"Robin," said old Mrs Willis from her bed, in the wheeziest of voices.
"Who's Robin, granny?" demanded young Slidder, in some surprise, looking
over his shoulder as he stooped at the fire to stir a pan of gruel.
"You are Robin," returned the old lady following up the remark with a
feeble sneeze. "I can't stand Slidder. It is such an ugly name.
Besides, you ought to have a Christian name, child. Don't you like
Robin?"
The boy chuckled a little as he stirred the gruel.
"Vell, I ain't had it long enough to 'ave made up my mind on the p'int,
but you may call me wot you please, granny, s'long as you don't swear.
I'll answer to Robin, or Bobin, or Dobin, or Nobin, or Flogin--no, by
the way, I won't answer to Flogin. I don't like that. But why call me
Robin?"
"Ah!" sighed the old woman, "because I once had a dear little son so
named. He died when he was about your age, and your kindly ways are so
like his that--"
"Hallo, granny!" interrupted Slidder, standing up with a look of intense
surprise, "are you took bad?"
"No. Why?"
"'Cause you said suthin' about _my ways_ that looks suspicious."
"Did I, Robin? I didn't mean to. But as I was saying, I'd like to call
you Robin because it reminds me of my little darling who is now in
heaven. Ah! Robin was so gentle, and loving, and tender, and true, and
kind. He _was_ a good boy!"
A wheezing, which culminated in another feeble sneeze, here silenced the
poor old thing.
For some minutes after that Slidder devoted himself to vigorous stirring
of the gruel, and to repressed laughter, which latter made him very red
in the face, and caused his shoulders to heave convulsively. At last he
sought relief in occasional mutterings.
"On'y think!" he said, quoting Mrs Willis's words, in a scarcely
audible whisper, "`so gentle, an' lovin', an' tender, an' true, an'
kind'--an' sitch a good boy too--an' _my_ kindly ways is like _his_, are
they? Well, well, Mrs W, it's quite clear that a loo-natic asylum must
be your native 'ome arter this."
"What are you muttering about, Robin?"
"Nuffin' partikler, granny. On'y suthin' about your futur' prospec's.
The gruel's ready, I think. Will you 'ave it now, or vait till you get
it?"
"There--even in your little touches of humour you're so like him!" said
the old woman, with a mingled smile and sneeze, as she slowly rose to a
sitting posture, making a cone of the bedclothes with her knees, on
which she laid her thin hands.
"Come now, old 'ooman," said Slidder seriously, "if you go on jokin'
like that you'll make me larf and spill your gruel--p'raps let it fall
bash on the floor. There! Don't let it tumble off your knees, now; I'd
adwise you to lower 'em for the time bein'. Here's the spoon; it ain't
as bright as I could wish, but you can't expect much of pewter; an' the
napkin--that's your sort; an' the bit of bread--which it isn't too much
for a 'ealthy happetite. Now then, granny, go in and win!"
"_So_ like," murmured the old woman, as she gazed in Slidder's face.
"And it is so good of you to give up your play and come to look after a
helpless old creature like me."
"Yes, it _is_ wery good of me," assented the boy, with an air of
profound gravity; "I was used to sleep under a damp archway or in a wet
cask, _now_ I slumbers in a 'ouse by a fire, under a blankit. Vunce on
a time I got wittles any'ow--sometimes didn't get 'em at all; _now_ I
'ave 'em riglar, as well as good, an' 'ot. In wot poets call `the days
gone by'--an' nights too, let me tell you--I wos kicked an' cuffed by
everybody, an' 'unted to death by bobbies. _Now_ I'm--let alone!
'Eavenly condition--let _alone_! sometimes even complimented with such
pleasant greetings as `Go it, Ginger!' or `Does your mother know you're
out?' Oh yes, granny! I made great sacrifices, I did, w'en I come 'ere
to look arter _you_!"
Mrs Willis smiled, sneezed, and began her gruel. Slidder, who looked
at her with deep interest, was called away by a knock at the door.
Opening it he beheld a tall footman, with a parcel in his hand.
"Does a Mrs Willis live here?" he asked.
"No," replied Slidder; "a Mrs Willis don't live here, but _the_ Mrs
Willis--the on'y one vurth speakin' of--does."
"Ah!" replied the man, with a smile--for he was an amiable footman--"and
I suppose you are young Slidder?"
"I am _Mister_ Slidder, sir! And I would 'ave you remember," said the
urchin, with dignity, "that every Englishman's 'ouse is his castle, and
that neither imperence nor flunkies 'as a right to enter."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the man, with affected surprise, "then I'm afraid
this castle can't be a strong one, or it ain't well guarded, for
`Imperence' got into it somehow when _you_ entered."
"Good, good!" returned the boy, with the air of a connoisseur; "that's
worthy of the East End. You should 'ave bin one of us.--Now then, old
six-foot! wot's your business?"
