GNAWING OF THE RAT'S TOOTH.
"Hello, Bobbs," called the solitary cracksman. "Put your hear to the
chink and let's 'ave a palaver."
The "chink" was that hollow spot in the rear of the cell, where by
pressing his ear against the wall Floyd could hear communications from
Dobbs, inaudible to the rest of the prisoners.
Robert wondered not a little at the persistent friendliness of the
fellow. He felt conscious of lacking the touch of comradeship. He might
even be called ascetic, were not the stigma precluded by his passion for
music and his love of landscape. Long botanical tramps with his uncle
had given him an acute feeling for the moods of nature, and in his
violin playing a deep sensibility found outlet through the practiced and
sensitive fingertips. But in general he had little palate for the
bouquet and effervescence of life, and was credited, therefore, with
less readiness of sympathy than his cousin, who responded quickly to
all fleeting impressions of pleasure.
While Harry, as adjutant of his crack cadets, was seen prancing on
parade in all the bravery of gold lace, his sword hilt resting on his
saddle, his mustaches twisted to the curl of an ostrich feather, a
masterpiece of poise and splendor, Robert would be found in dun
civilian's garb, shoulder to shoulder with the multitude on the
sidewalk, studying the significance of the pageant. This strenuousness
acted as a bar to popularity. Harry could count twenty friends to
Robert's one. People called him by his given name at the second or third
meeting. Women, in particular, circled about him like moths about a
taper. But Floyd, who shunned no man's eye, sought no woman's. This may
have been why the one girl to whom he had given his heart believed his
nature to be of sterling gold.
There was much in the prison life to quicken the thoughts of so serious
an observer, but all his attempts to record the impressions had ended in
failure. He soon realized that no man can at once live and write. Our
deeper experiences need to be mellowed by distance, just as we must back
away to a certain focus before we can feel the sentiment of a painting.
There was nothing left but to bide his time as patiently as possible,
occasionally beguiling the long hours by conversation with Dobbs.
This scoundrel had an unctuous manner which was hard to resist. His
quaint, infectious chuckle and preeminence in crime made him a favorite
among the inmates of the ward--a popularity which he generously used to
secure for Robert a certain immunity from insult. The young man could
not help feeling grateful for this. Besides, the man's incurable asthma,
which he attributed himself to "hexposure to cold night blarsts in the
performance of perfessional duties," entitled him to sympathy. Indeed,
he was often removed to the hospital for days at a time. During these
intervals Robert remarked the cessation of a curious grating noise which
seemed to come from his neighbor's cell.
"Blood's thicker than water, Bobbs. You and Hi are Henglish, you know.
These 'ere bloomin' coves get red-'eaded over nothing. Don't catch me
mutineerin' and violatin' the rules. Ho, no."
This was true. So far as outward behavior went, Dobbs was an exemplary
prisoner.
"By the way, Dobbs, my name is Floyd," said Robert.
"Ho, you don't mind bein' called Bobbs, chummy. That's cute for Robert.
Hi found out your name. We hall know wot you're jugged for. It's harson,
eh?"
"Yes."
"'Ow did you set it?"
"I am as innocent of the charge as you are." Robert's tone was curt. He
felt vexed to be the subject of discussion among this crew.
"That's just wot I told the judge, chummy, w'en ee politely hasked me if
Hi 'ad anything to say. But it didn't work, chummy. Hi'm a-winkin' at
you, Bobbs."
The invisible wink probably expressed incredulity, but Robert did not
care to debate his own case with his neighbor.
"Hi knows it's a delicate matter, and some folks Hi wouldn't trust,
neither. But Dobbs is your friend, Bobbs, and ready to prove ee's true
blue. Do you know I like the sound o' them two names. Dobbs and Bobbs.
Suppose we go into business together.
"DOBBS AND BOBBS
"ROBS FOBS.
"'Ow's that for a partnership sign?"
Dobbs exploded in a paroxysm of laughter and coughing over his own
cleverness as a rhymester. The fit was continued so long that his
neighbors began to protest in their ungentle fashion.
"Say, Dobbs, get into your coffin, quick," cried one. The same whose
voice sounded familiar to Robert though he was unable to place it. It
was a thick, uncouth utterance, as though the speaker's natural brogue
were assisted by the presence of a ball of yarn.
