CHAPTER SIX.
WEALTH PAYS A VISIT TO POVERTY.
It was an interesting sight to watch police-constable Number 666 as hewent through the performance of his arduous duties that day at theRegent Circus in Oxford Street.
To those who are unacquainted with London, it may be necessary to remarkthat this circus is one of those great centres of traffic where two mainarteries cross and tend to cause so much obstruction, that completestoppages would become frequent were it not for the admirable managementof the several members of the police force who are stationed there tokeep order. The "Oxford Circus," as it is sometimes called, is by nomeans the largest or most crowded of such crossings, nevertheless thetide of traffic is sufficiently strong and continuous there to requireseveral police-constables on constant duty. When men are detailed forsuch "Fixed-Point" duty they go on it for a month at a time, and havedifferent hours from the other men, namely, from nine in the morningtill five in the afternoon.
We have said it was interesting to watch our big hero, Number 666, inthe performance of his arduous duties. He occupied the crossing on thecity side of the circus.
It was a magnificent afternoon, and all the metropolitan butterflieswere out. Busses flowed on in a continuous stream, looking like bigbullies who incline to use their weight and strength to crush throughall obstruction. The drivers of these were for the most part wise men,and restrained themselves and their steeds. In one or two instances,where the drivers were unwise, a glance from the bright eye of GilesScott was quite sufficient to keep all right.
And Giles could only afford to bestow a fragmentary glance at any timeon the refractory, for, almost at one and the same moment he had tocheck the impetuous, hold up a warning hand to the unruly, rescue arunaway child from innumerable horse-legs, pilot a stout but timid ladyfrom what we may call refuge-island, in the middle of the roadway, tothe pavement, answer an imbecile's question as to the whereabouts of theTower or Saint Paul's, order a loitering cabby to move on, and look outfor his own toes, as well as give moderate attention to thecarriage-poles which perpetually threatened the small of his own back.
We should imagine that the premium of insurance on the life of Number666 was fabulous in amount, but cannot tell.
Besides his great height, Giles possessed a drooping moustache, whichadded much to his dignified appearance. He was also imperturbablygrave, except when offering aid to a lady or a little child, on whichoccasions the faintest symptoms of a smile floated for a moment on hisvisage like an April sunbeam. At all other times his expression wasthat of incorruptible justice and awful immobility. No amount of chaff,no quantity of abuse, no kind of flattery, no sort of threat could movehim any more than the seething billows of the Mediterranean can moveGibraltar. Costermongers growled at him hopelessly. Irate cabmen sawthat their wisdom lay in submission. Criminals felt that once in hisgrasp their case was hopeless, just as, conversely, old ladies felt thatonce under his protection they were in absolute security. Evenstreet-boys felt that references to "bobbies," "coppers," and "slops;"questions as to how 'is 'ead felt up there; who rolled 'im hout so long;whether his mother knew 'e was hout; whether 'e'd sell 'em a bit of 'islegs; with advice to come down off the ladder, or to go 'ome to bed--that all these were utterly thrown away and lost upon Giles Scott.
The garb of the London policeman is not, as every one knows, founded onthe principles of aesthetics. Neither has it been devised onutilitarian principles. Indeed we doubt whether the originator of it,(and we are happy to profess ignorance of his name), proceeded on anyprinciple whatever, except the gratification of a wild and degradedfancy. The colour, of course, is not objectionable, and the helmetmight be worse, but the tunic is such that the idea of grace or elegancemay not consist with it.
We mention these facts because Giles Scott was so well-made that heforced his tunic to look well, and thus added one more to the alreadynumerous "exceptions" which are said to "prove the rule."
"Allow me, madam," said Giles, offering his right-hand to an elderlyfemale, who, having screwed up her courage to make a rush, got intosudden danger and became mentally hysterical in the midst of aconglomerate of hoofs, poles, horse-heads, and wheels.
The female allowed him, and the result was sudden safety, a gasp ofrelief, and departure of hysteria.
"Not yet, please," said Giles, holding up a warning right-hand to thecrowd on refuge-island, while with his left waving gently to and fro hegave permission to the mighty stream to flow. "Now," he added, holdingup the left-hand suddenly. The stream was stopped as abruptly as werethe waters of Jordan in days of old, and the storm-staid crew onrefuge-island made a rush for the mainland. It was a trifling matter tomost of them that rush, but of serious moment to the few whose limbs hadlost their elasticity, or whose minds could not shake off the memory ofthe fact that between 200 and 300 lives are lost in London streets byaccidents every year, and that between 3000 and 4000 are more or lessseverely injured annually.
