Perks again.
I knew, I knew it could not last;
'T was bright, 't was heavenly, but 'tis past
Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour
I've seen my fondest hopes decay.
I never nursed a tree or flower,
But 't was the first to fade away;
I never nursed a dear gazelle
To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well.
And love me, it was sure to die.
--Moore.
On the Monday morning Benny was brought before the magistrates, charged
with stealing five pounds from his master's office. He was almost ready
to faint when placed in the dock; but, conscious of his own innocence,
he gathered up his courage, and answered fearlessly the questions that
were addressed to him.
Inspector Sharp gave the particulars of the case, adding that though
the money had not been found on the prisoner, or indeed anywhere else,
yet he had no doubt that the lad had accomplices to whom he had given
the missing property.
Benny denied most emphatically that he had seen the money: he admitted
that appearances were against him. "But, oh," he said, looking at the
presiding magistrate, his eyes swimming with tears, "I'm not a thief,
sir, if you'll on'y believe it; I'm not, really."
Benny's honest face and simple straightforward answers evidently made
in his favour; but as Mr. Lawrence had not appeared against him, he was
remanded until the following day, so he was removed once more to his
cell.
Perks's case was not tried that day, so once more Benny had him for a
companion.
During most of the evening Perks sat in one corner, with his face in his
hands, and his elbows on his knees, without either speaking or moving.
Benny took the opposite corner, glad for once that he had a chance of
being quiet. He wondered what would be done to him, whether he would be
sent to prison or set at liberty. He felt that he did not care much what
happened, for to be penned up in prison, he thought, could not be much
worse than to go back in disgrace to the old life of selling matches in
the street.
Above the grated window the little patch of blue began to fade as the
day waned and darkened into night. Then a solitary star appeared, and
looked down with kindly eye into the dreary cell. Benny watched the star
twinkling so far above him, and wondered what it could be. Was it one of
God's eyes, or the eye of one of His angels? Could it be his Nelly that
was looking at him? Or were the stars only holes in the floor of heaven
to let the glory through?
He could not tell, but somehow that kindly star looking in upon him
seemed to comfort his heart; and he felt that though the world buffeted
him, and would not give him a chance of getting on, yet he was not
forgotten of God.
Then his thoughts turned to Perks. Was God watching him also? for the
star was not visible from the corner where he crouched. Why was he so
quiet? Was he sorry for what he had done, or was he ill?
Benny was glad to be quiet; and yet somehow as the darkness deepened he
felt lonesome, and wondered what had come to the silent figure in the
corner. It was so unusual for Perks to be quiet so long. He listened for
a moment, but all was still. And still the minutes dragged away, and the
silence became oppressive.
"Perks!" said Benny, unable longer to keep quiet; and his voice awoke
the sleeping echoes of the cell, and made it sound hollow as a tomb.
But the echoes were his only answer.
"Perks!" in a louder voice.
Still there was silence, and Benny began to get frightened. Was he dead?
he wondered. How awful it would be to be in that cell all night alone
with a dead body!
"Perks, do speak!" in a tone of agony.
And he listened for an answer, while the perspiration stood in great
drops upon his forehead. But still only silence. He could hear the
thumping of his own heart distinctly, and he became hot and cold by
turns with fright.
At length he thought he heard a noise coming from the corner where he
felt sure Perks was crouched dead. It sounded like suppressed laughter.
What could it mean? He dared not move from his corner. Was it Satan come
to carry away Perks? for he was very wicked, he knew.
It had got too dark now to see anything distinctly; but there was a
shuffling noise on the floor. Horrors! it was coming across the cell
towards him. What was it? He could see some unshapely thing moving.
Now it was drawing itself up to its full height. Benny nearly shrieked
out in an agony of terror. Then it flashed across his mind in a
moment--Perks was playing him another of his tricks.
Waiting until Perks was near enough, he dealt him a blow straight from
the shoulder that sent him sprawling to the other end of the cell.
"Oh, lor a massy!" he shouted, "if that ain't a stinger!"
"Serves you right," said Benny.
"Lor, but didn't I give you a scarin', just! I never did injoy a thing
as much in my life; but, oh, lor! I nearly busted once or twice wi'
larfin'."
"I think I gived you a scarin' too," retorted Benny.
"Well, I confess it comed raather sudden like; so that's one to you,
Ben. I'll give you yer due."
"I've a good mind to pound you to a jelly," said Benny. "Yer always on
with yer tricks."
"Well, I didn't 'tend to scare yer, Ben, for I wur bissy medertatin' on
a little plan I 'as in my yed; but when yer spoke 'Perks!' anxious like,
the idear comed to me all in a moment. Oh, lor, weren't it a spree!"
