AN ADOPTED CHILD.
A FEW days after school had commenced Frank Norris called in again at
the Holls'. It was a bright day, and Harry had gone out in his box, and
Mrs. Holl was alone.
"Harry will be sorry he is out, sir," was her first greeting to Frank;
"he has been looking forward to your coming again. You don't know, sir,
how much good you have done him. The boy has generally wonderful good
spirits, considering his condition; still, though he don't say nought, I
can see sometimes that he isn't never quite happy except when he is
working away with his books or playing on that fiddle of his.
"Evan has been and spent all the money as was given him that day at the
Serpentine in buying a new fiddle for him. I don't see much in the thing
myself, and it seems to me they must have cheated Evan altogether, for
it ain't a new un, but an old, brown, dirty-looking thing, as looks as
if it had been made nigh fifty years; and they goes and charges him
thirty-eight shillings for it, and pretended to make a favour of it,
while John only paid seven and sixpence for the one he had before, which
was a beautiful new shiny one.
"However, Harry seems delighted with it, and says it's beautiful soft,
and mellow. But what he means I don't know, though I do allow it ain't
so squeaky as the other; and sometimes when Harry is playing soft on it,
it does sound beautiful. Still, thirty-eight shillings is a big price
for an old thing like that."
"Old fiddles are always worth more than new ones, Mrs. Holl. Do you know
there are some fiddles two or three hundred years old which could not be
bought for less than three or four hundred pounds?"
"My gracious!" Mrs. Holl exclaimed, "three or four hundred pounds for
such a thing as a fiddle. I calls it downright wicked."
"He is a wonderful boy that son of yours, Mrs. Holl," Frank said,
changing the subject; "a regular genius I should call him. What a pity
it is that he is a cripple!"
"Ay, that it is," Mrs. Holl agreed, "and he is a wonderful chap, is
Harry. But he ain't no son of mine, Mr. Norris, though he don't know it
himself, and I shouldn't like him to be told."
"Then what relation is he, Mrs. Holl, if it is not an impertinent
question?"
"He ain't no sort of relation at all, sir," the woman answered.
"Then how came you to bring him up, Mrs. Holl?" Frank asked in surprise.
"Well, sir, it was a very simple matter. But if so be as you care to
hear it, I will tell you just how it happened." And, leaning against the
mantelpiece, with the red light of the fire thrown up into her face,
Mrs. Holl went on very slowly, and speaking as though she almost saw
what she was relating.
"Well, sir, it were an evening in April--a cold bitter day. I was
sitting here between light and dark, drinking my tea with John, who was
just come home from work--John is my husband, you see, sir--when we
heard a noise outside in the street. We went out to see what was the
matter, and we found a poor young creature, with a baby in her arms, had
fallen down in a faint like.
"She was a pretty young thing, sir; and though her dress was poor and
torn, she looked as if she had not been always so. Some one says, 'Take
them to the workhouse.' 'No!' says I--for my heart yearned towards the
poor young thing--'bring her in here; mayn't we, John?' says I. Well,
sir, John did not say nothing, but he took the baby out of her arms and
gave it to me, and then he upped and took the poor young creature--she
were no great weight, sir--and carried her into the house, and laid her
on the bed, as it might be by the window there.
"Well, sir, that bed she never left; she came round a little, and lived
some days, but her mind were never rightly itself again. She would lay
there, with her baby beside her, and sing songs to herself; I don't know
what about, for it were some foreign language. She were very gentle and
quiet like, but I don't think she ever knew where she was, or anything
about it. She were very fond of baby, and would take it in her arms, and
hush it, and talk to it. She faded and faded away, and the doctor said
nothing could be done for her; it made my heart ache, sir, and if you
will believe me, I would go upstairs and cry by the hour.
"The thought of the little baby troubled me too. I had lost my first
little one, sir, and I could not a-bear the thought of the little thing
going to the workhouse. So one day I says to John, 'John, when that
poor mother dies, for God's sake don't 'ee send the little baby to the
workhouse; He has taken away our own little one, and may be He has sent
this one for us to love in his place. Let us take him as our own.' John,
he did not say nothing, but he up and gived me a great kiss, and said,
'Sairey, you're a good woman!' which of course, sir," Mrs. Holl put in
apologetically, "is neither here nor there, for any mother would have
done the same; but it's John's way when he's pleased. That very same
night the baby's mother died."
Standing with her rough honest face lit up by the bright fire-glow she
related it, simply, and as a matter of course, all unconscious of the
good part she had taken in it, assuming no credit to herself, or seeing
that she deserved any.