Before the human stream had got quite across, an impatient hansom made apush. The eagle eye of Number 666 had observed the intention, and in amoment his gigantic figure stood calmly in front of the horse, whosehead was raised high above his helmet as the driver tightened the reinsviolently.
Just then a small slipshod girl made an anxious dash from refuge-island,lost courage, and turned to run back, changed her mind, got bewildered,stopped suddenly and yelled.
Giles caught her by the arm, bore her to the pavement, and turned, justin time to see the hansom dash on in the hope of being overlooked. Vainhope! Number 666 saw the number of the hansom, booked it in his memorywhile he assisted in raising up an old gentleman who had beenoverturned, though not injured, in endeavouring to avoid it.
During the lull--for there are lulls in the rush of London traffic, asin the storms of nature,--Giles transferred the number of that hansom tohis note-book, thereby laying up a little treat for its driver in theshape of a little trial the next day terminating, probably, with a fine.
Towards five in the afternoon the strain of all this began to tell evenon the powerful frame of Giles Scott, but no symptom did he show offatigue, and so much reserve force did he possess that it is probable hewould have exhibited as calm and unwearied a front if he had remained onduty for eighteen hours instead of eight.
About that hour, also, there came an unusual glut to the traffic, in theform of a troop of the horse-guards. These magnificent creatures,resplendent in glittering steel, white plumes, and black boots, werepassing westward. Giles stood in front of the arrested stream. Anumber of people stood, as it were, under his shadow. Refuge-island wasoverflowing. Comments, chiefly eulogistic, were being freely made andsome impatience was being manifested by drivers, when a little shriekwas heard, and a child's voice exclaimed:--
"Oh! papa, papa--there's _my_ policeman--the one I so nearly killed.He's _not_ dead after all!"
Giles forgot his dignity for one moment, and, looking round, met theeager gaze of little Di Brandon.
Another moment and duty required his undivided attention, so that helost sight of her, but Di took good care not to lose sight of him.
"We will wait here, darling," said her father, referring torefuge-island on which he stood, "and when he is disengaged we can speakto him."
"Oh! I'm _so_ glad he's not dead," said little Di, "and p'raps he'll beable to show us the way to my boy's home."
Di had a method of adopting, in a motherly way, all who, in the remotestmanner, came into her life. Thus she not only spoke of our butcher andour baker, which was natural, but referred to "my policeman" and "myboy" ever since the day of the accident.
When Giles had set his portion of the traffic in harmonious motion hereturned to his island, and was not sorry to receive the dignifiedgreeting of Sir Richard Brandon, while he was delighted as well asamused by the enthusiastic grasp with which Di seized his huge hand inboth of her little ones, and the earnest manner in which she inquiredafter his health, and if she had hurt him much.
/> "Did they put you to bed and give you hot gruel?" she asked, withtouching pathos.
"No, miss, they didn't think I was hurt quite enough to require it,"answered Giles, his drooping moustache curling slightly as he spoke.
"I had hoped to see you at my house," said Sir Richard, "you did notcall."
"Thank you, sir, I did not think the little service I rendered yourdaughter worth making so much of. I called, however, the same evening,to inquire for her, but did not wish to intrude on you."
"It would have been no intrusion, friend," returned Sir Richard, withgrand condescension. "One who has saved my child's life has a claimupon my consideration."
"A dook 'e must be," said a small street boy in a loud stage whisper toa dray-man--for small street-boys are sown broadcast in London, and turnup at all places on every occasion, "or p'raps," he added on reflection,"'e's on'y a markiss."
"Now then," said Giles to the dray-man with a motion of the hand thatcaused him to move on, while he cast a look on the boy which induced himto move off.
"By the way, constable," said Sir Richard, "I am on my way to visit apoor boy whose leg was broken on the day my pony ran away. He washolding the pony at the time. He lives in Whitechapel somewhere. Ihave the address here in my note-book."
"Excuse me, sir, one moment," said Number 666, going towards a crowdwhich had gathered round a fallen horse. "I happen to be going to thatdistrict myself," he continued on returning, "what is the boy's name?"
"Robert--perhaps I should rather say Bobby Frog," answered Sir Richard.
