Edward Frog, bird-fancier, pugilist, etcetera, (and the etcetera
represents an unknown quantity), has changed somewhat like the rest, for
a few years have thinned the short-cropped though once curly locks above
his knotted forehead, besides sprinkling them with grey. But in other
respects he has not fallen off--nay he has rather improved, owing to the
peculiar system of diet and discipline and regularity of life to which,
during these years, he has been subjected.
When Ned returned from what we may style his outing, he went straight to
the old court with something like a feeling of anxiety in his heart, but
found the old home deserted and the old door, which still bore deep
marks of his knuckle, on the upper panels and his boots on the lower,
was padlocked. He inquired for Mrs Frog, but was told she had left the
place long ago,--and no one knew where she had gone.
With a heavy heart Ned turned from the door and sauntered away,
friendless and homeless. He thought of making further inquiries about
his family, but at the corner of the street smelt the old shop that had
swallowed up so much of his earnings.
"If I'd on'y put it all in the savin's bank," he said bitterly, stopping
in front of the gin-palace, "I'd 'ave bin well off to-day."
An old comrade turned the corner at that moment.
"What! Ned Frog!" he cried, seizing his hand and shaking it with
genuine goodwill. "Well, this _is_ good luck. Come along, old boy!"
It was pleasant to the desolate man to be thus recognised. He went
along like an ox to the slaughter, though, unlike the ox, he knew well
what he was going to.
He was "treated." He drank beer. Other old friends came in. He drank
gin. If good resolves had been coming up in his mind earlier in the day
he forgot them now. If better feelings had been struggling for the
mastery, he crushed them now. He got drunk. He became disorderly. He
went into High Street, Whitechapel, with a view to do damage to
somebody. He succeeded. He tumbled over a barrow, and damaged his own
shins. He encountered Number 666 soon after, and, through his
influence, passed the night in a police cell.
After this Ned gave up all thought of searching for his wife and family.
"Better let 'em alone," he growled to himself on being discharged from
the police-office with a caution.
But, as we have said or hinted elsewhere, Ned was a man of iron will.
He resolved to avoid the public-house, to drink in moderation, and to do
his drinking at home. Being as powerful and active as ever he had been,
he soon managed, in the capacity of a common labourer, to scrape enough
money together to enable him to retake his old garret, which chanced to
be vacant. Indeed its situation was so airy, and it was so undesirable,
that it was almost always vacant. He bought a few cages and birds;
found that the old manager of the low music-hall was still at work and
ready to employ him, and thus fell very much into his old line of life.
One night, as he was passing into his place of business--the
music-hall--a man saw him and recognised him. This was a city
missionary of the John Seaward type, who chanced to be fishing for souls
that night in these troubled waters. There are many such fishermen
about, thank God, doing their grand work unostentatiously, and not only
rescuing souls for eternity, but helping, more perhaps than even the
best informed are aware of, to save London from tremendous evil.
What it was in Ned Frog that attracted this man of God we know note but,
after casting his lines for some hours in other places, he returned to
the music-hall and loitered about the door.
At a late hour its audience came pouring out with discordant cries and
ribald laughter. Soon Ned appeared and took his way homeward. The
missionary followed at a safe distance till he saw Ned disappear through
the doorway that led to his garret. Then, running forward, he entered
the dark passage and heard Ned's heavy foot clanking on the stone steps
as he mounted upwards.
The sound became fainter, and the missionary, fearing lest he should
fail to find the room in which his man dwelt--for there were many rooms
in the old tenement--ran hastily up-stairs and paused to listen. The
footsteps were still sounding above him, but louder now, because Ned was
mounting a wooden stair. A few seconds later a heavy door was banged,
and all was quiet.
The city missionary now groped his way upwards until he came to the
highest landing, where in the thick darkness he saw a light under a
door. With a feeling of uncertainty and a silent prayer for help he
knocked gently. The door was opened at once by a middle-aged woman,
whose outline only could be seen, her back being to the light.
"Is it here that the man lives who came up just now?" asked the
missionary.
"What man?" she replied, fiercely, "I know nothink about men, an' 'ave
nothink to do with 'em. Ned Frog's the on'y man as ever comes 'ere, an'
_he_ lives up there."
She made a motion, as if pointing upwards somewhere, and banged the door
in her visitor's face.
"Up there!" The missionary had reached the highest landing, and saw no
other gleam of light anywhere. Groping about, however, his hand struck
against a ladder. All doubt as to the use of this was immediately
banished, for a man's heavy tread was heard in the room above as he
crossed it.
Mounting the ladder, the missionary, instead of coming to a higher
landing as he had expected, thrust his hat against a trap-door in the
roof. Immediately he heard a savage human growl. Evidently the man was
in a bad humour, but the missionary knocked.
"Who's there?" demanded the man, fiercely, for his visitors were few,
and these generally connected with the police force.
"May I come in?" asked the missionary in a mild voice--not that he put
the mildness on for the occasion. He was naturally mild--additionally
so by grace.
"Oh! yes--you may come in," cried the man, lifting the trap-door.
The visitor stepped into the room and was startled by Ned letting fall
the trap-door with a crash that shook the whole tenement. Planting
himself upon it, he rendered retreat impossible.
It was a trying situation, for the man was in a savage humour, and
evidently the worse for drink. But missionaries are bold men.
"Now," demanded Ned, "what may _you_ want?"
"I want your soul," replied his visitor, quietly.
"You needn't trouble yourself, then, for the devil's got it already."
"No--he has not got it _yet_, Ned."