"I don't see no fun in it," said Benny.
"Oh, lor, yer don't?" and Perks laughed again. "But I say, Ben, I wants
yer 'elp in carryin' out as purty a bit o' play as ever you seen."
"Is it what you've been thinking about all the evenin'?"
"Ay, lad, it's the most butifullest idear that wur ever 'atched in this
'ere noddle; an' if you'll only 'elp me, my stars! our fortin's made."
"You're up to no good again, I'll be bound," said Benny.
"Well, I reckon you'll alter your mind on that score when yer 'ears the
details o' my plan," said Perks, coming closer to Benny's side.
"Well, what is it?"
"I must whisper it," said Perks, "though I dunna thinks any bobbies is
around listenin' at this time o' night, but it's allers best to be on
the safe side."
"I don't want to 'ear it," said Benny, "if it's some'at you must
whisper. It's no good, that I'm sartin of."
"Don't be a ninny, Ben. Just listen."
And Perks confided to Ben a plan of getting into the house of an old man
who kept a little shop, and lived all alone, and who kept all his money
locked up in a little cupboard in the room behind the shop.
"How do you know he keeps his money there?" said Benny.
"Never you mind," was the answer; "I does know it to a sartinty."
"Where does the old man live?"
"No. 86 ---- Street."
"What's his name?"
"Jerry Starcher. Ain't yer 'eard o' 'im?"
"Ay," said Benny.
"Then you'll 'elp?" said Perks, eagerly.
"Ay," said Benny, "but not in the way you thinks."
"What does yer mean?"
"I mean, if I git out of this place, I'll put the old man on his guard."
"What, an' split on me?"
"No, I'll not mention names."
"Then I 'opes ye'll be sent to a 'formatory an' kep' there for the next
five year."
"Do you? Why?"
"'Cause yer a fool, Ben Bates."
"How so?"
"'Cause ye are, I say."
"Well, your saying so don't make it so, anyhow," retorted Benny:
"Don't it, though? But look 'ere: ye're 'ere for stealin', and I can
tell yer from 'sperience, that a gent as takes up the perfession is
worse nor a fool to give it up agin 'cause he 'appens to get nabbed."
"But I'm not here for stealin'," said Benny, colouring.
"Ye're not, eh?" said Perks, laughing till the tears ran down his face.
"Well, that are the richest bit I's heard for the last month."
"But," said Benny, with flashing eyes, "though I'm here charged with
stealing, I tell yer I'm honest."
"Are that a fact now, Ben?" said Perks, looking serious.
"It is," replied Benny; "I never took the money."
"Well, so much the worse," said Perks.
"How's that?"
"Cause yer might as well be a thief, hout an' hout, as be charged wi'
bein' one. I tell 'e there's no chance for yer; the bobbies'll 'ave
their eyes on yer wherever yer be; and if yer gits a sitivation they'll
come along an' say to yer guv'nor, 'Yon's a jail-bird, yer'd better 'ave
yer eye on 'im;' then ye'll 'ave to walk it somewheres else, an' it'll
be the same everywheres."
"How do you know that?" said Benny.
"'Cause I's 'sperienced it," was the reply. "I's older 'n you, though
you's biggest; but I reckons as I knows most, an' it's true what I say.
Why, bless yer, the first time I ever nabbed I got a month, an' I wor
so horful frightened, that I vowed if ever I got out I'd be honest,
an' never get in no more; but, bless yer, it wur no go. The bobbies
told each other who I wur, an' they was always a-watching me. I got a
sitivation once, a honcommon good 'un too; but, oh, lor, the next day
a bobby says to the guv'nor, says he, 'Yon's a jail-bird, you'd better
keep yer eye on 'im;' an' you may guess I'd to walk in quick sticks.
I made two or three tries arter, but it wur no go. As soon as hever a
bobbie came near I'd to be off like greased lightnin', an' you'll find
out what I say. If yer not a thief now, ye'll 'ave to come to it. I tell
yer there's no help for it."
"But I tell you I'll _not_ come to it," said Benny, stoutly.
"But I knows better," persisted Perks; "there ken be no possible chance
for yer. Ye're down, an' the world'll keep 'e down, though yer try ever
so."
Benny looked thoughtful, for he had a suspicion that a good deal that
Perks said was true. He was down, and he feared there was very little,
if any, chance of his getting up again. He had proved by experience that
the world was hard upon poor lads, and he knew it would be doubly hard
upon him now that his character was gone. Yet he felt that he could not
become a thief. He would sooner die, and he told Perks so.
But Perks only laughed at the idea.