When she had finished there was a little silence. Frank passed his hand
furtively across his eyes, and then shook Mrs. Holl warmly by the hand,
saying, "Your husband was right, Mrs. Holl, you are a good woman."
Mrs. Holl looked completely amazed, and stammered out, "Lor' bless you,
sir! there wasn't anything out of the way in what I did, and there's
scores and scores would do the like. Having just lost my own little one,
my heart went out to the poor little thing, and it seemed sent natural
like, to fill up the place of the little angel who was gone from us.
Bless your heart, sir, there weren't nothing out of the way in that,
nothing at all, and we have never had cause to regret it. The boy's a
good boy, and a clever boy, and he is a comfort and a help to us; a
better boy never lived. But we have always grieved sorely over the
accident."
"Then he was not originally lame, Mrs. Holl?" Frank asked.
"Dear me! no, sir, not till he were six years old. It happened this way.
I was laid up at the time--I was just confined of Mary, she is my eldest
girl--and somehow Harry he went out in the street playing. I don't
rightly know how it happened; but never shall I forget when they brought
him in, and said that a cart had run over him. John, he was in--which
was lucky, for I think I lost my head like, and went clean out of my
mind for a bit, for I loved him just like my own. They did not think he
would have lived at first, for the cart had gone over the lower part of
his body and broke one of his thigh-bones, and the other leg up high. It
was a light cart I have heard tell, or it must have killed him.
"He were in bed for months, and, if you will believe me, if ever there
was a patient little angel on earth, it was surely Harry. He never
complained, and his chief trouble was for my sake. At last he got well;
but the doctors said he would never walk again, for they thought there
was some damage done to his spine; and sure enough he never has walked.
He is always cheerful, and keeps up wonderful, considering.
"He has always been given to reading. John made a shift to teach him his
letters, and then the children of the neighbours, they lent him their
schoolbooks, and taught him what they knew, and in a short time, bless
you, sir, he knew more than them all! He would sit and read for hours
together. He is wonderful clever, Harry is."
"Well, Mrs. Holl," Frank said, rising, "I am very much obliged to you
for your story; but I must be going now, or else I shall be late for
school. Tell Harry I am sorry I missed him, and will look in again soon.
Have you thought anything further of what I said about Evan?"
"Yes, sir, and thank you most kindly; but father thinks he had better
wait another year or so, till he gets a bit older and steadier. As for
them books as you was kind enough to send Harry, the boy must thank you
hisself; except when he is playing on his fiddle he is always reading at
them, and it is as much as I can do to get him outside the doors. He was
never very fond of it, for he thinks people look at him; but since those
books has come I have regular to take them away from him, put his cap on
his head, and push him outside the door. He will be in a taking that he
has missed you to-day."
"Well, good-bye, Mrs. Holl, I haven't a moment to lose," and Frank,
putting on his hat, made off at a sharp run to school, only arriving
just in time to say prayers.
Frank Norris, although a Sixth town boy, was not head of Richards', as
Johnstone had been longer in that form, and was consequently senior to
him. Johnstone was, however, small and slightly built, and cared little
for rowing, cricket, or football. He had gained his place in the Sixth
by sheer hard work rather than by talent. He was fussy and irritable,
with a strong sense of the importance of his position as a Sixth town
boy and head of Richards'. Between him and Frank there was no
cordiality, for it irritated him that the latter was upon all occasions
appealed to, and his advice asked in everything relating to games, and
all matters of dispute referred to him. Frank, on the other hand,
although he at all times gave way to Johnstone in house matters, was
constantly annoyed by his continual self-assertion and his irritation at
trifles. They were the only two Sixth town boys at Richards', but there
were three Upper 'Shells,' Harris, Travers, and James, and these ranked
almost with the Sixth, for the great demarcation of the School was
between the Upper and Under 'Shells,' the former having the right to
fag.
Frank and Johnston had each a small room of their own; the three Upper
"Shells" had a room together, but they used Frank's study almost as much
as their own; one or other would generally come in to work with him in
the evening, and it was here that councils were held as to house matters
or knotty points connected with field or water.
"I wish Trafalgar Square wasn't out of bounds," Harris said one evening.
They had finished the work for the next day, and had gathered for a chat
in Frank's room before turning into bed. Frank was sitting in a rickety
arm-chair by the fire, Harris on the table, and the other two on the
bed.
"Why do you wish so, Harris?" Frank said.
"Why, I should like to go up to see those rows they have pretty nearly
every day. Thompson, the home boarder, told me he saw a regular fight
there yesterday evening between the police and the Chartists."
