THE ORIGINAL BADGER
As Mr. Bankes spoke, Mary Anne dashed over the little bridge which
spans the Mole, and in another second they were passing through East
Molesey. Nothing was said as they raced through the devious village
street. The world in East Molesey was just beginning to think of
waking up. A few labourers were visible, on their road to work. When
they reached the river, some of the watermen were preparing their
boats, putting them ship-shape for the day, and on Tagg's Island there
were signs of life.
Over Hampton Court Bridge flew Mary Anne; past the barracks, where
there were more signs of life, and where Hussars were recommencing the
slightly monotonous routine of a warrior's life, and then the mare was
brought to a sudden standstill at the corner of the green.
"The parting of the ways--you go yours, and I go mine, and I rather
reckon, young one, it won't be long before you wish there'd been no
parting, and we'd both rolled on together. Which way are you going to
London?"
"I thought about going through Kingston."
"All right, you can either go through Bushy Park here, or you can go
Kingston way. But don't let me say a word about the road you go,
especially as it don't seem to me to matter which it is--round by the
North Pole and Timbuctoo for all I care, for you're in no sort of
hurry, and all you want is to get there in the end."
"Can't I get to Kingston by the river?"
"Certainly. You go through the barrack yard there, and through the
little gate which you'll see over at the end on your right, and you'll
be on the towing-path. And then you've only got to follow your nose
and you'll get to Kingston Bridge, and there you are. The nearest is
by Frog's Walk here, along by the walls, but please yourself."
"I'd sooner go by the river."
"All right."
Mr. Bankes put his hand into his trousers pocket, and when he pulled
it out it was full of money.
"Look here, it seems that I've had a hand in this little scrape,
though I'd no more idea you'd swallow every word of what I said than I
had of flying. You're about as fine a bunch of greens as ever I
encountered, and that's the truth. But, anyhow, I had a hand, and as
I'm a partner in the spree I'm not going to sort you all the kicks and
collar all the halfpence. And I tell you"--Mr. Bankes raised his voice
to a very loud key, as though Bailey was arguing the point instead of
sitting perfectly still--"I tell you that for a boy like you to cut
and run with the sum of one and fivepence in his pocket is a thing I'm
not going to stand. No, not on any account, so hold out your hand, you
leather-headed noodle, and pocket this."
Bertie held out his hand, Mr. Bankes counted into it five separate
sovereigns.
"Now sling your hook!"
Before Bertie had a chance to thank him, or even to realize the sudden
windfall he had encountered, Mr. Bankes had caught hold of him, lifted
him bodily from his seat, and placed him on the road. Mary Anne had
started, and the trap was flying past the Cardinal Wolsey, on the
Hampton Road. Left standing there, with the five sovereigns tightly
grasped in his palm, Bailey decided that Mr. Bankes had rather a
sudden way of doing things.
He remained motionless a minute watching the receding trap. Perhaps he
expected, perhaps he hoped, that Mr. Bankes would look round and wave
him a parting greeting; but there was nothing of the kind. In a very
short space of time the trap was out of sight and he was left alone.
Just for that instant, just for that first moment, in which he
realized his solitude, he regretted that he had not acted on his late
companion's advice, and pursued the journey with Mary Anne. Then he
looked at the five pounds he held in his hand.
"Well, here's a go!"
He could scarcely believe his eyes. He took up each of the coins
separately and examined it. Then he placed them in a low on his
extended palm, and stared. Their radiance dazzled him.
"Catch me going back while I've got all this, I should rather like
somebody to see me at it. Five pounds!" Here was a long-drawn
respiration. "Fancy him tipping me five pounds! I call that something
like a tip. Won't I spend it! Just fancy having five pounds to spend
on what you like! Well, I never did!"
"Hallo, you boy, got anything nice to look at?"
Bertie turned. A soldier, in a considerable state of undress, was
standing a few yards behind him, watching his proceedings.
"What's that to you?" asked Bertie.
He put both his hands into his trousers pockets, keeping tight hold on
the precious sovereigns, and turning, walked up the barrack yard. As
he passed, the soldier grinned; but Bertie condescended to pay no
heed.
"If I'd had a fortune left to me, I'd stand a man a drink, if it was
only the price of half a pint."
This was what the soldier shouted after Bertie. One or two of the
troopers who were engaged in various ways, and who were all more or
less undressed, looking very different from the dashing pictures of
military splendour which they would shortly present upon parade,
stared at the boy as he went by, but no one spoke to him.
