"You know Mr Sparks, and can--can--in short, give him into the hands of
justice."
"If I knowed w'ere justice was," said the Bloater, sternly, "p'raps I
might give Mr Sparks into 'is 'ands, but I don't. It's my opinion that
_justice_ ain't finished yet. They've made 'is 'ands no doubt--and
pretty strong ones they are too--but they 'aven't give 'im brains yet.
'Ows'ever, to make a long story short, 'as 'Amlet said to 'is father's
ghost, w'ich was prince of Timbuctoo, I _do_ know Mr Sparks, and I
_can_ give 'im into the 'ands of the p'lice--wot then?"
"_Do it_!" said Mrs Dashwood, with sudden intensity of feeling and
manner, "Do it, boy--" ("Bloater," murmured the lad), "do it, Bloater.
Oh! you have no idea what a blessing it would be to--to--to--a poor,
dear girl who is mad--infatuated and, and--then, he is _such_ a
scoundrel; such a fire-raiser, deceiver, villain--"
"You don't appear to like 'im yourself," remarked the Bloater.
He said this so quietly and with an air of calmness which contrasted so
strongly with Mrs Dashwood's excitement, that Little Jim gave vent to
an irresistible "sk" and blew his nose violently to distract attention
from it.
"Will you not consent to give up a thorough scoundrel, who every one
condemns?" demanded Mrs Dashwood, with sudden indignation.
"Well, that depends--"
"Bloater," said Mary, with increasing earnestness, "I cannot bribe you--
I have not the means even if I had the will; but I would not if I could.
I scorn bribery. If you will not aid me for the sake of a poor,
helpless, infatuated girl, who is on the brink of ruin--"
"Missis Dashwood," said the Bloater, with a look of serio-comic dignity,
"I scorns bribery as much as you does. `No bribery, no c'rupt'ons, no
Popery,' them's my mottoes--besides a few more that there's no occasion
to mention. W'ether or not I gives 'im up depends on circumstances.
Now, I s'pose _you_ want's 'im took an' bagged, 'cause 'e ain't fit for
your friend Martha Reading--we'll drop the `Miss' if you please. Well,
wot I want to know is, does Martha think as you does?"
"Of course not, boy. No doubt she knows that he is an unworthy
scoundrel, but she can't prevail on herself to forsake him; so, you see,
I want to help her a little."
"Ah, I see--yes--I see. Well, missis, I'll take it into consideration.
Come along, Jim."
Without waiting for a reply, the Bloater quitted the house abruptly,
followed by his friend. He walked very fast towards the City--so fast
that Jim was compelled to trot--and was unusually silent. He went
straight to the abode of Martha Reading, and found her sewing and
weeping.
"Ha! _he's_ bin with you, I see," said the Bloater. "Did 'e ask you to
let 'im 'ide 'ere?"
"Ye-es;" said Martha, hesitating; "but I refused to do it. God knows
how willing--how willing--I would be to shelter and save him if I
could!"
"Would you shelter a _guilty_ man?" demanded the Bloater, sternly.
"I don't know that he is guilty," said Martha, evasively. "But, tell
me, what did Mrs Dashwood want with you?"
"That's a private matter," said the Bloater, frowning. "You can't turn
me off the scent like that. I ask you, ain't it right to 'and a guilty
man over to justice?"
"It is," replied Martha, wiping her eyes, "but it is also right to
temper justice with mercy."
"I say, that's drawin' it rather fine, ain't it?" said the Bloater,
screwing up one eyebrow and turning towards Little Jim; but that small
youth was so touched with the poor girl's sorrow and so attracted by her
countenance, that he had quite forgotten his patron for the moment.
Going towards her, he laid his dirty little hand on her knee, and looked
up in her face.
"God bless you, dear boy," she said, patting him on the head, "you are
the first that has given me a look of sympathy for many--"
She broke down suddenly, burst into a flood of tears, and, seizing the
child in her arms, absolutely hugged him!
"Hallo! hallo!" cried the Bloater, when Little Jim was released. "I
say, you know, come, this sort o' thing will never do. W'y, its
houtrageous. Come along with you."
Saying which he seized Little Jim by the collar, dragged him out into
the street, and hurried him along. Presently he released him, but
without slackening his pace, and said, "Now, Jim, you an' I shall go and
pay _another_ wisit."
They traversed several small streets, which seemed to be influenced by a
tendency to gravitate towards the Thames; while the river, as if in
sympathy, appeared to meet them more than half way in the shape of mud.
As they proceeded, huge warehouses frowned above, having doors high up
on their blank faces where windows ought to have been, with no steps
leading thereto, but in some cases with huge block tackles pendent
therefrom, suggestive of the idea that the owners were wont to drop the
enormous hooks and fish for passers-by. These streets naturally became
more nautical in some respects as they neared the river. Old bits of
timber lay here and there among old cordage in little yards, where the
owners appeared to deal in small-coal and miscellaneous filth.
Elsewhere, worn-out anchors held tenaciously to the mud, as if afraid of
being again pressed into service and carried off to sea. Everything was
cold, dismal, dreary, disreputable; and here, in the dirtiest corner of
the smallest possible yard, the Bloater found a half-concealed door that
might have been the portal to a dog-kennel or pig-sty. Opening it he
entered, and Little Jim followed.
