"Ah! you don't know, my lad. How much did they get?"
"Two shillings and ninepence halfpenny," I said dolefully.
"And a nearly new rope. Ah, it's a bad morning's work for your first
journey."
"It is, Ike," I said; "but I didn't know any better. How did you know
where I was?"
"How did I know? Why, Shock saw you and followed you, and come back and
fetched me, when I was staring at the cart and wondering what had gone
of you two."
"Where is he now?" I asked.
"What, Shock? Oh, I don't know. He's a queer chap. P'r'aps they've
got him instead of you."
I stopped short and looked at him, but saw directly that he was only
joking, and went on again:
"You don't think that," I said quickly; "for if you did you would not
have come away. Do you think he has gone back to the cart?"
"Oh, there's no knowing," he replied. "P'r'aps when we get back there
won't be any cart; some one will have run away with it. They're rum uns
here in London."
"Why, you haven't left the cart alone, Ike," I cried.
"That's a good one, that is," he exclaimed. "You haven't left the cart
alone! Why, you and Shock did."
"Yes," I said; "but--"
"There, come and let's see," he said gruffly. "We should look well, we
two, going back home without a cart, and old Bonyparty took away and cut
up for goodness knows what and his skin made into leather. Come along."
We walked quickly, for it seemed as if this was going to be a day all
misfortunes; but as we reached the market again I found that Ike had not
left the cart untended, for a man was there by the horse, and the big
whip curved over in safety from where it was stuck.
"Seen anything of our other boy?" said Ike as we reached the cart.
"No," was the reply.
"Hadn't we better go back and look for him?" I said anxiously.
"Well, I don't know," said Ike, rubbing one ear; "he ain't so much
consequence as you."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Do-ho-ver."
"Why, there he is," I cried; and, climbing up the wheel, there lay Shock
on his back right on the top of the baskets, and as soon as he saw my
face he grinned and then turned his back.
"He's all right," I said as I descended; and just then there was a
creaking noise among the baskets, and Shock's head appeared over the
edge.
"Here y'are," he cried. "That there tumbled out o' window, and I
ketched it and brought it here."
As he spoke he threw down the coil of nearly new rope, and I felt so
delighted that I could have gone up to him and shaken hands.
"Well, that's a good un, that is," said Ike with a chuckle. "I am 'bout
fine and glad o' that."
He took the rope and tied it up to the ladder again, and then turned to
me.
"Come along and get some breakfast, my lad," he said. "I dessay you're
fine and hungry."
"But how about Shock?"
"Oh, we'll send him out some. Here, you, Shock, look after the cart and
horse. Don't you leave 'em," Ike added to the man; and then we made our
way to a coffee-house, where Ike's first act, to my great satisfaction,
was to procure a great mug of coffee and a couple of rolls, which he
opened as if they had been oysters, dabbed a lump of butter in each, and
then put under his arm.
"He don't deserve 'em," he growled, "for coming; but he did show me
where you was."
"And he saved the rope," I said.
Ike nodded.
"You sit down till I come back, my lad," he said; and then he went off,
to return in a few minutes to face me at a table where we were regaled
with steaming coffee and grilled haddocks.
"This is the best part of the coming to market, my lad," he said, "only
it's a mistake."
"What is?" I asked.
"Haddocks, my lad. They're a trickier kind o' meat than bloaters. I
ordered this here for us 'cause it seemed more respectable like, as I'd
got company, than herrin'; but it's a mistake."
"But this is very nice," I said, beginning very hungrily upon the hot
roll and fish, but with a qualm in my mind as to how it was to be paid
for.
"Ye-es," said Ike, after saying "soup" very loudly as he took a long sip
of his coffee; "tidyish, my lad, tidyish, but you see one gets eddicated
to a herring, and knows exactly where every bone will be. These things
seems as if the bones is all nowhere and yet they're everywhere all the
time, and so sure as you feel safe and take a bite you find a sharp
pynte, just like a trap laid o' purpose to ketch yer."
"Well, there are a good many little bones, certainly," I said.
"Good many! Thick as slugs after a shower. There's one again, sharp as
a needle. Wish I'd a red herrin', that I do."
"I say, Ike," I said suddenly, as I was in the middle of my breakfast,
"I wish I could make haste and grow into a man."
"Do you, now?" he said with a derisive laugh. "Ah! I shouldn't wonder.
If you'd been a man I s'pose you'd have pitched all those rough uns out
o' window, eh?"
"I should have liked to be able to take care of myself," I said.
"Without old Ike, eh, my lad?"
"I don't mean that," I said; "only I should like to be a man."
"Instead o' being very glad you're a boy with everything fresh and
bright about you. Red cheeks and clean skin and all your teeth, and all
the time to come before you, instead of having to look back and think
you're like an old spade--most wore out."
"Oh, but you're so strong, Ike! I should like to be a man."
"Like to be a boy, my lad, and thank God you are one," said old Ike,
speaking as I had never heard him speak before. "It's natur', I s'pose.
All boys wishes they was men, and when they're men they look back on
that happiest time of their lives when they was boys and wishes it could
come over again."
"Do they, Ike?" I said.
"I never knew a man who didn't," said Ike, making the cups dance on the
table by giving it a thump with his fist. "Why, Master Grant, I was
kicked about and hit when I was a boy more'n ever a boy was before, but
all that time seems bright and sunshiny to me."
"But do you think Shock's happy?" I said; "he's a boy, and has no one
to care about him."
"Happy! I should just think he is. All boys has troubles that they
feels bad at the time, but take 'em altogether they're as happy as can
be. Shock's happy enough his way or he wouldn't have been singing all
night atop of the load. There, you're a boy, and just you be thankful
that you are, my lad; being a boy's about as good a thing as there is."
We had nearly finished our breakfast when Ike turned on me sharply.
"Why, you don't look as if you was glad to be a boy," he said.
"I was thinking about what Mr Brownsmith will say when he knows I've
been in such trouble," I replied.
"Ah, he won't like it! But I suppose you ain't going to tell him?"
"Yes," I said, "I shall tell him."
Ike remained silent for a few minutes, and sat slowly filling his pipe.
At last, as we rose to go, after Ike had paid the waitress, he said to
me slowly:
"Sometimes doing right ain't pleasant and doing wrong is. It's quite
right to go and tell Old Brownsmith and get blowed up, and it would be
quite wrong not to tell him, but much the nystest. Howsoever, you tell
him as soon as we get back. He can't kill yer for that, and I don't
s'pose he'll knock yer down with the kitchen poker and then kick you
out. You've got to risk it."
I did tell Old Brownsmith all my trouble when we reached home, and he
listened attentively and nodding his head sometimes. Then he said
softly, "Ah!" and that was all.
But I heard him scold Master Shock tremendously for going off from his
work without leave.
Shock had been looking on from a distance while I was telling Old
Brownsmith, and this put it into his head, I suppose, that I had been
speaking against him, for during the next month he turned his back
whenever he met me, and every now and then, if I looked up suddenly, it
was to see him shaking his fist at me, while his hair seemed to stand up
more fiercely than ever out of his crownless straw hat like young
rhubarb thrusting up the lid from the forcing-pot put on to draw the
stalks.