Once on the towing-path, he turned his face Kingston-wards and
hastened on. These five sovereigns burnt a hole in his pocket. When
his capital had been represented by the sum of one and fivepence he
had been dimly conscious that it would be necessary to be careful in
his outlay. He had even outlined a system of expenditure. But five
pounds!
They represented boundless wealth. He had been once presented by a
grateful patient of his father's with a tip of half a sovereign. That
was the largest sum of which he had ever been in possession at one and
the same time, and no sooner had the donor's back been turned than his
mother had confiscated five shillings of that. She declared that it
was intended the half-sovereign should be divided among his brothers
and sisters, and the five shillings went in the division. But five
pounds! What were five shillings, or even half a sovereign, to five
pounds.
If Mr. George Washington Bankes had desired to dissipate whatever
effect his words of warning might have had he could not have chosen a
surer method. As the possessor of five pounds, Bertie's belief in the
land of golden dreams was stronger than ever. The pieces of golden
money had as good as transported him thither upon the spot.
His spirits rose to boiling-pitch as he walked beside the river. The
sunshine flooded all the world, and danced upon the glancing waters,
and filled his heart with joy. As he looked up, the words, "five
pounds," seemed streaming in radiant golden letters across the sunlit
sky.
Nearly opposite Ditton church he sat down on the grass to revel in his
fancies. The castles which he built, the schemes he schemed, the
future he foretold! No one passing by, and seeing a boy with an
apparently sullen face, sprawling on the grass, would have had the
least conception of the world of imagination in which, at that moment,
he lived and moved, and had his being.
He lay there perhaps more than an hour. He might have lain there even
longer had not two things recalled him to the world of fact. The first
was a growing consciousness that he was hungry; and the other, the
crossing of the ferry. The Ditton ferry-boat made its first
appearance, with two or three young fellows who had seemingly made the
passage with a view of enjoying an early morning bathe on the more
secluded Middlesex side. When they got out, Bertie got in. Not that he
wanted to go to Ditton, nor that he even knew the name of the place
which he saw upon the other side of the water, but that he fancied the
row across the stream. When he was in the boat a thought struck him.
"How much will you row me to Kingston for?"
"I can't take you in this boat, this here's the ferry-boat; but I can
let you have a boat the other side, and a chap to row you, and I'll
take you for--do you want to go there and back?"
"No; I want to stop at Kingston."
"Are you going to the fair there? I hear there's to be a fine fair
this time, and a circus, and all."
Bertie had neither heard of the fair nor of the circus; but the idea
was tempting.
"I shouldn't be surprised if I did go. How much will you row me for?"
The ferryman hesitated. He was probably debating within himself as to
the capacity of the young gentleman's pockets, and also not improbably
as to his capacity for being bled.
"I'll row you there for five shillings."
But Bertie was not quite so verdant as he looked.
"I'll give you eighteenpence."
"Well, you're a cool hand, you are, to offer a man eighteenpence for
what he wants five shillings for. But I don't want to be hard upon a
young gentleman what is a young gentleman. I'll row you there for
four; a man's got to live, you know, and it isn't as though you wanted
a boat to row yourself."
But Bertie was unable to see his way to paying four. Finally a bargain
was struck for half a crown. Then a difficulty occurred as to change,
and Bertie entrusted one of his precious sovereigns to the ferryman to
get changed at the Swan. Then a boat was launched, a lad not very much
older than Bertie was placed in charge, the fare was paid in advance,
and a start was made for Kingston.
By the time they reached that ancient town, Bertie was hungry in
earnest. The walk, the drive, and now the row in the freshness of the
early morning had combined to give him an appetite which, at
Mecklemburg House, would have been regarded with considerable
disapproval. Now, too, the short commons of the day before were
remembered; and as Bertie fingered the money in his pockets he thought
with no slight satisfaction of the good things in the eating and
drinking line which it would buy.
He was landed at his own request on the Middlesex side of Kingston
Bridge, and having generously made the lad who had rowed him richer by
the sum of sixpence, he started, with renewed vigour, to cross the
bridge into the town. No sooner had he crossed than a coffee-shop met
his eye. It was the very thing he wanted. With the air of a capitalist
he entered and ordered a sumptuous repast--coffee, bread and butter,
ham and eggs. Having made a hearty meal,--and a hearty meal was a
subject on which he had ideas of his own, for he followed up the ham
and eggs with half a dozen open tarts and a jam puff or two, buying
half a pound of sweets to eat when he got outside,--he paid the bill
and sallied forth.
