A VERY SMALL BOY COVERS HIMSELF WITH GLORY.
Jeremiah Pamflett presented himself at Parksides at noon. His mother
was waiting for him at the gates. A pale, self-possessed woman, upon
whose face, to the ordinary observer, was never seen a sign of joy or
sorrow, in whose eyes never shone that light of sympathy which draws
heart to heart, she became transformed the moment her son appeared. She
ran toward him; she pressed him in her arms; she kissed him again and
again.
"My boy! my boy!" she murmured.
"Mother," said Jeremiah, "you're rumpling my collar, and you wrote to
me to make myself nice."
"And you do look nice, my pet," said Mrs. Pamflett, taking off his
shiny belltopper, and blowing away a speck of dust. "How much did you
give for this new hat?"
"Six-and-six, in Drury Lane. Don't press your hand over it like that;
you're rubbing the dust into it. I gave fifteenpence for the necktie
and tenpence for this white handkerchief, and two-and-nine for the
shirt. Then there's the boots and socks and a new walking-stick. And I
had to get shaved."
"Did you, Jeremiah, did you!" exclaimed the proud mother, passing her
hand over his remarkably smooth chin, guiltless as yet of the remotest
indication of hair. "My boy's growing quite a man!"
"Altogether, with my fare down here, I've spent one pound six, and you
only sent me a sovereign. I had to borrow the six shillings, and I
shall have to pay it back the moment I get to London."
With a nod and a smile Mrs. Pamflett produced her purse, and handed six
shillings to her son, upon receiving which Jeremiah hugged her, and
winked, as it were inwardly to himself, over her shoulder.
"Another shilling, mother, for luck; now don't be mean. You haven't got
any more sons; don't begrudge your only one!"
The appeal was irresistible, and Jeremiah received another shilling,
which he greeted with a repetition of the hug and the wink.
"And now, mother, what is it all about? What's the little game? I'm
going to make my fortune, am I? Well, I'm willing."
Mrs. Pamflett took him into the kitchen and explained. He was to enter
Miser Farebrother's service, she said, if the miser approved of him.
The miser was in bed upstairs, laid up with lumbago, and Jeremiah was
to be very polite and civil, and not to mind if the miser flew out at
him.
This caused Jeremiah to exclaim: "Oh, come, mother, I'm not going to be
bullied. I wouldn't stand it from a man twice my size!"
Mrs. Pamflett expressed her admiration of his courage, but said he must
keep himself in. Miser Farebrother was "touchy," because he was in such
pain. If Jeremiah was engaged, he was to sleep in the office in London,
and if he was steady and attentive he might become the sole manager of
Miser Farebrother's business in the course of a few years, and--who
knows?--perhaps a partner. She said a great deal more than this to her
young hopeful, and she made him thoroughly understand how the land lay.
"And now come up with me," she said. "I will show you into his room."
"But, I say," expostulated Jeremiah, looking greedily at the saucepans
on the fire, from one of which an appetizing flavour was escaping,
"ain't you going to give me anything to eat?"
"When you come down, Jeremiah," she replied, "I'll have a nice dinner
for you. Can't you smell it?"
The conformation of Jeremiah Pamflett's pug-nose became accentuated by
reason of its owner giving half a dozen vigorous sniffs, and having
thus tasted the pleasures of hope he followed his mother upstairs to
Miser Farebrother's bedroom. The miser was in bed, groaning in his
night-cap, and pouring out imprecations upon fate. Mrs. Pamflett
assisted him into the easiest posture, and he cocked his eye at
Jeremiah, who had suddenly become very humble and subservient. He was
the personification of meekness as he stood in the presence of the
queer-looking night-capped figure in bed, gazing at him with eyes which
seemed to pierce him through and through.
"So this is Jeremiah, is it?" he said.
Mrs. Pamflett smiled a beaming assent.
"Draw that table closer to the bed; now those sheets of paper; now the
pen and ink; now the blotting-paper; now a chair for the lad. Go; leave
us alone."
The interview lasted an hour, at the end of which Jeremiah presented
himself before his anxious mother with a sly look of self-satisfaction.
