A MODERN KNIGHT OF CHIVALRY.
Draper's Mews and its purlieus were on fire with excitement, raised by
a spark dropped by a vicious beetle-browed coster, whose chronic state
for years past had been too much beer, and liquor of a worse kind.
Mrs. Death's neighbours were by no means unfavourably disposed towards
her and her family. The kindness of the poor to the poor is
proverbial, and there is much less friction in the way of social
scandal among the lower classes than among those of higher rank. This
was exemplified in Draper's Mews, where the Death family had long
resided, and had fought life's bitter battle in amity with all around
them. Now and then, of course, small differences had cropped up, but
they were soon got over, and there was no serious disturbance of
friendly relations. To this happy state of things there was, however,
an exception. It happened in this way.
Two or three years ago, on a bright summer day, the beetle-browed
coster wheeled his barrow through the poor neighbourhood, disposing of
his stock of early cherries at fourpence the standard pound. Children
who had a halfpenny or a penny to spare, beggared themselves
incontinently, and walked about with cherry ear-rings dangling in
their ears, while some made teapots with fruit and stalks, and
refreshed themselves with imaginary cups of the finest leaf of China.
Abel Death stood by, and looking at the children thought of his own,
and fingered the few loose coppers in his pocket. Strange that fruit
so tempting and young--the cherries were whitehearts, with the
daintiest blush on their innocent cheeks--should have been destined to
bring sorrow to the hearts of those who were dear to the poor clerk!
But in this reflection we must not forget the apple in the Garden of
Eden.
Unable to resist the temptation Abel Death bought half a pound of the
pretty things, and had received and paid for them, when he noticed an
ugly piece of lead at the bottom of the scale in which the fruit was
weighed. What made the matter worse was that on the coster's barrow
was displayed an announcement in blazing letters of vermilion, "Come
to the Honest Shop for Full Weight." Which teaches a lesson as to the
faith we should place in boisterous professions. Abel Death
remonstrated, the coster slanged and bullied, there was a row and a
growling crowd, some of whom had been defrauded in like manner, and
among the crowd an inspector of weights and measures, who, backed by a
constable, forthwith brought before the magistrate the cheat, the
barrow (the coster wheeling it), the innocent cherries, and the scales
with the piece of lead attached to the wrong balance. The moving
scene, with its animated audience laughing, babbling, explaining at
the heels of the principal actors in the drama, was almost as good a
show as a Punch and Judy. With tears in his eyes, which he wiped away
with his cuff, the coster declared that he'd take his oath he didn't
know how the piece of lead could have got on the bottom of the scale,
all he could say was that some one who had a down on him must have put
it there to get him in trouble, he'd like to find out the bloke, that
he would, he'd make it hot for him; and, despite this whining defence,
was fined, would not pay the fine, and went to prison for seven days,
whimpering as he was led from the court, "Wot's the use of a cove
tryin' to git a honest livin'?"
The result of this swift stroke of justice was a mortal enmity against
Abel Death. He proclaimed a vendetta, and waited for his chance,
meanwhile avenging himself by kicking and cuffing the younger members
of the Death family when he met them, and encouraging his children to
do the same. The chance came with the disappearance of Abel Death and
the discovery of the murder of Samuel Boyd. Forthwith he set light to
a fire which spread with startling rapidity, and he went about
instilling his poison into the ears of Mrs. Death's neighbours. Hence
her agony of mind.
Dick traced the rumours to their fountain head, found the man, talked
to him, argued with him--in vain. It was a public matter, and the
usual crowd collected.
"Look 'ere," cried the coster, to Dick, "we don't want none o' _your_
cheek, we don't. Who are you, I'd like to know, puttin' _your_ spoke
in? A innercent man, is 'e? Looks like it, don't it? Wot's the
innercent man a-keepin' out of the way for? Why don't 'e come 'ome?
Tell me that? 'Ere, I'll wait till you've made up somethink, somethink
tasty, yer know. Take yer time. Wot! Ain't got a bloomin' word to say
for yerself? Wot do you think?" Appealing to the people surrounding
them. "'E's a nice sort o' chap to come palaverin' to me, ain't 'e?"
The listeners were not all of one mind, many of them, indeed, being
mindless. Some took one side, some took another, while Mrs. Death and
Gracie stood by, pitiful, white-faced spectators of the scene.
