CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
WHAT DRINK WILL DO.
Time passed on, as time is wont to do, and Christmas came again. Thesnow was deep in London streets and thick on the roofs and chimneys. Itcurled over the eaves of the houses in heavy white folds ready to falland smother the unwary passengers. It capped the railings everywherewith little white knobs, and rounded off the corners of things so, thatwherever the eye alighted, the same impressions were invariably conveyedto it, namely, whiteness and rotundity. Corinthian capitals wererendered, if possible, more ornate than ever by snow; equestrian statueswere laden with it so heavily, that the horses appeared to staggerbeneath their trappings and the riders, having white tips to theirnoses, white lumps on their heads and shoulders, and white patches ontheir cheek-bones and chins, looked ineffably ridiculous, and miserablycold. Everything, in fact, was covered and blocked up with snow, andLondoners felt as if they had muffled drums in their ears.
It was morning. The sky was clear, the air still, and the smoke ofchimneys perpendicular. Poulterers' shops were in their holiday attire;toy-shops were in the ascendant, and all other shops were gayer thanusual. So were the people who thronged the streets and beat their handsand stamped their feet--for it was unusually cold.
Street boys were particularly lively, and chaff was flying as thickly assnow-flakes had fallen the night before. Even the roughs--who forsooktheir dens, and, with shovels and brooms on their shoulders, paraded thestreets, intent on clearing door-steps with or without the leave ofinhabitants--seemed to be less gruff than usual, and some of them evenwent the length of cutting jokes with the cabmen and the boys. Perhapstheir spirits were elevated by the proud consciousness of being for oncein the way of earning an honest penny!
"I say, Ned," observed one of these roughs (a lively one), who was veryrough indeed, to a companion, who was rougher still and gloomy, "look atthat there gal cleanin' of her steps with a fire-shovel! Ain't thateconomy gone mad? Hallo, young 'ooman, what's the use o' trying to doit with a teaspoon, when there's Ned and me ready to do it with ourshovels for next to nothin'?"
The servant-girl declined the assistance thus liberally offered, so thetwo men moved slowly on, looking from side to side as they went, inexpectation of employment, while a small boy, in a man's hat, who walkedbehind them, nodded to the girl, and said she was a "sensible thriftygal," and that she might be sure there was "some feller unknown whowould bless the day he was born after he'd got her."
Fifty yards farther on, a stout, red-faced, elderly gentleman wasobserved to look out at the street door and frown at things in general.
"Have your door-steps cleaned, sir?" asked the lively rough, taking theshovel off his shoulder.
The elderly gentleman being angry, on private and unknown grounds(perhaps bad digestion), vouchsafed no reply, but looked up at the skyand then over the way.
"Do it cheap, sir," said the lively rough.
"No!" said the elderly gentleman, with a sort of snapping look, as heturned his gaze up the street and then down it.
"Snow's wery deep on the steps, sir," said the rough.
"D'you suppose I'm an ass?" exclaimed the elderly gentleman, in a suddenburst.
"Well, sir," said the lively rough, in the grave tone and manner of onewho has had a difficult question in philosophy put to him, "well, sir, Idon't know about that."
His large mouth expanded gradually from ear to ear after this reply.The elderly gentleman's face became scarlet and his nose purple, andretreating two paces, he slammed the door violently in the rough's face.
"Ah, it all comes of over-feedin', poor feller," said the lively man,shouldering his shovel and resuming his walk beside his gloomy comrade,who neither smiled nor frowned at these pleasantries.
"A warm old g'n'l'm'n!" remarked the boy in the man's hat as he passed.
The lively man nodded and winked.
"Might eat his wittles raw an' cook 'em inside a'most!" continued theboy; "would advise him to keep out of 'yde Park, though, for fear he'dgit too near the powder-magazine!"
At this point the gloomy rough--who did not appear, however, to be agenuine rough, but a pretty good imitation of one, made of material thathad once seen better days--stopped, and said to his comrade that he wastired of that sort of work, and would bid him good-day. Without waitingfor an answer he walked away, and his companion, without vouchsafing areply, looked after him with a sneer.
"A rum cove!" he remarked to the small boy in the man's hat, as hecontinued his progress.
"Rayther," replied the boy.
With this interchange of sentiment these casual acquaintances parted, tomeet probably no more!
Meanwhile the gloomy rough, whom the lively one had called Ned, walkedwith rapid steps along several streets, as though he had a distinctpurpose in view. He turned at last into a narrow, quiet street, andgoing up to the door of a shabby-genteel house, applied the knocker withconsiderable vigour.
"Now then, go along with you; we don't want _your_ services here; weclear off our own snow, we do. Imprence! to knock, too, as if he was agentleman!"
This was uttered by a servant-girl who had thrust her head out of asecond-floor window to take an observation of the visitor before goingdown to open the door.
"Is he at home, Betsy dear?" inquired the gloomy man, looking up with aleer which proved that he could be the reverse of gloomy when he chose.
"Oh, it's you, is it? I don't think he wants to see you; indeed, I'msure of it," said the girl.
"Yes he does, dear; at all events I want to see him; and, Betsy, sayit's pressing business, and _not_ beggin'."
