It was a considerable time after the fire before my leg permitted me to
resume my studies and my duties among the poor. Meanwhile I had become
a regularly-established inmate of Mr Dobson's house, and was
half-jocularly styled "Dr McTougall's assistant."
I confess that I had some hesitation at first in accepting such generous
hospitality, but, feeling that I could not help myself till my leg
should recover, I became reconciled to it. Then, as time advanced,
the doctor--who was an experimental chemist, as well as a
Jack-of-all-trades--found me so useful to him in his laboratory, that I
felt I was really earning my board and lodging. Meanwhile Lilly Blythe
had been sent to visit an aunt of Dr McTougall's in Kent for the
benefit of her health.
This was well. I felt it to be so. I knew that her presence would have
a disturbing influence on my studies, which were by that time nearly
completed. I felt, also, that it was madness in me to fall in love with
a girl whom I could not hope to marry for years, even if she were
willing to have me at all, which I very much doubted.
I therefore resolved to put the subject away from me, and devote myself
heartily to my profession, in the spirit of that Word which tells us
that whatsoever our hands find to do we should do it with our might.
Success attended my efforts. I passed all my examinations with credit,
and became not only a fixture in the doctor's family, but as he
earnestly assured me, a very great help to him.
Of course I did not mention the state of my feelings towards Lilly
Blythe to any one--not being in the habit of having confidants--except
indeed, to Dumps. In the snug little room just over the front door,
which had been given to me as a study, I was wont to pour out many of my
secret thoughts to my doggie, as he sat before me with cocked ears and
demonstrative tail.
"You've been the making of me, Dumps," said I, one evening, not long
after I had reached the first round of the ladder of my profession. "It
was you who introduced me to Lilly Blythe, and through her to Dr
McTougall, and you may be sure I shall never forget that! Nay, you must
not be too demonstrative. When your mistress left you under my care she
said, half-jocularly, no doubt that I was not to steal your heart from
her. Wasn't that absurd, eh? As if any heart could be stolen from
_her_! Of course I cannot regain your heart, Dumps, and I will not even
attempt it--`Honour bright,' as Robin Slidder says. By the way, that
reminds me that I promised to go down to see old Mrs Willis this very
night, so I'll leave you to the tender mercies of the little
McTougalls."
As I walked down the Strand my last remark to Dumps recurred to me, and
I could not help smiling as I thought of the "tender mercies" to which I
had referred. The reader already knows that the juvenile McTougalls
were somewhat bloodthirsty in their notions of play. When Dumps was
introduced to their nursery--by that time transferred from Dobson's
dining-room to an upper floor--they at once adopted him with open arms.
Dumps seemed to be willing, and, fortunately, turned out to be a dog of
exceptionally good-nature. He was also tough. No amount of squeezing,
bruising, pulling of the ears or tail, or falling upon him, either
accidentally or on purpose, could induce him to bite. He did, indeed,
yell hideously at times, when much hurt, and he snarled, barked, yelped,
growled, and showed his teeth continually, but it was all in play, for
he was dearly fond of romps.
Fortunately, the tall nurse had been born without nerves. She was wont
to sit serene in a corner, darning innumerable socks, while a tornado
was going on around her. Dumps became a sort of continual sacrifice.
On all occasions when a criminal was to be decapitated, a burglar
hanged, or a martyr burned, Dumps was the victim; and many a time was he
rescued from impending and real death by the watchful nurse, who was too
well aware of the innocent ignorance of her ferocious charges to leave
Dumps entirely to their tender mercies.
On reaching Mrs Willis's little dwelling, I found young Slidder
officiating at the tea-table. I could not resist watching him a moment
through a crack in the door before entering.
"Now then," said he, "'ere you are! Set to work, old Sneezer, with a
will!"
The boy had got into a facetious way of calling Mrs Willis by any term
of endearment that suggested itself at the moment, which would have been
highly improper and disrespectful if it had not been the outflow of pure
affection.
The crack in the door was not large enough to permit of my seeing Mrs
Willis herself as she sat in her accustomed window with the
spout-and-chimney-pot view. I could only see the withered old hand held
tremblingly out for the smoking cup of tea, which the boy handed to her
with a benignant smile, and I could hear the soft voice say--"Thank you,
Robin--dear boy--so like!"
"I tell you what it is, granny," returned Slidder, with a frown, "I'll
give you up an' 'and you over to the p'leece if you go on comparin' me
to other people in that way.--Now, then, 'ave some muffins. They're all
'ot and soaked in butter, old Gummy, just the wery thing for your teeth.
Fire away, now! Wot's the use o' me an' Dr McTougall fetchin' you
nice things if you won't eat 'em?"
"But I _will_ eat 'em, Robin, thankfully."
"That ain't the way, old 'ooman," returned the boy, helping himself
largely to the viands which he so freely dispensed; "it's not
thankfully, but heartily, you ought to eat 'em."