The aspect of things inside was not attractive. Dirt, damp, and rubbish
prevailed in the room, which was just big enough to permit of a tall man
lying down, but not high enough to admit of his standing up. An
uncommonly small four-post bed almost filled the apartment, at the foot
of which, on the floor and half-reclining against one of the posts, lay
Phil Sparks, either dead-drunk or asleep, or both.
The Bloater glanced back at Little Jim with a look of satisfaction, and
held up his finger to enjoin silence. Peering round the room, which was
lighted by a farthing candle stuck in the neck of a pint bottle, he
observed a piece of rope lying among some rubbish.
"Ha! this'll do," he whispered, as he took it up, and, with wonderful
rapidity, made a loop on it.
"Now, Jim, you be ready to cut and run if he should waken before I 'ave
'im fast. Don't mind me; I'll look arter myself. An' wotever you do,
_don't holler for the bobbies_. Mind that, else I'll strangle you."
With this advice and caution, the Bloater advanced toward the recumbent
man, and passed the rope softly round his body, including his arms and
the bedpost in the coil. Drawing it suddenly tight, he hastily made it
fast; but there was no occasion for haste, for the sleep of the man was
so profound that the action did not awake him.
"Hall right--fus' rate," said the Bloater aloud, as he wound the rope
round and round Sparks, so as to make him doubly secure. "Nothin' could
be better. Now, Jim, I'm goin' for to preach a sermon to-night--a sort
o' discoorse. You never heard me preach, did you?"
Little Jim, who, despite his love of mischief, was somewhat alarmed at
the strange proceedings of his friend and patron, looked at him with a
mingled expression of fear and glee, and shook his head.
"Well, you shall 'ear. Moreover, I 'ope that you'll profit by wot you
'ears."
Saying this, he advanced his hand towards the sleeping man's face, and,
causing his thumb to act as a trigger to his middle finger, gave him
such a flip on the point of his nose, that he awoke with a tremendous
roar. Suddenly he became pale as death--supposing, no doubt, that he
had betrayed himself--and glanced towards the door with a bewildered
stare.
"Oh, you needn't alarm yourself," said the Bloater, placing a stool in
front of his victim, and sitting down thereon, with a hand on each knee,
"it ain't the bobbies. If you keep quiet, there's no fear of _them_ in
this neighbourhood. I can call 'em w'en I wants 'em. There's nobody
but me and Little Jim 'ere--your friends, you know."
Becoming suddenly convinced of the truth of this, Phil Sparks, who was
very drunk, made so desperate an effort to free himself that he nearly
overturned the bed.
"Oh, you are anxious to see the bobbies, are you? Well, go an' call 'em
in, Jim."
Jim rose to obey, and the man became instantly quiet.
"Ho! you're reasonable now, are you? That's well. You needn't call 'em
in yet, Jim. We'll grant 'im a reprieve. Fetch that stool, an' sit
down beside me--there. Now, Mr Sparks, _alias_ Blazes, no doubt
_you're_ a precious specimen of hinnocent 'unmanity, ain't you?"
Sparks made no reply, but scowled at the boy with a look of deadly
hatred.
"Well, upon my word," resumed the Bloater, with a smile, "if I kep' a
menagerie, I'd offer you five 'undred a year to represent a Tasmanian
devil. But look 'ere, now, I've no time to waste with you; I come 'ere
to give you a bit of my mind. You're a fire-raiser, you are. Ah! you
may well wince an' grow w'ite. You'd grow w'iter still, with a rope
round your neck, if you wos left to _my_ tender mercies, you w'ite
livered villain! for I knows you; I've watched you; I've found you hout;
an' I've only got to 'old up my little finger to cut your pretty little
career prematoorly short. You don't seem to like that? No, I didn't
expect you would. This young man, whose 'art is big, if 'is body's
small, knows as much about you as I do. Two witnesses, you see; but you
_ain't_ left to _our_ tender mercies; and if you wants to know who
delivered you from us, and from the maginstrates, and Jack Ketch,
_alias_ Calcraft, I replies, _Martha Reading_. Ha! you look surprised.
Quite nat'ral. You've deserved very different treatment from that young
ooman, an' didn't expect that she'd return good for evil, I s'pose.
That's because you don't know 'er; you don't understand 'er, you
miserable lump of selfish stoopidity. 'Ows'ever, as I said before, I
ain't a-goin' to waste no more time with you. But let me, before
biddin' you adoo, give you a caution. Remember, that _I've got my eye
on you_. Just one word more. W'en you thinks of _me_, don't think of
one as 'as got any tender mercies, for I ain't got none; not a scrap of
'em, nor nothin' of the sort. W'en you wants to know the true cause of
your bein' let off, just think of two words--_Martha Reading_! She
knows nothin' o' wot I'm doin', nevertheless, _she's_ done it! Let 'er
name ring in your ears, an' thunder in your brain, and burn in your
'art, till it consooms your witals or your willany! Now, Jim,"
concluded the Bloater, rising and opening a large clasp-knife, "you go
to the door, open it wide, an' stan' by to cut, and run. This gen'lm'n
ain't to be trusted w'en free. Are you ready?"
"Hall ready," replied Jim.
The Bloater cut the cord that bound Phil Sparks, and darted from the
room. Before the man could disentangle himself from its coils, the boys
were safe from pursuit, quietly wending their way through the crowded
thoroughfares of the great city.