"'Old your bloomin' breath for Longlegs," answered Dobbs.
The passage of the hated turnkey caused a diversion in his favor.
Longlegs was a tall man of remarkably bony strength. The convicts were
only collectively brave against him. When not gathered in packs they
avoided his stern visage as a lone wolf slinks away from the hunter. His
right name was Hawkins, but almost nobody within these precincts escaped
a sobriquet. Warden Tapp was "the Pelican," Turnkey Gradger was "Gimp"
and a particularly vile denizen went under the name of "Parson." Dobbs
explained his own escape quaintly.
"You see, chummy, Dobbs his a nickname halready. You can't forshorten it
no more."
The visitor who accompanied Hawkins shared the unpopularity of his
escort.
"Whoop, da, da, da!"
"He's a yellow aster."
"Lend me your monocle, Cholly, and don't be wude."
But the tall, blond-bearded man with the monocle sauntered leisurely
along, looking into every cell until he reached the end of the corridor.
Then he turned back and stopped before Dobbs, while Hawkins clanked his
keys beside him.
"If God writes a legible hand, that man's a villain," he quoted from the
old-time actor; "what name do you go by?"
"Bill Dobbs."
"Hand me out that pen and ink and I'll draw your picture."
"W'ere?"
"On your thumb nail. The right one. That's it."
It seemed scarcely half a minute before Hawkins was heard exclaiming:
"That's a stunning likeness."
"Take away this 'ere lookin'-glass o' mine, Longlegs, and bestow it on
the poor. Wot use 'ave Hi for it w'en Hi carry my hown himage on the
hend of my bloomin' thumb?"
"You've a face of great power and cunning," said the artist, "but
there's one thing you lack."
"Wot's that?"
"Reverence. Some day I'll use you for a mask of Iago that I've had in
mind."
"Thanks. Wot's your name, stranger?"
"Tristram March." It was our artist friend, rummaging for types in this
out-of-the-way corner.
"You've a sort of a soft lip about you and a delicate horgan of hodor.
But there's one thing you lack?"
"What?"
"Starch. Hi'm a-thinkin' Hi'll copy my make-up after you next time Hi
play 'Amlet to the queen's Ophelia."
Tristram's good-natured laugh was the last thing Robert heard as he
sauntered away.
A sculptor, friends called him if pressed for a definition. Yet in truth
he had never yet executed a figure of life size, being a modern instance
of talent without ambition, dispersing and dividing its strength. He
modeled, painted, rhymed, composed--a many-faceted reflector of
impressions; but everything he did was done by halves and the most
finished of his products were only brilliant sketches. His sister
Rosalie's single gift, besides her beauty (which, to be sure, entered
into it as a primary element), came to her less by nature than by ardent
aspiration. But critics had compared her Rosalind to a perfect rose,
blown into a bulb of glass; and she was still a patient learner,
standing tiptoe on the vestibule of her art, with an untold future
before her.
"'Ow did Hi begin?" said the cracksman, when the confusion had subsided.
Robert was again at the chink, like some penitent whispering through a
grating to his father confessor. "Hi never began. Hi was born wicked.
Wicked Willie they called me w'en Hi wasn't old enough to toddle halone.
And 'ere's 'ow Hi earned it, Bobbs."
"How?"
"You see, my mother, who was a hinnocent woman and a Christian, took me
out on 'er harms to see the lord mayor's procession, the lord mayor o'
Lunnon wot 'as all the wittles to eat, you know. And w'ile they was all
preoccupied admirin' 'is lordship's gold buttons, wot was Wicked Willie
a-doin' of but leanin' forward in 'is mamma's harms and pluckin' a
hear-ring w'ich ee liked, hout of a grand lady's hear. 'Ow!' says the
lady, w'en it 'urt; and Wicked Willie 'ad 'is 'ands slapped, w'ich Hi
say ee richly deserved, seein' as 'ow ee bungled the bloomin' job."
"From the cradle up you were a thief," said Robert, sadly.
"Ho, them bantam games don't count."
"When did you first begin professionally?"
"Do you count a gunniff a perfessional in this 'ere country?"
"A gunniff? What's that?"