His first words were:
"Oh! but ain't he a scorcher? Cayenne pepper ain't in it with him. Talk
of sharpness! Well, I thought I wasn't bad, but he licks Blue Peter. He
put me through, I can tell you."
"Are you engaged, Jeremiah?" asked Mrs. Pamflett, her fond hands about
his clothes, setting them right. "What questions did he ask you, and
how did you answer them? Why don't you speak?"
"Shan't say a blessed word," was the affectionate reply, "till I've had
something to eat. Serve up, mother; I'm as empty as a drum."
Mrs. Pamflett obeyed, and set before him a dish of haricot sufficient
for a young family. It was a special favourite with him, and he
bestowed upon his mother the commendation that she was "a tip-topper,
and no flies about it," which afforded her as much pleasure as an
exhibition medal would have done. He washed down his copious meal with
two glasses of ale, and throwing himself back in his chair, gave her an
account of the interview. He had written no end of things at the
miser's dictation--letters, threats of what would be done if certain
sums of money were not forthcoming at stated times, and statements of
conversations which he was supposed to be listening to without the
clients being aware of it. Then he was set to calculate sums of great
intricacy--to add up, to multiply, not only pounds, shillings and
pence, but farthings and fractions of farthings. He performed these
tasks to Miser Farebrother's satisfaction. "I'm a regular dab at
figures, you know," said Jeremiah to his mother; and the end of it was
that he was engaged, and that the miser had promised to make his
fortune.
"I mean to make it, mother," said Jeremiah.
"I shall live to see you ride in your carriage," said she.
"I'll be able to afford it one day; but"--with a touch of shrewdness of
which Miser Farebrother himself might have been proud--"it will be
cheaper, don't you think, to ride in other people's?"
This made Mrs. Pamflett laugh, and she kissed him, and praised him for
his cleverness. She wished him to remain with her the whole of the day;
but he said he must get back to London, and after screwing two or three
more shillings out of her, he bade her good-bye. She stood at the gates
watching him till he was out of sight, sucking the knob of his new
walking-stick, and flourishing it with an air. He was in the mood for
enjoyment, and he was not at all in the hurry he expressed to get back
to the metropolis. Meeting a small urchin in a lane, he bailed him up.
"What's your name, you scoundrel?" he said, setting the boy before him.
"Roger," said the trembling lad, whose age might have been six, and was
certainly not more.
Jeremiah gave him a violent shaking. "Say 'sir'; say 'Roger, sir.'"
"Roger, sir."
"Say it louder. If you cry, I'll chop you into little bits."
"Roger, sir."
"What are you doing here?"
"Nothing, sir."
"How dare you do nothing? Bow to me."
The frightened little chap bowed, whipping off his cap at Jeremiah's
command.
"Bow three times. Lower--lower--lower!" The little chap obeyed, bowing
almost to the stones.
"Now say, 'I beg your pardon, _sir_; and I'll never do so again.'"
"I beg your pardon, _sir_; and I'll never do so agin."
Jeremiah slapped his face, and walked away, whistling. It was a good
commencement. He was really enjoying himself. When he reached the
village another excitement greeted him. There was a "Punch and Judy"
being shown, and a large crowd, chiefly composed of children, were
gathered around the entertainment. Among the on-lookers were Phoebe and
Tom Barley. Jeremiah elbowed his way into the centre of the crowd, and
presently a girl cried "Oh!" and looked round, rubbing her arm. She was
a plain-looking girl, and somebody had given her a sharp pinch.
Jeremiah Pamflett looked away, with a successful effort at
unconsciousness. Edging a little further on he stationed himself behind
another plain girl, who also the next minute cried "Oh!" and looked
round, without discovering her tormentor. This was one of Jeremiah's
favourite pastimes, mixing in a crowd of children and pinching the ugly
girls. Both Phoebe and Tom Barley were too deeply absorbed in the show
to notice these mean diversions, and Jeremiah moved about, enjoying
himself to his heart's content, till he found himself standing just
behind Phoebe, having pushed between her and Tom. Eyeing her over, to
select a nice place for his fingers, he was on the point of operating,
when a slight turn on Phoebe's part gave him a view of her face.
"She's too pretty to pinch," thought he; "I'll kiss her."
Judging his opportunity and the favourable moment, he slyly planted a
kiss upon her neck. The young girl started, and blushed all over.