Betsy disappeared, and soon after, reappearing at the door, admitted theman, whom she ushered into a small apartment, which was redolent oftobacco, and in which sat a young man slippered and dressing-gowned,taking breakfast.
"How are you, doctor?" said the visitor, in a tone that did not accordwith his soiled and ragged garments, as he laid down his hat and shovel,and flung himself into a chair.
"None the better for seeing you, Hooper," replied the doctor sternly.
"Well, well!" exclaimed Ned, "what a world we live in, to be sure! Itwas `Hail fellow! well met,' when I was well off; now," (he scowledhere) "my old familiars give me the cold shoulder _because I'm poor_."
"You know that you are unjust," said the doctor, leaning back in hischair, and speaking less sternly though not less firmly; "you know, Ned,that I have helped you with advice and with money to the utmost extentof my means, and you know that it was a long, long time before I ceasedto call you one of my friends; but I do not choose to be annoyed by aman who has deliberately cast himself to the dogs, whose companions arethe lowest wretches in London, and whose appearance is dirty anddisgusting as well as disreputable."
"I can't help it," pleaded Hooper; "I can get no work."
"I don't wonder at that," replied the doctor; every friend you ever hadhas got you work of one kind or another during the last few years, andyou have drunk yourself out of it every time. Do you imagine that yourfriends will continue to care for a man who cares not for himself?
Ned did not reply, but hung his head in moody silence.
"Now," continued the doctor, "my time is a little more valuable thanyours; state what you have got to say, and then be off. Stay," headded, in a softened tone, "have you breakfasted?"
"No," answered Ned, with a hungry glance at the table.
"Well, then, as you did not come to beg, you may draw in your chair andgo to work."
Ned at once availed himself of this permission, and his spirits revivedwonderfully as he progressed with the meal, during which he stated thecause of his visit.
"The fact is," said he, "that I want your assistance, doctor--"
"I told you already," interrupted the other, "that I have assisted youto the utmost extent of my means."
"My good fellow, not so sharp, pray," said Ned, helping himself toanother roll, the first having vanished like a morning cloud; "I don'twant money--ah: that is to
say, I _do_ want money, but I don't wantyours. No; I came here to ask you to help me to get a body."
"A body. What do you mean?"
"Why, what I say; surely you've cut up enough of 'em to know 'em byname; a dead body, doctor,--a subject."
The doctor smiled.
"That's a strange request, Ned. You're not going to turn to myprofession as a last resort, I hope?"
"No, not exactly; but a friend of mine wants a body--that's all, andoffers to pay me a good round sum if I get one for him."
"Is your friend a medical man?" asked the doctor.
"N-no, he's not. In fact, he has more to do with spirits than bodies;but he wants one of the latter--and I said I'd try to get him one--so,if you can help me, do so, like a good fellow. My friend is particular,however; he wants a _man_ one, above six feet, thin and sallow, and withlong black hair."
"You don't suppose I keep a stock of assorted subjects on hand, do you?"said the doctor. "I fear it won't be easy to get what you want. Do youknow what your friend intends to do with it?"
"Not I, and I don't care," said Ned, pouring out another cup of coffee."What does a body cost?"
"Between two and three pounds," replied the doctor.
"Dear me, so cheap," said Ned, with a look of surprise; "then thatknocks on the head a little plan I had. I thought of offering myselffor sale at Guy's or one of the hospitals, and drinking myself to deathwith the money, leaving my address, so that they might know where tofind me; but it's not worth while to do it for so little; in fact, Idon't believe I could accomplish it on three pounds' worth ofdissipation."
"Don't jest about your besetting sin," said the doctor gravely; "it'sbad enough without that."
"Bad enough," exclaimed Ned, with a sudden flash of ferocity; "ay, badenough in all conscience, and the worst of it is, that it makes me readyto jest about _anything_--in heaven, earth, or hell. Oh, drink!accursed drink!"
He started up and clutched the hair of his head with both hands for amoment; but the feeling passed away, and he sat down again and resumedbreakfast, while he said in a graver tone than he had yet used--
"Excuse me, doctor; I'm subject to these bursts now and then. Well,what say you about the body? My friend offers me twenty pounds, if Iget the right kind. That would be seventeen pounds of profit on thetransaction. It's worth an effort. It might put me in the way ofmaking one more stand."
Ned said this sadly, for he had made so many stands in time past, andfailed to retain his position, that hope was at dead low-water of a veryneap-tide now.
"I don't like the look of the thing," said the doctor. "There's toomuch secrecy about it for me. Why don't your friend speak out like aman; state what he wants it for, and get it in the regular way?"
"It mayn't be a secret, for all I know," said Ned Hooper, as heconcluded his repast. "I did not take the trouble to ask him; because Ididn't care. You might help me in this, doctor."
"Well, I'll put you in the way of getting what you want," said thedoctor, after a few moments reflection; "but you must manage ityourself. I'll not act personally in such an affair; and let me adviseyou to make sure that you are not getting into a scrape before you takeany steps in the matter. Meanwhile, I must wish you good-day. Callhere again to-night, at six."
The doctor rose as he spoke, and accompanied Ned to the door. He left acoin of some sort in his palm, when he shook hands.
"Thankee," said Ned.
"If you had come to beg, you should not have got it," said the doctor."God help him!" he added as he shut the door; "it is an awful sight tosee an old companion fall so low."