"Oh! you know me then?"
"No. I never saw you till to-night, but I learned your name
accidentally, and I'm anxious about your soul."
"You don't know me," Ned repeated, slowly, "you never saw me till
to-night, yet you're anxious about my soul! What stuff are you talkin'!
'Ow can that be?"
"Now, you have puzzled _me_," said the missionary. "I cannot tell how
that can be, but it is no `stuff' I assure you. I think it probable,
however, that your own experience may help you. Didn't you once see a
young girl whom you had never seen before, whom you didn't know, whom
you had never even heard of, yet you became desperately anxious to win
her?"
Ned instantly thought of a certain woman whom he had often abused and
beaten, and whose heart he had probably broken.
"Yes," he said, "I did; but then I had falled in love wi' her at first
sight, and you can't have falled in love wi' _me_, you know."
Ned grinned at this idea in spite of himself.
"Well, no," replied the missionary, "not exactly. You're not a very
lovable object to look at just now. Nevertheless, I _am_ anxious about
your soul _at first sight_. I can't tell how it is, but so it is."
"Come, now," said Ned, becoming suddenly stern. "I don't believe in
your religion, or your Bible, or your prayin' and psalm-singin'. I tell
you plainly, I'm a infidel. But if you can say anything in favour o'
your views, fire away; I'll listen, only don't let me have any o' your
sing-songin' or whinin', else I'll kick you down the trap-door and down
the stair an' up the court and out into the street--speak out, like a
man."
"I will speak as God the Holy Spirit shall enable me," returned the
missionary, without the slightest change in tone or manner.
"Well, then, sit down," said Ned, pointing to the only chair in the
room, while he seated himself on the rickety table, which threatened to
give way altogether, while the reckless man swung his right leg to and
fro quite regardless of its complainings.
"Have you ever studied the Bible?" asked the missionary, somewhat
abruptly.
"Well, no, of course not. I'm not a parson, but I have read a bit here
and there, an' it's all rubbish. I don't believe a word of it."
"There's a part of it," returned the visitor, "which says that God
maketh his rain to fall on the just and on the unjust. Do you not
believe that?"
"Of course I do. A man can't help believin' that, for he sees it--it
falls on houses, fields, birds and beasts as well."
"Then you _do_ believe a word of it?"
"Oh! come, you're a deal too sharp. You know what I mean."
"No," said his visitor, quickly, "I don't quite know what you mean. One
who professes to be an infidel professes more or less intelligent
disbelief in the Bible, yet you admit that you have never studied the
book which you profess to disbelieve--much less, I suppose, have you
studied the books which give us the evidences of its truth."
"Don't suppose, Mr parson, or missioner, or whatever you are," said
Ned, "that you're goin' to floor me wi' your larnin'. I'm too old a
bird for that. Do you suppose that I'm bound to study everything on the
face o' the earth like a lawyer before I'm entitled to say I don't
believe it. If I see that a thing don't work well, that's enough for me
to condemn it."
"You're quite right there. I quite go with that line of reasoning. By
their fruits shall ye know them. A man don't usually go to a thistle to
find grapes. But let me ask you, Ned, do you usually find that
murderers, drunkards, burglars, thieves, and blackguards in general are
students of the Bible and given to prayer and psalm-singing?"
"Ha! ha! I should rather think not," said Ned, much tickled by the
supposition.
"Then," continued the other, "tell me, honestly, Ned, do you find that
people who read God's Word and sing His praise and ask His blessing on
all they do, are generally bad fathers, and mothers, and masters, and
servants, and children, and that from their ranks come the worst people
in society?"
"Now, look here, Mr missioner," cried Ned, leaping suddenly from the
table, which overturned with a crash, "I'm one o' them fellers that's
not to be floored by a puff o' wind. I can hold my own agin most men
wi' fist or tongue. But I like fair-play in the ring or in argiment. I
have _not_ studied this matter, as you say, an' so I won't speak on it.
But I'll look into it, an' if you come back here this day three weeks
I'll let you know what I think. You may trust me, for when I say a
thing I mean it."
"Will you accept a Testament, then," said the missionary, rising and
pulling one out of his pocket.
"No, I won't," said Ned, "I've got one."
The missionary looked surprised, and hesitated.
"Don't you believe me?" asked Ned, angrily.
"At first I did not," was the reply, "but now that I stand before your
face and look in your eyes I _do_ believe you."
Ned gave a cynical laugh. "You're easy to gull," he said; "why, when it
serves my purpose I can lie like a trooper."
"I know that," returned the visitor, quietly, "but it serves your
purpose to-night to speak the truth. I can see that. May I pray that
God should guide you?"
"Yes, you may, but not here. I'll have no hypocritical goin' down on my
knees till I see my way to it. If I don't see my way to it, I'll let
you know when you come back this day three weeks."
"Well, I'll pray for you in my own room, Ned Frog."
"You may do what you like in your own room. Good-night."
He lifted the trap-door as he spoke, and pointed downward. The
missionary at once descended after a brief "good-night," and a pleasant
nod. Ned just gave him time to get his head out of the way when he let
the trap fall with a clap like thunder, and then began to pace up and
down his little room with his hands in his pockets and his chin on his
breast.
After a short time he went to a corner of the room where stood a small
wooden box that contained the few articles of clothing which he
possessed. From the bottom of this he fished up the New Testament that
had been given to him long ago by Reggie North. Drawing his chair to
the table and the candle to his elbow, the returned convict opened the
Book, and there in his garret began for the first time to read in
earnest the wonderful Word of Life!