"Well, it's no use wishing, because bounds begin at the gate in Dean's
Yard. I never could understand myself why we should be allowed to go the
other way, down the slums, as far as we please, where there is every
chance of getting into a row, while we are not allowed to walk quietly
up Parliament Street; then we may go along the other way, by the new
Houses of Parliament, to Westminster Bridge, and across the bridge to
baths; but we may not go out from Dean's Yard and walk across in front
of the Abbey to the Bridge. I expect when the rules were made there were
no houses built beyond us, and there were fields extending back from the
river, while the other way led up to the Court. But I should certainly
like to go up and see one of those Chartist riots. However, I don't
think it can be done; it would be setting a bad example to the young
uns, and the chances are ten to one we should run against one of the
masters."
"Hardly likely, I should think," Travers said; "it would be shocking bad
luck to run against one of them in a crowd like that."
"Well, you see, Travers, we are so preciously conspicuous in these
tail-coats; of course it's the custom, and I stick up for old customs;
still, I do think it's a ridiculous thing that we should be obliged to
wear tail-coats. Of course the jackets for the fellows under the Upper
'Shell' are all right, but one cannot go on wearing jackets higher than
that; still, I do think they might let us wear cutaways; tail-coats were
all right when every one else wore tail-coats, but in our days it is
absurd to wear a coat which nobody else wears except for an evening
dress. You can tell a fellow a mile off as a Westminster boy by his
coat."
"It has its advantages," James said. "Look how Johnstone would lose his
importance without his tails, he would look like a plucked jay."
There was a general laugh.
"He is not a bad fellow," Frank replied, "though he does think a good
deal of himself. Still, as no one else thinks anything of him, it is
just as well he should fancy himself. But never mind that now. No, I
don't think there is any chance of our getting to see the fun in
Trafalgar Square. I should like to go to one of the halls where those
fellows spout, and to get up and say something the other way. Of course
one would have to go in a strong body, else there would not be much of
us left when we got into the street again. I must have a chat with
Perkins about it, he is sure to be up to all that kind of thing."
"Yes, but there would be the trouble of getting in after lock-up."
"Oh, I dare say we might get over that," Harris replied; "the fags would
never peach."
"We won't tell them if we can help it," Frank said; "if we go in for any
lark of that sort only one of our fags must know it. I can trust young
Phillpot to hold his tongue. Well, I will chat it over with Perkins, and
see what can be done."
Perkins was a retired prize-fighter who kept a public-house on Bank
Side. In a large room attached to the house he gave sparring exhibitions
twice a week, with the aid of other fellow-pugilists, and also gave
private lessons in the art of self-defence. Bank Side was not out of
bounds, but it was strictly against the rules for any boy to enter a
public-house; nevertheless, a good many of the Westminster boys had
learned boxing from this worthy. There was a private entrance behind the
house into what Perkins called his "saloon," and the boys strove to
consider that by using this they avoided an infringement of the rule.
The fact of their taking lessons was unknown to the master, for indeed
at Westminster the boys were at perfect liberty to do as they pleased
out of school-time, providing that they did not go out of bounds.
The rules enforcing attendance at fields or water, of abstaining from
entering public-houses, and generally of conducting themselves as
gentlemen, were left to what may be called their own police, the senior
Queen's Scholars and the Sixth Form town boys, and these kept a far
more rigorous hand over the younger boys than the masters could possibly
have done. A vigorous thrashing was the punishment for shirking fields,
or for any action regarded as caddish; and it was therefore only the
Upper 'Shells' and Sixth, who, being free from the operation of the law
as to fields and water, were able to frequent Perkins's establishment.
Of those who went there, most of them did so for the genuine purpose of
learning boxing; but a few used the place for the purpose of smoking and
drinking. But these did so at hours when there was no chance of finding
Perkins at work with his pupils, for public feeling would not have
tolerated, even in an upper form boy, anything that would have been
looked upon as such bad form.
The next morning, after breakfast, Frank walked down to "The Black Dog."
He was one of Perkins's best pupils, and the latter had more than once
been heard to express his regret that Frank had not been born in a lower
class of life.
"He's got the making of a champion in him," the ex-pugilist would say
regretfully; "in another five years, when he has got his full height and
filled out, I warrant he will fight twelve stone; look how quick he is
on his pins; and I tell you I have all my work to do now to guard my
head, he hits like lightning, and once or twice has fairly knocked me
off my pins. I'd back him now for fifty pounds against any novice in
England; and as for pluck, I have never seen him wince, hit him as hard
as you will he always comes up smiling. Barkley, he is a good boxer too,
but he ain't got temper, sir; he gets nasty if he has a sharp counter;
and though he keeps cool enough, there is an ugly look about his face
which tells its tale. He would never keep his temper, and I doubt if
he's real game at bottom. I knows my customers, and have never hit him
as I hit Norris; I don't want to lose a pupil as pays fair and square,
and I know I should mighty soon lose him if I were to let out at him
sharp. No, there is bad blood in that chap somewhere."
