The exhausted lad awoke again, and pursued his useless task of appeals
for food and employment. It was a bright day, and there was some little
warmth to be collected by basking in the rays of the sun, when our hero
wended his way through Saint James's Park, faint, hungry, and
disconsolate. There were several people seated on the benches; and
Joey, weak as he was, did not venture to go near them, but crawled
along. At last, after wandering up and down, looking for pity in
everybody's face as they passed, and receiving none, he felt that he
could not stand much longer, and emboldened by desperation, he
approached a bench that was occupied by one person. At first he only
rested on the arm of the bench, but, as the person sitting down appeared
not to observe him, he timidly took a seat at the farther end. The
personage who occupied the other part of the bench was a man dressed in
a morning suit _a la militaire_ and black stock. He had clean gloves
and a small cane in his hand, with which he was describing circles on
the gravel before him, evidently in deep thought. In height he was full
six feet, and his proportions combined strength with symmetry. His
features were remarkably handsome, his dark hair had a natural curl, and
his whiskers and mustachios (for he wore those military appendages) were
evidently the objects of much attention and solicitude. We may as well
here observe, that although so favoured by nature, still there would
have been considered something wanting in him by those who had been
accustomed to move in the first circles, to make him the refined
gentleman. His movements and carriage were not inelegant, but there was
a certain _retinue_ wanting. He bowed well, but still it was not
exactly the bow of a gentleman. The nursery-maids as they passed by
said, "Dear me, what a handsome gentleman!" but had the remark been made
by a higher class, it would have been qualified into "What a handsome
man!" His age was apparently about five-and-thirty--it might have been
something more. After a short time he left off his mechanical
amusements, and turning round, perceived little Joey at the farther end.
Whether from the mere inclination to talk, or that he thought it
presuming in our hero to seat himself upon the same bench, he said to
him--
"I hope you are comfortable, my little man; but perhaps you've forgot
your message."
"I have no message, sir, for I know no one: and I am not comfortable,
for I am starving," replied Joey, in a tremulous voice.
"Are you in earnest now, when you say that, boy; or is it that you're
humbugging me?"
Joey shook his head. "I have eaten nothing since the day before
yesterday morning, and I feel faint and sick," replied he at last.
His new companion looked earnestly in our hero's face, and was satisfied
that what he said was true.
"As I hope to be saved," exclaimed he, "it's my opinion that a little
bread and butter would not be a bad thing for you. Here," continued he,
putting his hand into his coat-pocket, "take these coppers, and go and
get some thing into your little vitals."
"Thank you, sir, thank you, kindly. But I don't know where to go: I
only came up to London two days ago."
"Then follow me as fast as your little pins can carry you," said the
other. They had not far to go, for a man was standing close to
Spring-garden-gate with hot tea and bread and butter, and in a few
moments Joey's hunger was considerably appeased.
"Do you feel better now, my little cock?"
"Yes, sir, thank you."
"That's right, and now we will go back to the bench, and then you shall
tell me all about yourself; just to pass away the time. Now," said he,
as he took his seat, "in the first place, who is your father, if you
have any; and if you haven't any, what was he?"
"Father and mother are both alive, but they are a long way off. Father
was a soldier, and he has a pension now."
"A soldier! Do you know in what regiment?"
"Yes, it was the 53rd, I think."
"By the powers, my own regiment! And what is your name, then, and his?"
"Rushbrook," replied Joey.
"My pivot man, by all that's holy. Now haven't you nicely dropped on
your feet?"
"I don't know, sir," replied our hero.
"But I do; your father was the best fellow I had in my company--the best
forager, and always took care of his officer, as a good man should do.
If there was a turkey, or a goose, or a duck, or a fowl, or a pig within
ten miles of us, he would have it: he was the boy for poaching. And now
tell me (and mind you tell the truth when you meet with a friend) what
made you leave your father and mother?"
"I was afraid of being taken up--" and here Joey stopped, for he hardly
knew what to say; trust his new acquaintance with his father's secret he
dare not, neither did he like to tell what was directly false; as the
reader will perceive by his reply, he partly told the truth.
"Afraid of being taken up! Why, what could they take up a spalpeen like
you for?"
"Poaching," replied Joey; "father poached too: they had proof against
me, so I came away with father's consent."
"Poaching! well, I'm not surprised at that, for if ever it was in the
blood, it is in yours--that's truth. And what do you mean to do now?"
"Anything I can to earn my bread."
"What can you do--besides poaching, of course? Can you read and write?"
"Oh, yes."
"Would you like to be a servant--clean boots, brush clothes, stand
behind a cab, run messages, carry notes, and hold your tongue?"
"I could do all that, I think--I am twelve years old."
"The devil you are! Well then, for your father's sake, I'll see what I
can do for you, till you can do better. I'll fit you out as a tiger,
and what's more, unless I am devilish hard up, I won't sell you. So
come along. What's your name?"
"Joey."
"Sure that was your father's name before you, I now recollect and should
any one take the trouble to ask you what may be the name of your master,
you may reply, with a safe conscience, that it's Captain O'Donahue. Now
come along. Not close after me--you may as well keep open file just
now, till I've made you look a little more decent."