It was cattle-market day, and unusual business seemed to be doing. Not
only was the market-place crowded with live stock, but they overflowed
into the neighbouring streets. For the present, Bertie was content to
watch the proceedings. In the position of a capitalist he could travel
to London in state and at his leisure. Just now his mind was running
on what the ferryman had said about the circus and the fair. He could
go to London at any time. It was not a place which was likely to run
away. But circuses and fairs were things which were quick to go, and
once gone were gone for ever. Bertie resolved that he would commence
his journey by seeing both the circus and the fair.
Nor was his resolution weakened by a joyous procession which passed
through the Kingston street.
"BADGER'S ROYAL POPULAR COSMOPOLITAN AND WORLD-FAMED HIPPODROME" was
an imposing title for a circus, but not more imposing than the glories
revealed by that procession.
"_Supported by all the greatest artists in the world chosen from all
the nations of the universe_" was the continuation of the title, and,
judging from the astonishing variety of ladies and gentlemen who rode
the horses, who bestrode the camels, who crowded the triumphal cars,
and who ran along on foot distributing handbills among the crowd, it
really seemed that the statement was justified by fact. There were
Chinamen whose pigtails seemed quite real; there were gentlemen of
colour who seemed warranted to wash; there were individuals with
beards and moustaches of an altogether foreign character; and there
were ladies of the most wondrous and enchanting beauty, dressed in the
most picturesque and amazing styles. Bertie Bailey, at any rate, was
persuaded that it would be absurd for him to think of going on to town
till he had attended at least one performance of Badger's Royal
Popular Cosmopolitan and World-famed Hippodrome.
He followed the procession to the fair field. And there, although it
was not yet noon, the fair was already in full swing. All those
immortal entertainments without which a fair would not be a fair were
liberally provided. There were shows, and shooting galleries, and
bottle-throwing establishments, and seas upon land, and resplendent
roundabouts, and stalls at which were vended goods of the very best
quality; and all those joys and raptures which go to make a fair in
every part of the world in which fairs are known.
But Bertie cared for none of these things. All his soul was fixed upon
the circus. He attended the performance. As befitted a young gentleman
of fortune he occupied a front seat, price two shillings. A
hypercritical spectator might have suggested that the procession had
been the best part of the show. But this was not the case in Bertie's
eyes. He was enraptured with the feats of skill and daring which he
witnessed in the ring. Only one consideration marred his complete
enjoyment. Unfortunately he could not make up his mind whether he
would rather be the gentleman who, disdaining all ordinary modes of
horsemanship, standing upon the backs of two cream-coloured steeds,
with streaming tails, dashed round the ring; or the clown whose
business it was--a business which he seemed to think a pleasure--to
keep the audience in a roar. He was not so much struck by a gentleman
who performed marvels on a flying trapeze; nor by the surefootedness
of a lady who walked upon an "invisible wire,"--which was, in this
case, a rope about the thickness of Bertie's wrist.
But he quite made up his mind that he would be either the clown or the
rider; and that, when he had determined which of these honourable
positions he would prefer to fill, he would lose no time in laying
siege to one of the ladies of the establishment, and to beg her to be
his. But here the same difficulty occurred;--he was not quite certain
which. However, by the time the performance was over, and the audience
was dismissed, on one point he was assured, he would enlist under the
banners of the world-famed Badger. Dick Turpin, Robin Hood, Robinson
Crusoe, Jack the Giant Killer, might do for some folks, but a circus
was the place for him.
When he regained the open air, and had bidden an unwilling adieu to
the sawdust glories, the afternoon was pretty well advanced and the
fair was more crowded than ever. But Bertie could not tear himself
away from Badger's. He hung about the exterior of the tent as though
the neighbourhood was holy ground.
Several other loiterers lingered too; and among them were four or five
men who did not look, to put it gently, as though they belonged to
what are called the upper classes.
"I've half a mind," said Bertie to himself, "to go inside the tent,
and ask Mr. Badger if he wants a boy. But perhaps he wouldn't like to
be troubled when there's no performance on."
Bertie's ideas on circus management were rudimentary. Mr. Badger would
perhaps have looked a little blue to find himself met with such a
request if there had been a performance on.
"What do you think of the circus?"
The question was put by one of the individuals before referred to. He
had apparently given his companions the slip, for they stood a little
distance off, ostentatiously paying no attention to his proceedings.
He was a short man, inclined to stoutness, and Bertie thought he had
the reddest face he had ever seen.
"It's not a bad show, is it? And more it didn't ought to be, for the
amount of money it cost me to put that show together no one wouldn't
believe."
Bertie stared. It dimly occurred to him that it must have cost him all
the money he possessed and so left him nothing to throw away upon his
clothing, for his costume was distinctly shabby. But the stout man
went on affably:--
"I saw you looking round, so I thought as perhaps you took a interest
in these here kind of things. Perhaps you don't know who I am?"