"Well, Master Norris, and what do you want at this time of the morning?"
he said, as Frank, after entering the saloon, rang a bell which sounded
in the bar and summoned him to the saloon. "Not a lesson at this time of
the day, surely?"
"Not exactly, Perkins, considering I am due at ten o'clock, and
therefore have only five minutes to stay. I just dropped in to ask you
about something on which you can perhaps advise us."
"Fire away, Master Norris; anything I can do for you you knows as I
will."
"I was thinking, Perkins, that it would be a great lark to go up to one
of those halls where those Chartist fellows meet, and to hear their
speeches."
"I don't see that there would be any lark in it," Perkins replied,
"unless you meant getting up a row."
"I don't know that I exactly meant to get up a row; but if there was a
row, so much the more lark."
"Well, sir, if I might give my advice, I don't think, if I was you, I
would do it in school-time. Your hands can guard your face pretty tidy,
I grant you, but the chances is as you would not get out of such a row
as that would be without being marked. I knows of a place over the other
side of the water, not far from the New Cut, where they meet. Bill Lowe,
him as comes here to spar twice a week, yer know, he goes there; he
takes up with them Chartist notions, which I don't hold with no ways. I
don't see nothing in them seven pints as would do anything for the ring;
and that being so, let it alone, says I. However, Master Norris, since
you have a fancy that way I will talk the matter over with him, and then
if you really makes up your mind you would like to go, I will get four
or five of my lads as can use their mawleys, and we will go in a body.
"Then if there should be a row, I reckon we can fight our way out. There
ain't much in them chaps, tailors and shoemakers, and the like; they are
always great hands for jaw, them tailors and shoemakers, but I never
seed one as I would put five pound on in a twelve-foot ring. Poor
undersized creatures, for the most part, but beggars for jaw; but there
are some rough uns with 'em, and yer might get badly marked before yer
got out."
But Frank's mind was now bent upon it.
"It will be a lark, Perkins, anyhow; things have been rather slow at
School lately, and three or four of us have set our minds on it. So if
you let me know what evening will suit you, we will be here."
Four evenings later Frank Norris, with the other three boys, slipped out
after prayers were over, and started on their expedition. Frank's fag
closed the door noiselessly behind them and rebolted it; he had strict
orders to take his place at an upper window at eleven o'clock and watch
for their return. If when they made their appearance the house was quiet
and the lights out, he was to slip down and let them in; if not, they
were to go away again and return an hour later. All four boys were in
thick pea-jackets, and wore rough caps which they had bought for the
purpose.
When they reached Perkins's public-house, the prize-fighter surveyed
them closely.
"Ye will pass in a crowd," he said; "but keep your caps well down over
yer faces. Now mind, young gents, if there's a row comes over this 'ere
business, I ain't to blame in the matter."
"All right, Perkins, but there will be no row."
Being joined by Bill Lowe and three other boxers, they set out together
for the New Cut; past the New Houses of Parliament--still in the hands
of the builders--over Westminster Bridge, past the flaring lights in
front of Astley's, and into the New Cut.
Here, as usual, business was brisk; the public-houses were doing a
roaring trade. Rows of costermongers' carts lined the road on either
side, and the hoarse shouts of the vendors of fruit, vegetables, and
shell-fish, mingled with the Babel of voices from the throng of people
who loitered about the street, which was regarded as the promenade of
the neighbourhood. Sounds of musical instruments and a loud chorus came
from the upper windows of many of the public-houses and from the low
music-halls known by the name of "penny gaffs."
It was in front of one of these that the party stopped. Unlike the
others, no row of flaring lights burned over the entrance, no posters
with huge letters and sensational headings invited the public to enter;
one solitary lamp hung over the door, which was kept closed; men were
passing in, however, after exchanging a word with one of those stationed
at the door.
"It's a private sort of affair," Perkins said; "none ain't supposed to
go but those as is in the swim. They pretend to be mighty afraid of the
peelers; but, Lor' bless you! the police don't trouble about them. When
these chaps gets to making rows in the street, and to kicking up a
rumpus, then they will have something to say about it sharp enough; but
as long as they merely spout and argue among themselves, the peelers
lets them go on. Well, young gents, here we goes."
