"I wouldn't rouse him like that, Mag, if I was you."
"But he's so aggravatin'," pleaded Mrs Crashington.
"He ain't half so aggravatin' as _you_ are," replied Phil, gruffly. "I
don't understand your temper at all. You take all the hard words _I_
give you as meek as a lamb, but if _he_ only offers to open his mouth
you fly at him like a turkey-cock. However, it's no business o' mine,
and now," he added, rising, "I must be off."
"So, you won't tell me before you go, what sort of employment you've
got?"
"No," replied Phil, shortly.
"Why not, Phil?"
"Because I don't want you to know, and I don't want your husband to
know."
"But I won't tell him, Phil."
"I'll take good care you can't tell him," returned Phil, as he fastened
a worsted comforter round his hairy throat. "It's enough for you to
know that I ain't starvin' and that the work pays, though it ain't
likely to make my fortin'."
Saying this, Mr Sparks condescended to give his sister a brief nod and
left the house.
He had not been gone much more than a couple of hours, when Mrs
Crashington, having put little Fred to sleep, was roused from a reverie
by the sound of several footsteps outside, followed by a loud ring at
the bell; she opened the door quickly, and her husband was borne in and
laid on his bed.
"Not dead?" exclaimed the woman in a voice of agony.
"No, missus, not dead," said David Clazie, "but hardly better, I fear."
When Maggie looked on the poor bruised form, with garments torn to
shreds, and so covered with charcoal, water, lime, and blood, as to be
almost an indistinguishable mass, she could not have persuaded herself
that he was alive, had not a slight heaving of the broad chest told that
life still remained.
"It's a 'orrible sight, that, missus," said David Clazie, with a look
that seemed strangely stern.
"It is--oh it is--terrible!" said Mrs Crashington, scarce able to
suppress a cry.
"Ah, you'd better take a good look at it," added Clazie, "for it's your
own doing, missus."
Maggie looked at him in surprise, but he merely advised her to lend a
hand to take the clothes off, as the doctor would be round in a minute;
so she silently but actively busied herself in such duties as were
necessary.
Meanwhile Phil Sparks went about the streets of London attending to the
duties of his own particular business. To judge from appearances, it
seemed to be rather an easy occupation, for it consisted mainly in
walking at a leisurely pace through the streets and thoroughfares, with
his hands in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth.
Meditation also appeared to be an important branch of this business, for
Phil frequently paused in front of a large mansion, or a magnificent
shop, and gazed at it so intently, that one might have almost fancied he
was planning the best method of attempting a burglary, although nothing
was farther from Phil's intentions. Still, his meditations were
sometimes so prolonged, that more than one policeman advised him, quite
in a friendly way, to "move on."
Apparently, however, Phil turned over no profit, on this business, and
was about to return home supperless to bed, when he suddenly observed
smoke issuing from an upper window. Rare and lucky chance! He was the
first to observe it. He knew that the first who should convey the alarm
of fire to a fire-station would receive a shilling for his exertions.
He dashed off at once, had the firemen brought to the spot in a few
minutes, so that the fire was easily and quickly overcome. Thus honest
Phil Sparks earned his supper, and the right to go home and lay his head
on his pillow, with the happy consciousness of having done a good action
to his fellow-men, and performed a duty to the public and himself.