"The name is familiar," returned the policeman, "but in London there areso many--what's his address, sir,--Roy's Court, near Commercial Street?Oh! I know it well--one of the worst parts of London. I know the boytoo. He is somewhat noted in that neighbourhood for giving the policetrouble. Not a bad-hearted fellow, I believe, but full of mischief, andhas been brought up among thieves from his birth. His father is, orwas, a bird-fancier and seller of penny articles on the streets, besidesbeing a professional pugilist. You will be the better for protectionthere, sir. I would advise you not to go alone. If you can wait forfive or ten minutes," added Giles, "I shall be off duty and will behappy to accompany you."
Sir Richard agreed to wait. Within the time mentioned Giles wasrelieved, and, entering a cab with his friends, drove towardsWhitechapel. They had to pass near our policeman's lodgings on the way.
"Would you object, sir, stopping at my house for five minutes?" heasked.
"Certainly not," returned the knight, "I am in no hurry."
Number 666 stopped the cab, leaped out and disappeared through a narrowpassage. In less than five minutes a very tall gentlemanly man issuedfrom the same passage and approached them. Little Di opened her blueeyes to their very uttermost. It was _her_ policeman in plain clothes!
She did not like the change at all at first, but before the end of thedrive got used to him in his new aspect--all the more readily that heseemed to have cast off much of his stiffness and reserve with his blueskin.
Near the metropolitan railway station in Whitechapel the cab wasdismissed, and Giles led the father and child along the crowdedthoroughfare until they reached Commercial Street, along which theyproceeded a short distance.
"We are now near some of the worst parts of London, sir," said Giles,"where great numbers of the criminal and most abandoned charactersdwell."
"Indeed," said Sir Richard, who did not seem to be much gratified by theinformation.
As for Di, she was nearly crying. The news that _her_ boy was a thiefand was born in the midst of such naughty people had fallen withchilling influence on her heart, for she had never thought of anythingbut the story-book "poor but honest parents!"
"What large building is that?" inquired the knight, who began to wishthat he had not given way to his daughter's importunities, "the oneopposite, I mean, with placards under the windows."
"That is the well-known Home of Industry, instituted and managed by MissMacpherson and a staff of volunteer workers. They do a deal of good,sir, in this neighbourhood."
"Ah! indeed," said Sir Richard, who had never before heard of the Homeof Industry. "And, pray, what particular industry does this Miss Mac--what did you call her?"
"Macpherson. The lady, you know, who sends out so many rescued waifsand strays to Canada, and spends all her time in caring for the poorestof the poor in the East-End and in preaching the gospel to them. You'veoften seen accounts of her work, no doubt, in the _Christian_?"
"Well--n-no. I read the _Times_, but, now you mention it, I have somefaint remembrance of seeing reference to such matters. Veryself-denying, no doubt, and praiseworthy, though I must say that I doubtthe use of preaching the gospel to such persons. From what I have seenof these lowest people I should think they were too deeply sunk indepravity to be capable of appreciating the lofty and sublime sentimentsof Christianity."
Number 666 felt a touch of surprise at these words, though he was toowell-bred a policeman to express his feelings by word or look. In fact,although not pre-eminently noted for piety, he had been led by training,and afterwards by personal experience, to view this matter from a verydifferent standpoint from that of Sir Richard. He made no reply,however, but, turning round the corner of the Home of Industry, entereda narrow street which bore palpable evidence of being the abode ofdeepest poverty. From the faces and garments of the inhabitants it wasalso evidently associated with the deepest depravity.
As little Di saw some of the residents sitting on their doorsteps withscratched faces, swelled lips and cheeks, and dishevelled hair, andbeheld the children in half-naked condition rolling in the kennel andextremely filthy, she clung closer to her father's side and began tosuspect there were some phases of life she had never seen--had not evendreamt of!
What the knight's thoughts were we cannot tell, for he said nothing, butdisgust was more prominent than pity on his fine countenance. Those whosat on the doorsteps, or lolled with a dissipated air against thedoor-posts, seemed to appreciate him at his proper value, for theyscowled at him as he passed. They recognised Number 666, however,(perhaps by his bearing), and gave him only a passing glance ofindifference.
"You said it would be dangerous for me to come here by myself," said SirRichard, turning to Giles, as he entered another and even worse street."Are they then so violent?"
"Many of them are among the worst criminals in London, sir. Here is thecourt of which you are in search: Roy's Court."
As he spoke, Ned Frog staggered out of his own doorway, clenched hisfists, and looked with a vindictive scowl at the strangers. A secondglance induced him to unclench his fists and reel round the corner onhis way to a neighbouring grog-shop. Whatever other shops may decay inthat region, the grog-shops, like noxious weeds, always flourish.