Bill Lowe advanced first; he was known to the doorkeeper, and the words
"All right, mate, friends of mine," were sufficient. He stood aside, and
the party entered. Passing through a passage, they were in a hall some
fifty feet long by half as wide; the walls had originally been painted
blue, with wreaths of flowers along the top, but these and the roof were
so discoloured by smoke and dirt, that the whole were reduced to a dingy
brown. At the end at which they entered was a gallery extending some
fifteen feet into the room, at the other end was a raised platform, with
a drop curtain. The latter was now raised, and displayed a table with
half a dozen chairs. The chairman for the evening was seated in the
centre of the table. He was a young man with a pale face, eyes bloodshot
from many nights spent in the reeking atmosphere of the room, and
tumbled hair, which looked as if weeks had passed since it had made the
acquaintance of a brush. He had just risen as the party entered; the
room, which was fairly filled with men, rang with the applause which had
greeted the speaker who had sat down.
"Fellow-workmen," said the chairman--("I wonder what you work at," Frank
muttered below his breath; "nothing that requires washing,
anyhow.")--"Fellow-workmen, your cheers are evidence how deeply you have
been moved by the noble words of my friend Mr. Duggins, and how your
blood boils at the hideous slavery to which we are condemned by a
tyrannical aristocracy. You will now be addressed by my eloquent friend
Mr. Simpkins, boot-closer."
[Illustration: THE BREAK-UP OF THE CHARTIST MEETING.]
Mr. Simpkins rose. He was a short, round-shouldered man, made still
shorter by the bend which he had acquired by the operation of
boot-closing; his eyes were small, and sunken in his head; his nose wide
and flat, as if in his early youth he had fallen on the edge of a pewter
pot, and he too had the appearance of regarding water with as deep an
aversion as he viewed the aristocracy.
"Fellow-workmen," he began, "or rather I should say
fellow-slaves,"--this sentiment was received with a roar of
applause,--"the time is approaching when our chains will be broken, when
the bloodstained power known as the British Constitution will be rent
and trampled under foot, when the myrmidons of power will flee before an
uprisen people. They know it, these oppressors of ours; they tremble in
their palaces and mansions, where they feast upon the wealth drained
from the blood of the people. They know that the day is at hand, and
that the millions whose labour has created the wealth of this country
are about to reclaim their own."
A roar of applause went up as the speaker paused and mopped his forehead
with a red handkerchief. But the applause was suddenly stilled by the
sound of the emphatic "Bosh!" which Frank shouted at the top of his
voice. Every one turned round, and shouts arose of "Who is that?" "Down
with him!" "Turn him out!" "Knock him down!" The orator seized the
occasion.
"A spy of the tottering government has intruded upon the deliberations
of this assembly, but I tell him I fear him not."
"Never mind, out he goes," one of the men shouted, and all began to
press upon the little group standing at the back of the room, and from
one of whom the objectionable word had evidently come.
"We are in for a row, Mr. Norris, and no mistake," Perkins said; "the
sooner we gets out of this the better."
But this was not so easily done; the crowd had already interposed
between them and the door.
"Now stand back," Perkins said, "and let us out. We ain't no spies, and
we don't want to hurt any one. Some of you may know me: I am Perkins of
the Black Dog, over at Westminster, so you had best leave us alone."
The greater part of those present, however, had imbibed sufficient to
render them valorous, and a rush was made upon the party.
Their reception was a warm one; the five prize-fighters struck out right
and left, while Frank and his schoolfellows ably seconded them. A tall
red-haired fellow who had singled out Frank, was met by a blow which
knocked him off his feet, and he fell backward as if shot. Their
vigorous blows drove the leading assailants back, and in spite of their
numbers the crowd of angry men recoiled before their handful of
opponents.
"Come on," Perkins said, "make for the door; they are breaking up the
chairs, and we shall have it hot in a few minutes."
Keeping together, they fought their way, in spite of all opposition, to
the door, Perkins leading, while Bill Lowe brought up the rear. They
were soon in the open air.
"Now," Perkins exclaimed, "you hook it, gents, as fast as you can; me
and Bill will keep the door for a minute." The boys dashed off, and
after making at full speed into the Westminster Bridge Road, slackened
their pace, and walked quietly back to Dean's Yard. They were in high
glee over their adventure, which all agreed had been a splendid lark,
and was the more satisfactory as all had escaped without any mark which
would testify against them. It was still early, and they had for two
hours to walk the streets until the whistle of the fag at the window
told them that all were in bed and quiet, and they might safely make
their entry. This was effected without noise; the bolts were slipped
into their places again, and with their shoes in their hands, the party
went noiselessly up to their rooms.
[Illustration]