"To deliver this parcel."
"'And it over, then."
"But I am also to see Mrs Willis, and ask how she is."
"Walk in, then, an' wipe your feet. We ain't got a door-mat to-day.
It's a-comin', like Christmas; but you may use the boards in the
meantime."
The footman turned out to be a pleasant, gossipy man, and soon won the
hearts of old Mrs Willis and her young guardian. He had been sent, he
said, by a Dr McTougall with a parcel containing wine, tea, sugar,
rice, and a few other articles of food, and with a message that the
doctor would call and see Mrs Willis that afternoon.
"Deary me, that's very kind," said the old woman; "but I wonder why he
sent such things to me, and who told him I was in want of 'em?"
"It was a young gentleman who rescued most of the doctor's family from a
fire last night. His name, I believe, is Mellon--"
"Wot! Doctor John Mellon?" exclaimed Slidder, with widening eyes.
"Whether he's John or doctor I cannot tell. All I know is that he's
_Mister_ Mellon, and he's bin rather knocked up by--But, bless me, I
forgot: I was to say nothing about the--the fire till Dr McTougall had
seen you. How stoopid of me; but things _will_ slip out!"
He stopped abruptly, and placed his brown paper parcel on the bed.
"Now, I say, look here, Mister Six-foot or wotever's your name," said
Slidder, with intense eagerness. "It's of no use your tyin' up the
mouth o' the bag now. The cat's got out an' can't be got in again by no
manner o' means. Just make a clean breast of it, an' tell it all out
like a man,--there's a good feller! If you don't, I'll tell Dr
McTougall that you gave me an' the old lady a full, true, an' partikler
account o' the whole affair, from the fust bustin' out o' the flames,
an' the calling o' the _ingines_, to the last crash o' the fallin' roof,
and the roastin' alive of the 'ousehold cat. I will, as sure as you're
a six-foot flunkey!"
Thus adjured and threatened, the gossipy footman made a clean breast of
it. He told them how that I had acted like a hero at the fire, and
then, after giving, in minute detail, an account of all that the reader
already knows, he went on to say that the whole family, except Dr
McTougall, was laid up with colds; that the governess was in a high
fever; that the maid-servants, having been rescued on the shoulders of
firemen from the attics, were completely broken down in their nerves;
and that I had received an injury to my right leg, which, although I had
said nothing about it on the night of the fire, had become so much worse
in the morning that I could scarcely walk across the room. In these
circumstances, he added, Dr McTougall had agreed to visit my poor
people for me until I should recover.
"You see," continued the footman, "I only heard a little of their
conversation. Dr McTougall was saying when I come into the room:
`Well, Mr Mellon,' he said, `you must of necessity remain where you
are, and you could not, let me tell you, be in better quarters. I will
look after your patients till you are able to go about again--which
won't be long, I hope--and I'll make a particular note of your old
woman, and send her some wine and things immediately.' I suppose he
meant you, ma'am," added the footman, "but having to leave the room
again owing to some of the children howling for jam and pudding, I heard
no more."
Having thus delivered himself of his tale and parcel, the tall footman
took his leave with many expressions of good-will.
"Now, granny," remarked young Slidder, as he untied the parcel, and
spread its contents on the small deal table, "I've got a wague suspicion
that the 'ouse w'ich 'as gone to hashes is the wery 'ouse in w'ich Dr
Mellon put his little dog last night. 'Cause why? Ain't it the same
identical street, an' the same side o' the street, and about the same
part o' the street? An' didn't both him and me forgit to ask the name
o' the people o' the 'ouse, or to look at the number--so took up was we
with partin' from Punch? Wot more nat'ral than for him to go round on
'is way back to look at the 'ouse--supposin' he was too late to call?
Then, didn't that six-footer say a terrier dog _was_ reskooed from the
lower premises? To be sure there's many a terrier dog in London, but
then didn't he likewise say that the gov'ness o' the family is a pretty
gal? Wot more likely than that she's _my_ young lady? All that, you
see, granny, is what the magistrates would call presumptuous evidence.
But I'll go and inquire for myself this wery evenin' w'en you're all
settled an comf'rable, an' w'en I've got Mrs Jones to look arter you."
That evening, accordingly, when Robin Slidder--as I shall now call him--
was away making his inquiries, Dr McTougall called on Mrs Willis. She
was very weak and low at the time. The memory of her lost Edie had been
heavy upon her, and she felt strangely disinclined to talk. The kindly
doctor did not disturb her more than was sufficient to fully investigate
her case.
When about to depart he took Mrs Jones into the passage.
"Now, my good woman," he said, "I hope you will see the instructions you
heard me give to Mrs Willis carried out. She is very low, but with
good food and careful nursing may do well. Can you give her much of
your time?"