The court was apparently much deserted at that hour, for the men had notyet returned from their work--whatever that might be--and most of thewomen were within doors.
"This is the house," continued Giles, descending the few steps, andtapping at the door; "I have been here before. They know me."
The door was opened by Hetty, and for the first time since enteringthose regions of poverty and crime, little Di felt a slight rise in herspirits, for through Hetty's face shone the bright spirit within; albeitthe shining was through some dirt and dishevelment, good principle notbeing able altogether to overcome the depressing influences of extremepoverty and suffering.
"Is your mother at home, Hetty!"
"Oh! yes, sir. Mother, here's Mr Scott. Come in, sir. We are so gladto see you, and--"
She stopped, and gazed inquiringly at the visitors who followed.
"I've brought some friends of Bobby to inquire for him. Sir RichardBrandon--Mrs Frog."
Number 666 stood aside, and, with something like a smile on his face,ceremoniously presented Wealth to Poverty.
Wealth made a slightly confused bow to Poverty, and Poverty, lookingaskance at Wealth, dropt a mild courtesy.
; "Vell now, I'm a Dutchman if it ain't the hangel!" exclaimed a voice inthe corner of the small room, before either Wealth or Poverty couldutter a word.
"Oh! it's _my_ boy," exclaimed Di with delight, forgetting or ignoringthe poverty, dirt, and extremely bad air, as she ran forward and tookhold of Bobby's hand.
It was a pre-eminently dirty hand, and formed a remarkable contrast tothe little hands that grasped it!
The small street boy was, for the first time in his life, bereft ofspeech! When that faculty returned, he remarked in language which wasobscure to Di:--
"Vell, if this ain't a go!"
"What is a go?" asked Di with innocent surprise. Instead of answering,Bobby Frog burst into a fit of laughter, but stopped rather suddenlywith an expression of pain.
"Oh! 'old on! I say. This won't do. Doctor 'e said I musn't larf,'cause it shakes the leg too much. But, you know, wot's a cove to doven a hangel comes to him and axes sitch rum questions?"
Again he laughed, and again stopped short in pain.
"I'm _so_ sorry! Does it feel _very_ painful? You can't think howconstantly I've been thinking of you since the accident; for it was allmy fault. If I hadn't jumped up in such a passion, the pony wouldn'thave run away, and you wouldn't have been hurt. I'm so _very, very_sorry, and I got dear papa to bring me here to tell you so, and to seeif we could do anything to make you well."
Again Bobby was rendered speechless, but his mind was active.
"Wot! I ain't dreamin', am I? 'As a hangel _really_ come to my bedsideall the vay from the Vest-end, an' brought 'er dear pa'--vich means theguv'nor, I fancy--all for to tell me--a kid whose life is spent in`movin' on'--that she's wery, wery, sorry I've got my leg broke, an'that she's bin an' done it, an' she would like to know if she can dohanythink as'll make me vell! But it ain't true. It's a big lie! I'mdreamin', that's all. I've been took to hospital, an' got d'lirious--that's wot it is. I'll try to sleep!"
With this end in view he shut his eyes, and remained quite still for afew seconds, and when Di looked at his pinched and pale face in thisplacid condition, the tears _would_ overflow their natural boundary, andsobs _would_ rise up in her pretty throat, but she choked them back forfear of disturbing her boy.
Presently the boy opened his eyes.
"Wot, are you there yet?" he asked.
"Oh yes. Did you think I was going away?" she replied, with a look ofinnocent surprise. "I won't leave you now. I'll stay here and nurseyou, if papa will let me. I have slept once on a shake-down, when I wasforced by a storm to stay all night at a juv'nile party. So if you've acorner here, it will do nicely--"
"My dear child," interrupted her amazed father, "you are talkingnonsense. And--do keep a little further from the bed. There may be--you know--infection--"
"Oh! you needn't fear infection here, sir," said Mrs Frog, somewhatsharply. "We are poor enough, God knows, though I _have_ seen bettertimes, but we keep ourselves pretty clean, though we can't afford tospend much on soap when food is so dear, and money so scarce--so _very_scarce!"
"Forgive me, my good woman," said Sir Richard, hastily, "I did not meanto offend, but circumstances would seem to favour the idea--of--of--"
And here Wealth--although a bank director and chairman of severalboards, and capable of making a neat, if weakly, speech on economic lawsand the currency when occasion required--was dumb before Poverty.Indeed, though he had often theorised about that stricken creature, hehad never before fairly hunted her down, run her into her den, andfairly looked her in the face.