"You'll find that dyin' ain't so precious easy, my lad," he said in a
patronizing tone of voice. And Benny felt that very likely Perks' words
were true in relation to that matter, and so he was silent.
"You'd better come partner 'long wi' me," said Perks, in a tone of voice
that was intended to be encouraging.
"No," said Benny. "I'll help you if you'll try to be honest; for look
here, Perks: there's another life besides this, an' if we're not good we
shall go to the bad place when we die, for only good people can go to
heaven. An' I want to go to the good place, for little Nell is there;
an' I want to see her again, for she was all I had to love in the world,
an' oh! it 'ud grieve her so if I were to be a thief, an' grieve the
good Lord who died for us all. No, Perks, little Nell begged me afore
she died to be good, an' she said the Lord 'ud provide, an' I means to
be good. Won't you try to be good too, Perks? I'm sure it 'ud be better."
"No," said Perks: "folks 'as druv' me to what I is. I tried to be
honest once, an' they wouldn't let me, an' so I intends to stick to the
perfession now, for I likes it; an' ye'll come to it yet."
"I'd rather die," said Benny solemnly.
"Humbug!" snarled Perks. "But I'll say this afore I go to sleep, for
I's gettin' des'pert sleepy, if ye'll join me in the perfession I'll be
a frien' to yer, an' put yer up to all the tricks, an' forgive yer for
that hidin' yer give me. But if," and he brought out the words slowly,
"ye'll 'sist on bein' a fool, I'll pay off old scores yet, an' I'll
plague yer worse nor ever I's done yet; so I give yer fair warnin'. Now
for the land o' nod."
Neither of them spoke again after that, and soon after they were both
locked in the arms of kindly sleep.
The following morning Benny was again brought before the magistrates,
but nothing new was brought forward in evidence. Mr. Lawrence, however,
stated that he did not wish to prosecute, or in any way punish the lad.
And as there was no positive evidence that Benny had taken the money,
he was dismissed. It was evident, however, that the general belief was
that he was guilty; but as the evidence was only presumptive, and this
being his first appearance before them, he was given the benefit of the
doubt, and set at liberty, with a caution that if he came before them
again he would not get off so easily.
His week's wages that Mr. Lawrence had paid him was restored to him on
leaving the court, and once more he found himself a homeless orphan on
the streets of Liverpool.
Perks did not fare so well. He was an old and evidently a hardened
offender. The case was also proved against him, and he was sentenced to
be kept in prison for three calendar months. Perks heard the sentence
unmoved. He liked liberty best, it is true, but the only thing that
grieved him was that it was summer-time. If it had been winter, he would
not have cared a straw; but as it was he was determined to make the best
of it, and get as much enjoyment out of it as he possibly could.
So Perks and Benny drifted apart, and Benny wondered if they would ever
meet again. Life before him lay dark and cheerless. He seemed to have
drifted away from everything: no friend was left to him in all the
world. There were granny and Joe, but he could not see them, for he felt
that if a shade of suspicion crept into their manner, it would break
his heart. No, he would keep away. Then there was Mr. Lawrence; he could
expect nothing further from him. He believed him to be a thief, of that
there could be no doubt, and so doubtless did Morgan and all the other
clerks. And then there was little Eva, the angel that had brightened
his life for six brief months, and whose bright shilling nothing could
induce him to part with. Did she believe him guilty too? Of course she
did. His guilt must seem so clear to every one of them. And so he was
alone in the world, without a friend to help, unless God would help him;
but of that he did not feel quite sure. Sometimes he thought that the
Lord would surely provide, but at other times he doubted.
He was at liberty, it was true, and ought he not to be thankful
for that? he asked himself; but alas! his innocence had not been
established. Young as he was, he felt the force of that. And he felt it
terribly hard that all--all! even his little angel--believed him to be a
thief.
Ah! he did not know how sore was Eva Lawrence's little heart, and how
she persisted to her father that Benny was innocent, and pleaded with
him, but pleaded in vain, for him to take back the poor boy and give him
another chance.
And night after night she cried herself to sleep, as she thought of the
little orphan sent adrift on life's treacherous ocean, and wondered what
the end would be. And when one day she tried to sing "Love at Home,"
the words almost choked her, for the pleading, suffering face of the
homeless child came up before her, and looked at her with hungry wistful
eyes, as if asking for sympathy and help.
But children soon forget their griefs, and as the days wore away and
lengthened into weeks, Benny was almost forgotten, till one day a
circumstance occurred which made him again the talk of the Lawrence
household. What that circumstance was shall be told in its proper place
in the unfolding of this story of Benny's life.