"Both, Robin, both."
"Not at all, granny. We asked a blessin' fust, now, didn't we? Vell,
then, wot we've to do next is to go in and win heartily. Arter that
it's time enough to be thankful."
"What a boy it is!" responded Mrs Willis.
I saw the withered old hand disappear with a muffin in it in the
direction of the old mouth, and at this point I entered.
"The wery man I wanted to see," exclaimed Slidder, jumping up with what
I thought unusual animation, even for him.
"Come along, doctor, just in time for grub. Mrs W hain't eat up all
the muffins yet. Fresh cup an' saucer; clean plate; ditto knife; no
need for a fork; now then, sit down."
Accepting this hearty invitation, I was soon busy with a muffin, while
Mrs Willis gave a slow, elaborate, and graphic account of the sayings
and doings of Master Slidder, which account, I need hardly say, was much
in his favour, and I am bound to add that he listened to it with pleased
solemnity.
"Now then, old flatterer, w'en you've quite done, p'raps you'll tell the
doctor that I wants a veek's leave of absence, an' then, p'raps you'll
listen to what him an' me's got to say on that p'int. Just keep a
stuffin' of yourself with muffins, an' don't speak."
The old lady nodded pleasantly, and began to eat with apparently renewed
appetite, while I turned in some surprise.
"A week's leave of absence?" said I.
"Just so--a veek's leave of absence--furlow if you prefers to call it
so. The truth is, I wants a 'oliday wery bad. Granny says so, an' I
thinks she's right. D'you think my constitootion's made o' brass, or
cast-iron, or bell-metal, that I should be able to york on an' on for
ever, black, black, blackin' boots an' shoes, without a 'oliday? W'y,
lawyers, merchants, bankers--even doctors--needs a 'oliday now an' then;
'ow much more shoeblacks!"
"Well," said I, with a laugh, "there is no reason why shoeblacks should
not require and desire a holiday as much as other people, only it's
unusual--because they cannot afford it, I suppose."
"Ah! `that's just w'ere the shoe pinches'--as a old gen'leman shouted to
me t'other day, with a whack of his umbreller, w'en I scrubbed 'is corns
too hard. `Right you are, old stumps,' says I, `but you'll have to pay
tuppence farden hextra for that there whack, or be took up for assault
an' battery.' D'you know that gen'leman larfed, he did, like a 'iaena,
an' paid the tuppence down like a man. I let 'im off the farden in
consideration that he 'adn't got one, an' I had no change.--Vell, to
return to the p'int--vich was wot the old toper remarked to his wife
every night--I've bin savin' up of late."
"Saving up, have you?"
"Yes, them penny banks 'as done it. W'y, it ain't a wirtue to be savin'
now-a-days, or good, or that sort o' thing. What between city
missionaries, an' Sunday-schools, an' penny banks, an cheap wittles, and
grannies like this here old sneezer, it's hardly possible for a young
feller to go wrong, even if he was to try. Yes, I've bin an' saved
enough to give me a veek's 'oliday, so I'm goin' to 'ave my 'oliday in
the north. My 'ealth requires it."
Saying this, young Slidder began to eat another muffin with a degree of
zest that seemed to give the lie direct to his assertion, so that I
could not refrain from observing that he did not seem to be particularly
ill.
"Ain't I though?" he remarked, elongating his round rosy face as much as
possible. "That's 'cause you judge too much by appearances. It ain't
my body that's wrong--it's my spirit. That's wot's the matter with
_me_. If you only saw the inside o' my mind you'd be astonished."
"I thoroughly believe you," said I, laughing. "And do you really advise
him to go, granny?"
"Yes, my dear, I do," replied Mrs Willis, in her sweet, though feeble
tones. "You've no idea how he's been slaving and working about me. I
have strongly advised him to go, and, you know, good Mrs Jones will
take his place. She's as kind to me as a daughter."
The mention of the word _daughter_ set the poor creature meditating on
her great loss. She sighed deeply, and turned her poor old eyes on me
with a yearning, inquiring look. I was accustomed to the look by this
time, and having no good news to give her, had latterly got into a way
of taking no notice of it. That night, however, my heart felt so sore
for her that I could not refrain from speaking.
"Ah! dear granny," said I, laying my hand gently on her wrist, "would
that I had any news to give you, but I have none--at least not at
present. But you must not despair. I have failed up to this time, it
is true, although my inquiries have been frequent, and carefully
conducted; but you know, such a search takes a long time, and--and
London is a large place."
The unfinished muffin dropped from the old woman's hand, and she turned
with a deep sigh to the window, where the blank prospect was a not inapt
reflection of her own blank despair.
"Never more!" she said, "never more!"
"Hope thou in God, for thou shalt yet praise Him, who is the health of
thy countenance, and thy God," was all that I could say in reply. Then
I turned to the boy, who sat with his eyes cast down as if in deep
thought, and engaged him in conversation on other subjects, by way of
diverting the old woman's mind from the painful theme.
