ‘It’s my belief she’s been stole, like the gal in the play as was a nobleman’s dorter, arter all.’

      What Mrs. Moss would have replied to this suggestion can never be known, for at this moment the attention of both ladies was attracted by the very extraordinary conduct of the child in question.

      Gertie Heckett, who had long been wistfully looking up the street, suddenly leaped up and made a joyful dash at a gentleman who was elbowing his way through the crowd.

      He was a good-looking, well-dressed gentleman, of about eight-and-thirty. Gertie Heckett’s pretty face lit up with pleasure the moment she caught sight of him. She was by his side in a moment, and looking up into his face with her wistful blue eyes.

      ‘Oh, Dr. Birnie, I’m so glad you ‘ve come. Grandfather’s worse—I’m sure he is.’

      ‘What makes you think he’s worse, my child?’

      ‘Because he gets crosser and crosser, and’—here a flush of shame came upon her cheeks and she held her head down—‘and because he swears at me worse than ever.’

      Dr. Birnie laughed. He didn’t notice the pained tone in which the child made her confession.

      ‘Cross and swears, eh, little one? That’s a good sign, not a bad one. People are always cross when they’re getting well.’

      ‘Oh, then I don’t mind his being cross; but, Dr. Birnie, will you be very kind, and do me a favour?’

      She looked up at the doctor timidly, as though she was taking a great liberty.

      ‘A favour? Eh, what is it? Has your doll got the measles, or does Lion want a cough mixture?’

      The child laughed for a moment, tickled by the notion; but her face resumed its serious expression again directly.

      ‘No, it isn’t that, Dr. Birnie; but I want you to ask grandfather not to swear at me. It hurts me here.’

      She put her hand on her heart, and spoke with such earnest emphasis, that the doctor stopped on the threshold of the house, which they had just reached, and looked earnestly in her face.

      ‘Poor little thing!’ he said, laying his hand kindly on her smoothly plaited hair, ‘what a shame it is!’ Then, without answering Gertie Heckett’s petition, he ran rapidly up the stairs, the child following him.

      Mr. Josh Heckett, the invalid, was in bed when the doctor entered; that is, he was lying partially dressed, with a dirty counterpane flung over him and the pillows propped up under his head. The said head was covered with surgical bandages, and a considerable portion of the face below was ‘discoloured and bruised. That Mr. Heckett was in pain was evident, for every time he moved—and he was very restless—he drew liberally from that well of Saxon, impure and defiled, which is so largely patronized by the free-born Englishman who wishes to add force to his conversation.

      He was a strange-looking invalid, with his burly limbs and giant strength lying prostrate, like a lightning-stricken oak, and he was surrounded by strange companions. Round the walls, wherever a nail could be driven, hung cages full of all sorts and conditions of birds, from the parrot to the lark. Lying about on the floor, in various attitudes of repose, were two toy terriers, a fox-hound, and a fierce and exceptionally ugly bull-dog. A pretty King Charles spaniel, with a litter of puppies, occupied an empty box in one of the corners, and scattered about the room in picturesque confusion were rabbits in hutches, squirrels in revolving cages, guinea-pigs, and white mice, and a few other animals, who had rolled themselves up so completely into a ball for their noonday siesta, that it was quite impossible to say what they were until they condescended to disentangle their heads from their tails.

      The central figure of the group, however, was a splendid mastiff dog. He lay at the foot of Heckett’s bed, a perfect picture of unstudied grace. His leonine head was slightly on one side, as though listening for a footstep, and his paws were crossed in front of him. His sleek fawn coat shone like velvet, and spoke of some one’s constant care and attention. There was something of contempt for the other inhabitants of the room in the dog’s look at times. When the other dogs barked, he would glare towards them with a lazy, sneering expression, as much as to say, ‘Poor idiots! what are you frightened about?’ But suddenly he became agitated himself, and sprang from the floor. He uttered a deep growl, and crouched in an attitude of attack, There was a footstep on the stairs. The door opened, and Dr. Birnie walked in.

      At sight of him the dog dropped his tail, and, growling, slunk back into the corner of the room, with his eyes steadily fixed on the doctor, half in dislike, half in fear.

      ‘Why don’t you teach that brute not to growl at me, Heckett?’ said Dr. Birnie, seizing a rabbit-hutch by the bedside, and sitting on it, much to the terror of the occupant.

      ‘It’s his natur,’ the man answered. ‘He don’t like you; he’s a very good judge, is Lion—he knows my pals in a minute.’

      ‘I suppose you mean he knows your friends from your enemies?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then he ought not to growl at me. I’m one of your friends.’

      ‘You’re friendly as long as it suits yer purpose, that’s all.’

      ‘All right, Heckett; have it your own way. How’s the head?’

      ‘Orful; СКАЧАТЬ