"Don't you know wot a gunniff is, Bobbs? W'y. Hi'm amazed. Hi'll 'ave to
present chummy with a Century dictionary in sixteen volumes w'ich we'll
be hable to do w'en we get out of 'ere, w'ich won't be long. Hi'm
a-winkin.'"
All the time that he spoke Robert heard a low scraping noise, softer
than the rasping he had noticed in the evenings. Apparently it was close
to his ear.
"A gunniff is a juvenile institution peculiar to our bloomin' hold
Hengland."
"Leave out some of your bloomings, won't you, especially about England."
"W'y not, chummy? Ain't it in the dic? Is it a wulgar word?"
Robert did not reply, but he thought how many words as sacred and
beautiful as this have been profaned to foul uses or cheapened to the
vapidity of a Frenchman's "Mon Dieu."
"Hi beg your bloomin' pardon, Bobbs. If it's wulgar, Hi drop it, and
with your leave Hi'll resume my hinterrupted hautobiography."
"You call yourself a gunniff?"
"Gunniff in general, but more particularly Hi was a snatcher, w'ich
takes precedence of the mob by reason of the difficulty of 'is duties,
of the taker as well as of the blokie and the moke."
"What's the English for blokie and moke?"
"The Henglish? W'y, Hi'm amazed. Don't tell me you bilked 'em all so
'andily on settin' that 'ouse afire. Hi won't believe it of a chummy as
hasks me wot a blokie and a moke is."
"I never heard the words before."
"W'y, the mokes do the scrappin' wen the gent 'as been relieved of 'is
pocketbook, w'ich is too heavy for 'im to carry, by the willin' and
accommodatin' little snatcher, w'ich was me."
"You began as a pickpocket?"
"Pickpocket? Wot does that mean? Hi never 'eard that word. We were
hexpress boys. Is pickpocket the bloomin' Americanese for that? Hi'm
a-winkin' at you, Bobbs."
This conclusion was invariably the prelude to a burst of laughter, which
was so droll and self-satisfied that it put Robert in good humor in
spite of everything.
"Four of us, Bobbs, and that makes a mob. First we picked out our gent,
always a hold gent or a bloomin' swell, a-standin' in the crowd. Four of
us playin', rompin', friskin', about 'im, as hinnocent little fellows
will, bless 'em all, w'en, hall of a sudden, one bumps up against the
bloomin' gent's pocket not with 'is 'ands, you know? The bloomin' gent
might fancy ee was a hobject of hinterest to us if ee used 'is 'ands,
w'ich ee hisn't, ho, no! That's the blokie wot does the bumpin'. Ee
wears a thin shirt and a huncommonly hintelligent spine w'ich can feel a
'ard lump in a gent's pocket surprisin'."
"The blokie ascertains where his purse is located?"
"And the snatcher, w'ich was Wicked Willie, relieves 'im of it gently."
"How?"
"'Ow? By makin' a hopportunity. There's nothin' in this world like
makin' a hopportunity for yourself, Bobbs. And if two little fellers get
a-scrappin' and jostle a hold gent hover, and a crowd comes and the hold
gent gets hinterested in separatin' the little fellers, and givin' them
a moral lecture, 'ow's ee a-goin' to know w'ere 'is valuables went,
unless ee reaches to present 'em with a 'alf-crown apiece, w'ich he
don't."
"Is that common in London?"
"Run into the ground, Bobbs, completely wulgarized. No self-respectin'
gent would bring up 'is bantams in that line nowadays. But hafterward,
w'en Hi was alightin' my 'Avana cigars with the old lady's ten-pun
notes, Hi always looked back on my rompin's with the mob as the
beginnin's, 'umble but 'onorable, of a great and useful career."
During the talk it had seemed to Robert that the cracksman's voice was
coming nearer.
"What's making that noise, Dobbs?"
"Wot noise, chummy?"
"That little scraping."
"You can 'ear it?"
"It's close to the chink."
"That's a rat's tooth gnawin'. Hi'm a-winkin' at you, Bobbs."
"Are you cutting into the wall?"
"Look 'ere, chummy. Dobbs 'as given hall the confidence so far, and
Bobbs 'as given none. 'Ow is Dobbs to know Bobbs is true blue?"
This was a puzzler. Robert did not feel prepared to abet prison-breach
yet, if that was the cracksman's aim, though his own feeling toward the
authorities was anything but submissive.