When I rose to go, Slidder said he would call Mrs Jones to mount guard,
and give me a convoy home.
No sooner were we in the street than he seized my hand, and, in a voice
of unusual earnestness, said--
"I've got on 'er tracks!"
"Whose tracks? What do you mean?"
"On Edie's, to be sure--Edie Willis."
Talking eagerly and fast, as we walked along, little Slidder told me how
he had first been put on the scent by his old friend and fellow-waif,
the Slogger. That juvenile burglar, chancing to meet with Slidder,
entertained him with a relation of some of his adventures. Among
others, he mentioned having, many months before, been out one afternoon
with a certain Mr Brassey, rambling about the streets with an eye to
any chance business that might turn up, when they observed a young and
very pretty girl looking in at various shop windows. She was obviously
a lady, but her dress showed that she was very poor. Her manner and
colour seemed to imply that she was fresh from the country. The two
thieves at once resolved to fleece her. Brassey advised the Slogger "to
come the soft dodge over her," and entice her, if possible, into a
neighbouring court. The Slogger, agreeing, immediately ran and placed
himself on a doorstep which the girl was about to pass. Then he covered
his face with his hands, and began to groan dismally, while Mr Brassey,
with native politeness, retired from the scene. The girl, having an
unsuspicious nature, and a tender heart, believed the tale of woe which
the boy unfolded, and went with him to see "his poor mother," who had
just fallen down in a fit, and was dying at that moment for want of
physic and some one to attend to her. She suggested, indeed, that the
Slogger should run to the nearest chemist, but the Slogger said it would
be of no use, and might be too late. Would she just run round an' see
her? The girl acted on the spur of the moment. In her exuberant
sympathy she hurried down an alley, round a corner, under an archway,
and walked straight into the lion's den!
There Mr Brassey, the lion, promptly introduced himself, and requested
the loan of her purse and watch! The poor girl at once understood her
position, and turned to fly, but a powerful hand on her arm prevented
her. Then she tried to shriek, but a powerful hand on her mouth
prevented that also. Then she fainted. Not wishing to be found in an
awkward position, Mr Brassey and the Slogger searched her pockets
hastily, and, finding nothing therein, retired precipitately from the
scene, taking her little dog with them. As they did so the young girl
recovered, sprang wildly up, and rushing back through the court and
alley, dashed into the main thoroughfare. The two thieves saw her
attempt to cross, saw a cab-horse knock her down, saw a crowd rush to
the spot and then saw no more, owing to pressing engagements requiring
their immediate presence elsewhere.
"There--that's wot the Slogger told me," said little Slidder, with
flushed cheeks and excited looks, "an' I made him give me an exact
description o' the gal, which was a facsimilar o' the pictur' painted o'
Miss Edie Willis by her own grandmother--as like as two black cats."
"This is interesting, _very_ interesting, my boy," said I, stopping and
looking at the pavement; "but I fear that it leaves us no clew with
which to prosecute the search."
"Of course it don't," rejoined Robin, with one of his knowing looks;
"but do you think I'd go an aggrawate myself about the thing if I 'adn't
more to say than that?"
"Well, what more have you to say?"
"Just this, that ever since my talk wi' the Slogger I've bin making wery
partikler inquiries at all the chemists and hospitals round about where
he said the accident happened, an' I've diskivered one hospital where I
'appens to know the porter, an' I got him to inwestigate, an' he found
there was a case of a young gal run over on the wery day this happened.
She got feverish, he says, an' didn't know what she was sayin' for
months, an' nobody come to inquire arter her, an when she began to git
well she sent to Vitechapel to inquire for 'er grandmother, but 'er
grandmother was gone, nobody knowed where. Then the young gal got wuss,
then she got better, and then she left, sayin' she'd go back to 'er old
'ome in York, for she was sure the old lady must have returned there.
So _that's_ the reason w'y I'm goin' to recruit my 'ealth in the north,
d'ye see? But before I go wouldn't it be better that you should make
some inwestigations at the hospital?"
I heartily agreed to this, and went without delay to the hospital,
where, however, no new light was thrown on the subject. On the
contrary, I found, what Slidder had neglected to ascertain, that the
name of the girl in question was _not_ Edie Willis, but Eva Bright, a
circumstance which troubled me much, and inclined me to believe that we
had got on a false scent; but when I reflected on the other
circumstances of the case I still felt hopeful. The day of Edie's
disappearance tallied exactly with the date of the robbing of the girl
by Brassey and the Slogger. Her personal appearance, too, as described
by the Slogger, corresponded exactly with the description given of her
granddaughter by Mrs Willis; and, above all, the sending of a messenger
from the hospital by the girl to inquire for her "grandmother, Mrs
Willis," were proofs too strong to be set aside by the mystery of the
name.
In these circumstances I also resolved to take a holiday, and join Robin
Slidder in his trip to York.