Old Dick went no more to porter at the rooms when he came out of the
hospital; his smoothly-shaven face did not peer out of windows where he
was hanging out hearthrugs with, pinned upon them, the bills announcing
the capital modern household furniture for sale; but when he returned to
Gutter-alley, Dick would always be clean-shaven of a morning, spending
an hour over the process, pulling out wrinkles to get at the silver
stubble lurking in the bottoms of the furrows, and stopping at times,
when his hands grew tremulous, to rest. Many was the time that his
grandchild, Jenny, would have to run down in haste to fetch a bit of
cobweb from the cellar to stay the bleeding when that tremulous old hand
did make a slip, for the nap upon Dick's Sunday hat was too scarce to be
used up in so wanton a way.
But at last Dick would strop and put away his razor and shaving-brush,
hang up the little glass, and then tie on a clean white apron, take his
round carpet-cap down from a nail and carefully put it on so as not to
disarrange his grey locks, and then sit patiently nursing his porter's
knot and waiting, as he used to tell Jenny, for a job.
"Strong, my little lass? Strong as ever," he'd say. "If I could only
get this leg right;" and then Jenny would drop her work, take his old
face between her plump little hands, kiss him tenderly, and tell him to
wait a little.
So old Dick Bradds used to wait on, day after day, waiting for the jobs
that never came, and the injured leg did not get right. The old man's
strength sufficed to carry him down to the front door and back again.
Down he would go slowly, holding tightly by the balustrade, one leg
always first, till he reached the bottom, where the mat should have
been, only they could not afford mats in Gutter-alley, and then as
regularly as possible the old man, in his thankfulness at being able to
walk so far, would take off the old carpet-cap and say softly, when
there was no one by, "Thank God!" and the same again when, after a visit
to the front door and a glance up and down the court, he had slowly and
painfully made his way up to his own room.
Jenny would have helped him; but no: the old man could not shake off the
belief that he was in a state to do heavy work and to help his child.
There was too much determination left yet in the old piece of steel, and
heedless of rust and weakness Dick struggled up and down.
People used to say that Sharpnesses, the great auctioneers, ought to
have pensioned old Bradds, but they were people who made money fast, and
knew its value in too worldly a way to pension worn-out servants, so old
Dick had to live as he could.
Jenny was Dick's support--Jenny, his grandchild--Jenny Blossom, as they
called her in Gutter-alley. She was the last of the family--father,
mother, and another child had died in Gutter-alley, where fevers used to
practise and get themselves into full strength before issuing out to
ravage the districts where sanitary arrangements were so perfect.
The place was very foul, but somehow Jenny grew brighter day by day, and
the old crones of the alley used to chuckle and say no wonder, for
flowers always throve in the dirt. At all events, the foul odours did
not take the bloom from her cheek, and when fever or cholera held high
revel, Jenny had passed scatheless through trials when scores had fallen
around.
Every one spoke well of Jenny; untidy women with bare arms and rough
hair always had for her a pleasant look; great hulking market-attending
men, with hoarse voices, would always stand aside for Jenny to pass; and
the slatternly girls of the alley, though they occasionally glanced at
her with envious eyes, displayed no open jealousy. Away from
Gutter-alley it was different, but in the forty houses of the court, and
their four or five hundred inhabitants, there was not one who did not
look up to Jenny Blossom.
And no unsuitable title was that--Jenny Blossom; for whether taken in
connection with her young and blooming face, or her trade, the name
seemed equally adapted. Ask for her as Jane Bradds, and people would
have shaken their heads; though the mention of Jenny Blossom brought a
bright look into perhaps a scowling face; and Number 5 in the court was
indicated directly.
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