"La, sir! yes. I'm a lone woman, sir, with nothin' to do but take care
of myself; an' I'm that fond of Mrs Willis--she's like my own mother."
"Very good. And what of this boy who has come to live with her? D'you
think he is steady--to be depended on?"
"Indeed I do, sir!" replied Mrs Jones, with much earnestness. "Though
he did come from nowheres in partiklar, an' don't b'long to nobody, he's
a good boy, is little Slidder, and a better nurse you'll not find in all
the hospitals."
"I wish I had found him at home. Will you give him this card, and tell
him to call on me to-morrow morning between eight and nine? Let him ask
particularly for me--Dr McTougall. I'm not in my own house, but in a
friend's at present; I was burnt out of my house last night."
"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Mrs Jones with a shocked expression.
"Yes; accidents will happen, you know, to the most careful among us,
Mrs Jones," said the little doctor, with a smile, as he drew on his
gloves. "Good evening. Take care of your patient now; I'm much
interested in her case--because of the young doctor who visits her
sometimes."
"Dr Mellon?" exclaimed the woman.
"Yes. You know him?"
"Know him! I should think I do! He has great consideration for the
poor. Ah! he _is_ a gentleman, is Mr Mellon!"
"He is more than a gentleman, Mrs Jones," said the little doctor with a
kindly nod, as he turned and hurried away.
It may perhaps seem to savour of vanity and egotism my recording this
conversation, but I do it chiefly for the purpose of showing how much of
hearty gratitude there is for mere trifles among the poor, for the woman
who was thus complimentary to me never received a farthing of money from
my hands, and I am not aware of having ever taken any notice of her,
except now and then wishing her a respectful good-evening, and making a
few inquiries as to her health.
That night Dr McTougall came to me, on returning from his rounds, to
report upon my district. I was in bed at the time, and suffering
considerable pain from my bruised and swollen limb. Dumps was lying at
my feet--dried, refreshed, and none the worse for his adventures. I may
mention that I occupied a comfortable room in the house of the "City
man," who insisted on my staying with him until I should be quite able
to walk to my lodgings. As Dr McTougall had taken my district, a brief
note to Mrs Miff, my landlady, relieved my mind of all anxieties,
professional and domestic, so that my doggie and I could enjoy ourselves
as well as the swollen leg would permit.
"My dear young friend," said the little doctor, as he entered, "your
patients are all going on admirably, and as I mean to send my assistant
to them regularly, you may make your mind quite easy. I've seen your
old woman too, and she is charming. I don't wonder you lost your heart
to her. Your young _protege_, however, was absent--the scamp!--but he
had provided a good nurse to take his place in the person of Mrs
Jones."
"I know her--well," said I; "she is a capital nurse. Little Slidder
has, I am told, been here in your absence, but unfortunately the maid
who opened the door to him would not let him see me, as I happened to be
asleep at the time. However, he'll be sure to call again. But you have
not told me yet how Miss Blythe is."
"Well, I've not had time to tell you," replied the doctor, with a smile.
"I'm sorry to say she is rather feverish; the excitement and exposure
to the night air were a severe trial to her, for although she is
naturally strong, it is not long since she recovered from a severe
illness. Nothing, however, surprises me so much as the way in which my
dear wife has come through it all. It seems to have given her quite a
turn in the right direction. Why, she used to be as timid as a mouse!
Now she scoffs at burglars. After what occurred last night she says she
will fear nothing under the sun. Isn't it odd? As for the children,
I'm afraid the event has roused all that is wild and savage in their
natures! They were kicking up a horrible shindy when I passed the
dining-room--the hospital, as Dobson calls it--so I opened the door and
peeped in. There they were, all standing up on their beds, shouting
`Fire! fire! p'leece! p'leece!--engines! escapes! Come qui-i-i-ck!'
"`Silence!' I shouted.
"`Oh, papa!' they screamed, in delight, `what _do_ you think we've had
for supper?'
"`Well, what?'
"`Pudding and jam-pudding and jam--nearly _all_ jam!'
"Then they burst again into a chorus of yells for engines and
fire-escapes, while little Dolly's voice rang high above the rest
`Pudding and dam!--_all_ dam!--p'leece! p'leece! fire and feeves!' as I
shut the door.
"But now, a word in your ear before I leave you for the night. Perhaps
it may not surprise you to be told that I have an extensive practice.
After getting into a new house, which I must do immediately, I shall
want an assistant, who may in course of time, perhaps, become a partner.
D'you understand? Are you open to a proposal?"
"My dear sir," said I, "your kindness is very great, but you know that I
am not yet--"
"Yes, yes, I know all about that. I merely wish to inject an idea into
your brain, and leave it there to fructify. Go to sleep now, my dear
young fellow, and let me wish you agreeable dreams."
With a warm squeeze of the hand, and a pleasant nod, my new friend said
good-night, and left me to my meditations.