"The fact is, Mrs Frog," said Giles Scott, coming to the rescue, "SirRichard is anxious to know something about your affairs--your family,you know, and your means of--by the way, where is baby?" he said lookinground the room.
"She's gone lost," said Mrs Frog.
"Lost?" repeated Giles, with a significant look.
"Ay, lost," repeated Mrs Frog, with a look of equal significance.
"Bless me, how did you lose your child?" asked Sir Richard, in somesurprise.
"Oh! sir, that often happens to us poor folk. We're used to it," saidMrs Frog, in a half bantering half bitter tone.
Sir Richard suddenly called to mind the fact--which had not beforeimpressed him, though he had read and commented on it--that 11,835children under ten years of age had been lost that year, (and it was noexceptional year, as police reports will show), in the streets ofLondon, and that 23 of these children were _never found_.
He now beheld, as he imagined, one of the losers of the lost ones, andfelt stricken.
"Well now," said Giles to Mrs Frog, "let's hear how you get along.What does your husband do?"
"He mostly does nothin' but drink. Sometimes he sells little birds;sometimes he sells penny watches or boot-laces in Cheapside, an' turnsin a little that way, but it all goes to the grog-shop; none of it comeshere. Then he has a mill now an' again--"
"A mill?" said Sir Richard,--"is it a snuff or flour--"
"He's a professional pugilist," explained Giles.
"An' he's employed at a music-hall," continued Mrs Frog, "to call outthe songs an' keep order. An' Bobby always used to pick a few coppersby runnin' messages, sellin' matches, and odd jobs. But he's knockedover now."
"And yourself. How do you add to the general fund?" asked Sir Richard,becoming interested in the household management of Poverty.
"Well, I char a bit an' wash a bit, sir, when I'm well enough--whichain't often. An' sometimes I lights the Jews' fires for 'em, an' cleanup their 'earths on Saturdays--w'ich is their Sundays, sir. But Hettyworks like a horse. It's she as keeps us from the work'us, sir. She'sgot employment at a slop shop, and by workin' 'ard all day manages tomake about one shillin' a week."
"I beg your pardon--how much?"
"One shillin', sir."
"Ah, you mean one shilling a day, I suppose."
"No, sir, I mean one shillin' a _week_. Mr Scott there knows that I'mtellin' what's true."
Giles nodded, and Sir Richard said, "ha-a-hem," having nothing morelucid to remark on such an amazing financial problem as was here setbefore him.
"But," continued Mrs Frog, "poor Hetty has had a sad disappointmentthis week--"
"Oh! mother," interrupted Hetty, "don't trouble the gentleman with that.Perhaps he wouldn't understand it, for of course he hasn't heard aboutall the outs and ins of slop-work."
"Pardon me, my good girl," said Sir Richard, "I have not, as you trulyremark, studied the details of slop-work minutely, but my mind is notunaccustomed to financial matters. Pray let me hear about this--"
A savage growling, something between a mastiff and a man, outside thedoor, here interrupted the visitor, and a hand was heard fumbling aboutthe latch. As the hand seemed to lack skill to open the door the footconsiderately took the duty in hand and burst it open, whereupon thehuge frame of Ned Frog stumbled into the room and fell prostrate at thefeet of Sir Richard, who rose hastily and stepped back.
The pugilist sprang up, doubled his ever ready fists, and, glaring atthe knight, asked savagely:
"Who the--"
He was checked in the utterance of a ferocious oath, for at that momenthe encountered the grave eye of Number 666.
Relaxing his fists he thrust them into his coat-pockets, and, with asubdued air, staggered out of the house.
"My 'usband, sir," said Mrs Frog, in answer to her visitor's inquiringglance.
"Oh! is that his usual mode of returning home?"
"No, sir," answered Bobby from his corner, for he was beginning to beamused by the succession of surprises which Wealth was receiving, "'edon't always come in so. Sometimes 'e sends 'is 'ead first an' the feetcome afterwards. In any case the furniture's apt to suffer, not tomention the in'abitants, but you've saved us to-night, sir, or, raither,Mr Scott 'as saved both us an' you."
Poor little Di, who had been terribly frightened, clung closer to herfather's arm on hearing this.
"Perhaps," said Sir Richard, "it would be as well that we should go, incase Mr F
rog should return."