"Why, it's as clear as mud," continued the coster. "The sneakin' thief
killed 'is master, and then laid 'ands on everythink 'e could collar,
and cut away. Put them things together, and there you are, yer know."
"I know where _you'll_ be," said Dick, speaking in his best judicial
manner, "if you're not careful. It won't be the first time you've got
yourself in trouble." The shot told, and the listeners wavered. "We're
Englishmen, I believe," said Dick, following up his advantage. "We
don't carry knives like the Italians, or fight with our legs like the
French, and we're not made in Germany." This cosmopolitan reference
was an immense hit, and two or three politicians said "Hear, hear!"
Dick went on. "We fight with our fists, and we don't hit a man when
he's down. What we insist upon is fair play; that's what we wave our
flag for--fair play. Look at Mrs. Death, a hard-working, respectable
woman, that's lived among you all these years, and never done one of
you an ill turn. Look at her innocent children that this great hulking
brute is flinging stones at. It's cowardly, sneaking work. Oh, I'm not
afraid of you, my man; if you lift your hand against me I'll give you
something to remember me by. You haven't the pluck to hit one of your
own size; you only hit women and children. I don't believe you've got
a drop of English blood in your cowardly carcase." With sparkling eyes
and glowing face he turned to the crowd. "I appeal to a jury of
English men and women. Is what this brute is doing manly, is it fair,
is it English--that's the point, is it English?"
There was no doubt now as to the sympathy. It went out full and free
to Mrs. Death and Gracie, who stood, as it were, in the dock, with the
beetle-browed, sodden-faced coster accusing them, and this generous,
bright-eyed, open-faced young fellow defending them. A woman who had a
good recollection of the cherry incident, called out, "Cherries!" and
they all began to laugh. This laughter completely settled the matter;
the victory was won. The coster slunk off.
Dick was overwhelmed with congratulations, and Mrs. Death cast
grateful glances at him, and wistful glances at her old friends and
neighbours. They answered the mute appeal by thronging about her. To
her they said, "Never you mind, my dear, we'll see you righted." And
to Dick, "You spoke up like a man, sir, and we're proud of you." Which
he capped, rather vaguely, by retorting, "I'm proud of _you_. You're
the sort of women that have made England what it is. Wives and
mothers, that's what _you_ are." A shrill voice called out, "Not all
of us, sir," amid shouts of laughter, which caused Dick to add, "Then
I hope you soon _will_ be." This happy rejoinder won him the admiring
glances of all the single women, many of whom (as yet unattached)
breathed silent aspirations that heaven would send them such a man. At
the worst of times Dick was a good-looking young fellow; seen now at
his best, glowing with fervour, and espousing the cause of the weak,
he was positively handsome. What wonder that maiden hearts were
fluttering! He could have picked and chosen.
Dr. Vinsen had been an amused witness of the encounter.
"My young friend," he said, "my dear young friend, victorious again,
always victorious; and in eloquence a Demosthenes. Accept my
congratulations. Mrs. Death, take your little girl home and put her to
bed, then apply a hot linseed poultice. I will call upon you to-morrow
morning. Mr. Dick Remington--pardon the familiarity, but Dick is so
appropriate--I salute you--sal-ute you."
Dick nodded good-day, and turned off with Gracie.
"Oh, Dick," she said, fondling his hand, "you're splendid, splendid!"
No knight of chivalry in "the good old times" (which were much worse
than the present) ever inspired deeper admiration in the breast of
lady fair than Dick did in the breast of this poor little waif. "I
told you, mother, it would be all right if we had Dick with us."
"Yes, you did, dear."
"Don't I wish I was old enough to walk out with you!" said Gracie.
"How do you know I'm not a married man, Gracie?" he asked.
"Go along!" she replied, with a touch of scorn. "As if I don't know
the married ones by only looking at 'em!"
"You mustn't mind her foolishness, sir," said Mrs. Death. "She says
the silliest things! We're very grateful to you, sir."
"Oh, nonsense," he said, "anyone else would have done the same."
"They wouldn't," said Gracie. "They couldn't."
With a kind pressure of their hands he turned in the direction of Aunt
Rob's house, where a very different task awaited him.