ON THE WHARF.
"THERE'S only one thing to do—that I can see," said Tom after a pause,
during which poor Davey was feeling as if his sins had indeed found him
out, and he had come to what looked very like a jumping-off place in
his history.
"Yes, there's only one thing to do, Davey," repeated Tom. "We must go
down through the town (before all that crowd gets there) and see if
anything's going on near the quay or the wharf, where all the shipping
is. Maybe we shall get a job of work, or a place to sleep in, or a meal
given to us."
"How much money have you got left, Tom?"
"Not a penny, you simpleton. Do you suppose to-day's fun has cost
nothing?"
Davey gave a gasp and a sob. To be penniless, and homeless, and hungry,
to have to hide or be hunted, and perhaps caught like any common
thief—and, worst of all, to be tied to Tom Hughes, who would always be
a clog about his neck, dragging him down, down—! Here was a price to
pay for his own way—an act of wilful disobedience, and an afternoon of
pleasure!
"'The way of transgressors is hard!'"
Where had he heard those words which come into his mind now unbidden,
unwelcome? Ah, yes—they had been in his Sunday-school lesson last
Sunday. Only last Sunday,—and yet how long ago it seemed now!
A sigh ending in a sob broke the silence, and might have touched a
heart less hard than Tom's. But the deformed lad only turned round,
showing his teeth in a savage grin as he muttered contemptuously:
"Stop that whimpering, you baby-face! Look over there! See the
constable looking for me and you? Let's cut, double quick, or we shall
be nabbed. Come!" And seizing Davey's hand, he ran across the common,
half dragging his companion, and threading his way in and out among the
booths, the sheds, the stalls, and the carts belonging to the fair,
until they came out at last on to a lower level of the common, a hollow
that dipped suddenly, then sloped more gradually down towards the town.
Here, far away from the lights of the fair and safe for the moment from
pursuit, the boys dropped panting upon the short grass.
"There's still a goodish way to go," said Tom, when he had got his
breath. "So we may as well rest here for a bit, for we shan't have
another chance perhaps—not for a while at least."
Davey did not answer. There were tears on his cheeks, and he sorely
missed that red-bordered handkerchief of his, which it was not at all
likely he would ever see again. His thoughts travelled home. What were
Uncle Zach and Aunt Patty doing just now? Were they anxious about
him? Had his aunt made that treacle posset and those ginger snaps in
expectation of his return? And what would the good old people say
when the report reached them that their nephew had been seen with
Tom Hughes, the worst lad in all S—, driving to the fair in Farmer
Jenkins's light cart?
Deep in the brownest of all brown studies, Davey sat staring gloomily
before him, not noticing that his companion had risen to his feet.
"Now then, Davey, are you going to sit here all night?" said Tom. "Come
along, or we shan't get there before the constable."
It did not take the lads long to reach the outlying streets of the
city, and Tom, who knew his way about here, dodged up one street and
down another, wriggling through many a dark alley, and through several
evil-smelling courts, before he found himself, with the breathless
Davey, upon a wharf where a number of vessels were moored.
Around one good-sized schooner there seemed to be a great deal of
commotion. The captain was himself superintending the taking in of a
quantity of goods lying on the wharf, and the men were working hard,
and grumbling not a little over their toil.
"Here, you lads! Do you want a job?" cried the captain, as Tom and
Davey approached the place where he stood.
"Yes, sir," exclaimed both boys, eagerly.
"Then lend a hand here, will you? We've got to get out with the tide
two hours hence, and goodness knows how we shall do it. If you'll help
my men, you shall each have a shilling."
So Tom and Davey set to work with a will. Tom, in spite of his stunted
growth and his deformity, was strong enough, and Davey had always been
an active lad, and had his fair share of strength too. The cargo was
taken into the vessel and stowed away in the hold, and the work was
nearly completed, when the captain said, "We've got through quicker
than I expected, so I'll run home and get my supper. Here, you lads,
here's your money; you've worked well. Good-night to you."
"Good-night, sir," replied Tom and Davey, and the captain walked away.
As he did so, Tom whispered, "Now's our time, Davey!"
"To do what?" asked the boy.
"Why, to get away, of course," replied Tom.
"And where are we to get to?"
"Well, of all the stoopid little chaps that ever was, you're the
stoopidest," remarked Tom, viciously. "Look here, baby-face, we can't
stay in Bristol; we've got to go, and pretty quick too, and here's our
chance!"
"I don't see any chance," said Davey, doggedly.
"You? No, you never see nothing!" sneered Tom. "It's well I've eyes and
wits enough for the two of us. Listen! This boat is bound for the Bay
of Carmarthen, where it's to call at several small places—one of the
sailors told me that. Now I don't, of course, know what 'you're' going
to do, young master, but 'I' mean to be on board this schooner when she
goes out with the tide."
"But the captain won't take us unless we pay," said Davey, innocently.
Tom's sides shook with silent laughter.
"That's why I'm not going as cabin passenger," said he at last. "I'm
part of the cargo, and the cargo's down there, you see, in the hold."
"Oh, dear me!" sighed poor Davey.
"But you shan't say again that I've got you into trouble," went on Tom;
"so if you go with me, it must be of your own free will. And what's
more, you must make up your mind quick for once, for when the skipper
comes back, our chance is gone. Look, the stevedores and the men are
going across to the gin-shop for a last glass. Now's our time! If
you're not coming with me, Davey, good-bye, for I'm off!"
[Illustration]