"Hi'm 'urt, Bobbs. Hi've a sensitive nature and a large bump of
curiosity, both of w'ich is offended by my chummy's lack of confidence
in me. But Hi'll prove Hi'm true blue, wotever Bobbs says. Chummies is
chummies and bobbies is bobbies, there's the distinction Hi draw. Do you
'ear the tooth?"
The gnawing sound became louder at Robert's ear.
"That's a hinstrument Hi hown w'ich Hi wouldn't show to the Pelican
'imself, but Bobbs shall see it and feel it if he likes."
"Is it a file?"
"A wery little file."
"How did you smuggle it in?"
"Just in a little plug o' smoke, Bobbs, w'ich a friend sent me for my
'ealth, w'ich is poor, as my bloomin' associates around me 'ere
frequently observe. Nobody'd look for a little rat's tooth laid
crossways in a little plug o' smoke, with the 'andle alongside of it,
would they, Bobbs?"
"Are you sawing the bars?"
"Ham I? It's all done."
"You've sawed them through?"
"And poor little hinnocent Bobbs never 'eard me."
Dobbs went off in a peal of laughter.
"But how do you hide the cuts in the bars when any one comes?"
"Wot'll stop a leak in a gas-pipe? Soap. Wot'll 'ide a slice in a sawed
bar? Gum."
"Gum?"
"You see, chummy, the wentilation is poor in 'ere. There's a green
mildew on my floor and the bloomin' spiders is too silent to be sociable
company. But you never 'eard me 'ollerin', Bobbs."
Indeed, he always lay low during the outbreaks. His methods were more
secretive. He was the villain by trade.
"But my sympathy is with the bloomin' mutineers hall the time. So I pick
away with my rat's tooth w'en the others is 'ollerin' and even green
little hinnocent Bobbs cawn't 'ear me."
The rasping sound illustrated his meaning.
"Ee won't trust me, but Hi trust 'im. We'll see who can keep a secret,
and who leaks."
There was a sound as if something had been slid out of the wall on the
other side and of a sudden Dobbs' whisper became startlingly distinct.
"Honly a few minutes, Bobbs. Hi 'old the plaster in my pockets, and the
rat's tooth in my fingers w'ile Hi gnaw and gnaw." The tool began
working rapidly and dexterously. In a short time Dobbs spoke again:
"Tap 'em till you feel it 'ollow, and shove on the 'ollow spot."
Robert tapped the wall.
"Shove 'arder."
Robert gave a stiff push with his elbow. The brick was loosened and gave
way.
"Now, catch it, chummy."
Slowly the Englishman shoved the brick toward Robert, till it protruded
from his side of the cell. It would have fallen on the bed if Robert had
not caught it. After the brick came a hand and the striped sleeve of a
convict's arm. It was a characteristic hand, broad, with spatulate
fingernails and a black star on the fleshy ball between forefinger and
thumb. But the cracksman must have fallen out with his own likeness as
Iago, for his thumb-nail was clean as a whistle. Between the fingers lay
a tiny file of rarest workmanship. Its teeth were set almost as sharply
as those of a saw, and the steel was tempered to the hardness of
adamant.
"'Ow's that for a tooth, Bobbs?"
Floyd took it for a moment, but a step was heard coming along the
corridor. It was Longlegs.
"Quick, Bobbs, put back the brick."
Dobbs' voice grew hoarse with excitement. Robert replaced the block on
his side, and heard the convict doing the same on the other. As Longlegs
passed, Dobbs fell into a tremendous spasm of coughing. The turnkey
hastened to the end of the corridor, jangling his keys as if deriding
the derision with which he was greeted all the way. He had run his
gantlet too often to heed the jeers and grimaces he met. There was a
sound as if he were unlocking the farther door and then relocking it
from the outside.
"That's a very useful cough," whispered Dobbs to Floyd. It had ceased
all of a sudden. "It drives undesirable acquaintances about their
business and it procures me admission to the 'ospital, w'ich is a
sociable and communicative quarter. Hi'm a-winkin'."
Robert was beginning to understand things. The cracksman was
malingering. It was through the hospital that he communicated with his
friends outside.
"And Hi 'ope that Dobbs 'as given ample proof to Bobbs that ee his
deservin' of 'is confidence."
Robert looked down and started at the temptation before him. The file
lay in his hand.