Bertie didn't and said so.
"I'm Badger, the Original Badger. I may say the only Badger as was
ever known,--for all them other Badgers belongs to another branch of
the family."
The Original Badger put his hand to his neck, apparently with the
intention of pulling up his shirt collar, which, however, wasn't
there. Bertie stared still more. The stout man did not by any means
come up to the ideas he had formed of the world-famed Badger.
"You're not the Mr. Badger to whom the circus belongs."
"Ain't I! But I ham, I just ham." The Original Badger's enunciation of
the letter was more emphatic than correct.
"And I should like to see the man who says I hain't! I'd fight that
man either for beer or money either now or any other time, and I
shouldn't care if he was twenty stone. Now look 'ere"--the Original
Badger gave Bertie so hearty a slap upon the back that that young
gentleman tottered--"What I say is this. I wants a well-built young
fellow about your age to learn the riding, and to train for clown, and
I wants that young feller to make his first appearance this day three
weeks. Now what do you say to being that young feller?"
"I don't think I could learn it in three weeks," was all Bertie could
manage to stammer.
"Oh couldn't you? I know better. Now, look 'ere, I'm going to pay that
young feller five and twenty pound a week, and find him in his
clothing. What do you say to that?"
Bertie would have liked to say a good deal, if he could have only
found the words to say it with. Among other things he would probably
have liked to have said that he hoped the clothing which was to
accompany the five and twenty pounds a week would be of a different
sort to that worn by the Original Badger. It would have been a
hazardous experiment to have offered five and twenty pence for the
stout man's costume.
"Now, look 'ere, there's a house I know close by where you and me can
be alone, and we can talk it over. You're just the sort of young
feller I've been looking for. Now come along with me and I'll make
your fortune for you,--you see if I don't."
Before Bertie quite knew what was happening, the stout man had slipped
his arm through his, and was hurrying him through the fair, away from
it, and down some narrow streets which were not of the most
aristocratic appearance. All the time he kept pouring out such a
stream of words that the lad was given no chance to remonstrate, even
if he had had presence of mind enough to do it with. But,
metaphorically, the Original Badger--to use an expression in vulgar
phrase--had knocked him silly.
What exactly happened Bertie never could remember. The Original Badger
led him to a very doubtful looking public-house, and, before he knew
it, the lad was through the door. They did not go into the public bar,
but into a little room beyond. They had scarcely entered when they
were joined by three or four more shabby individuals, whom the
Original Badger greeted as his friends. If Bertie had looked behind he
would have perceived these gentry following close upon his heels all
the time.
"This young gentleman's going to stand something to drink. Now, 'Enery
William, gin cold."
The order was given by the Original Badger to a shrivelled-up
individual without a coat who seemed to act as pot-boy. When this
person disappeared, and Bertie was left alone with the Original Badger
and his friends, he by no means liked the situation. A more unpleasant
looking set of vagabonds could with difficulty be found; and he felt
that if these were the sort of gentry who had to do with circuses a
circus was not the place for him.
The pot-boy re-appeared with a bottle of water, and a tray of glasses
containing gin.
"Two shillings," said the pot-boy.
"All right; the gentleman pays."
"Pay in advance," said the pot-boy.
"Two shillings, captain!"
The Original Badger gave Bertie another of his hearty slaps upon the
back. Bertie felt they were too hearty by half. However, he produced a
florin, with which the pot-boy disappeared, leaving the glasses on the
table.
"I'm going," he said, directly that functionary was gone.
"What, before you've drunk your liquor? You'll never do for a circus,
you won't." Bertie felt he wouldn't. "Why, I've got all that business
to talk over with you. I'm going to engage this young feller in my
circus to do the clowning and the riding for five and twenty pound a
week."
The Original Badger cast what was suspiciously like a wink in the
direction of his friends. One of these friends handed the glasses
round. He lingered a moment with the glass he gave to Bertie before he
filled it half-way up with water, then he held it towards the boy. He
was a tall, sallow-looking ruffian, with ragged whiskers; the sort of
man one would very unwillingly encounter on a lonely road at night.
"Drink that up," he said; "that's the sort of thing for circus
riders."
"I don't want to drink the stuff," said Bertie. "Drink it up, you
fool!"
The lad hesitated a moment, then emptied the glass at a draught. What
happened afterwards he never could describe; for it seemed to him that
no sooner had he drunk the contents than he fell asleep; and as he
sank into slumber he seemed to hear the sound of laughter ringing in
his ears.