He was about to say good-bye when Di checked him, and, despite herfears, urged a short delay.
"We haven't heard, you know, about the slops yet. Do stop just oneminute, dear papa. I wonder if it's like the beef-tea nurse makes forme when I'm ill."
"It's not that kind of slops, darling, but ready-made clothing to whichreference is made. But you are right. Let us hear about it, MissHetty."
The idea of "Miss" being applied to Hetty, and slops compared tobeef-tea proved almost too much for the broken-legged boy in the corner,but he put strong constraint on himself and listened.
"Indeed, sir, I do not complain," said Hetty, quite distressed at beingthus forcibly dragged into notice. "I am thankful for what has beensent--indeed I am--only it _was_ a great disappointment, particularly atthis time, when we so much needed all we could make amongst us."
She stopped and had difficulty in restraining tears. "Go on, Hetty,"said her mother, "and don't be afraid. Bless you, he's not goin' toreport what you say."
"I know that, mother. Well, sir, this was the way on it. Theysometimes--"
"Excuse me--who are `they'?"
"I beg pardon, sir, I--I'd rather not tell."
"Very well. I respect your feelings, my girl. Some slop-making firm, Isuppose. Go on."
"Yes, sir. Well--they sometimes gives me extra work to do at home. Itdo come pretty hard on me after goin' through the regular day's work,from early mornin' till night, but then, you see, it brings in a littlemore money--and, I'm strong, thank God."
Sir Richard looked at Hetty's thin and colourless though pretty face,and thought it possible that she might be stronger with advantage.
"Of late," continued the girl, "I've bin havin' extra work in this way,and last week I got twelve children's ulsters to make up. This job whenfinished would bring me six and sixpence."
"How much?"
"Six and sixpence, sir."
"For the whole twelve?" asked Sir Richard.
"Yes, sir--that was sixpence halfpenny for makin' up each ulster. It'snot much, sir."
"No," murmured Wealth in an absent manner; "sixpence halfpenny is _not_much."
"But when I took them back," continued Hetty--and here the tears becameagain obstreperous and difficult to restrain--"the master said he'dforgot to tell me that this order was for the colonies, that he hadtaken it at a very low price, and that he could only give me threeshillin's for the job. Of--of course three shillin's is better thenothin', but after workin' hard for such a long long time an' expectin'six, it was--"
Here the tears refused to be pent up any longer, and the poor girlquietly bending forward hid her face in her hand.
"Come, I think we will go now," said Sir Richard, rising hastily."Good-night, Mrs Frog, I shall probably see you again--at least--youshall hear from me. Now, Di--say good-night to your boy."
In a few minutes Sir Richard stood outside, taking in deep draughts ofthe comparatively fresher air of the court.
"The old screw," growled Bobby, when the door was shut. "'E didn'tleave us so much as a single bob--not even a brown, though 'e pretendsthat six of 'em ain't much."
"Don't be hard on him, Bobby," said Hetty, drying her eyes; "he spokevery kind, you know, an' p'raps he means to help us afterwards."
"Spoke kind," retorted the indignant boy; "I tell 'ee wot, Hetty, you'refar too soft an' forgivin'. I s'pose that's wot they teaches you inSunday-school at George Yard--eh? Vill speakin' kind feed us, vill itclothe us, vill it pay for our lodgin's!"
The door opened at that moment, and Number 666 re-entered.
"The gentleman sent me back to give you this, Mrs Frog," laying asovereign on the rickety table. "He said he didn't like to offer it toyou himself for fear of hurting your feelings, but I told him he needn'tbe afraid on that score! Was I right, Missis? Look well after it, now,an' see that Ned don't get his fingers on it."
Giles left the room, and Mrs Frog, taking up the piece of gold, fondledit for some time in her thin fingers, as though she wished to make quitesure of its reality. Then wrapping it carefully in a piece of oldnewspaper, she thrust it into her bosom.
Bobby gazed at her in silence up to this point, and then turned his faceto the wall. He did not speak, but we cannot say that he did not pray,for, mentally he said, "I beg your parding, old gen'l'm'n, an' I on'ypray that a lot of fellers like you may come 'ere sometimes to 'urt ourfeelin's in that vay!"
At that moment Hetty bent over the bed, and, softly kissing herbrother's dirty face, whispered, "Yes, Bobby, that's what they teach mein Sunday-school at George Yard."
Thereafter Wealth drove home in a cab, and Poverty went to bed in herrags.