"Tom!" she screamed.
At that precise moment a remarkable incident occurred. Jeremiah
Pamflett felt a strong hand on his collar and another strong hand at
his waist, and, presto! he was twisted off his legs and raised in the
air. His next bewildering sensation was being run away with. It was Tom
Barley now who was the principal actor. He had observed Jeremiah
Pamflett's proceeding, and he had acted on the excitement of the
moment, with a vague idea of running away with the delinquent, and
administering sound punishment to him by throwing him into a pond if he
could find one, or into a prickly hedge, or something of the sort.
There was instant confusion in the crowd. All the children looked after
the flying figure of Tom Barley, holding the astonished Jeremiah aloft.
The show-men were not entirely dissatisfied, the entertainment being
very near its end, and a fair amount of coppers having been already
gathered. Toby, an impulsive dog, and somewhat new to the business,
could not resist his proclivities, and darted after Tom and Jeremiah.
Phoebe, in terror, screamed, "Come back, Tom! come back!"
Her voice reached Tom's ears, and he instantly turned back, followed by
Toby. Arrived at his starting-point, he dropped Jeremiah to the ground,
who slowly rose, in a woeful plight. His nice new clothes were
disarranged; buttons were off; there was a rent here and there; he
picked up his nice new hat, crushed and out of shape.
"Why don't you hit one of your own size?" he cried, with his right
elbow raised to protect his face.
"I haven't hit you yet," said Tom. Phoebe was clinging to his arm. "And
now I look at you, I _am_ a little too big for you. But you've got to
be hit by some one."
"I'll have the law of you!" gasped Jeremiah, gazing ruefully at his
hat. "You shall pay for it, or my name ain't Jeremiah Pamflett."
"Oh! Jeremiah Pamflett, is it?" said Tom, in no wise diverted from his
intention by the intelligence.
"Come away, Tom," said Phoebe, imploringly. "Let us go home."
If anything could have contributed to Jeremiah's escape, it was this;
but Tom Barley's spirit was roused, also his sense of justice, and
under such influences he could be firm.
"In a minute or two," he said to her. "There's nothing to be frightened
at. Look here," and he addressed the crowd, "this young London spark
has insulted my mistress."
"And he pinched _me_!" exclaimed a girl, light dawning upon her, and
through her upon other of Jeremiah's victims.
"He pinched _me_!" "He pinched _me_!" came in a chorus from half a
dozen indignant girls.
"That settles it," said Tom. "Is there any one here of his own size, or
less, that'll tackle him for twopence and a brandy-ball?"
"Couldn't speak fairer," said one of the show-men.
Now among the crowd was a very small boy, several inches below Jeremiah
Pamflett in height, but so renowned for his pluck that he had earned
the cognomen of "The Bantam."
Forth stepped the Bantam. "I will!" said he.
"Hooray!" cried the other boys and girls. "Hooray for the Bantam!"
"Bray-vo, little un!" said the show-man.
"Here's your twopence," said Tom Barley, "and your brandy-ball. Fight
him."
"Make a ring," said the show-man, delightedly arranging the children in
a circle. "I'll see that it's fair play."
Jeremiah and the Bantam were already in the centre, the Bantam with his
coat off and his shirt sleeves tucked up. Jeremiah, looking down upon
him, inwardly congratulated himself.
"Come on," he said, "and be made a jelly of!"
Nothing daunted, the Bantam squared up, and the battle commenced. It
looked "any odds on the long un," the show-man declared, as he inwardly
determined to protect the little fellow from too severe a punishment.
But a wonder was in store. Despite his size, Jeremiah found it
impossible to reach the Bantam, who skipped about in the liveliest
fashion, springing up and planting one on Jeremiah's nose, and another
on his right eye, and another on his mouth, which puffed up his lips
and set all his teeth chattering. In a short time he did not know
exactly where he was, and he hit out more wildly. The audience cheered
the little champion, and encouraged him by crying, "Go it, Bantam! Go
it! Give him another on the nose!" and every now and then "Time!" was
called by the show-man, who declared that the Bantam was "a chap after
his own heart." At length, Jeremiah Pamflett, completely bewildered,
stepping back, tripped and fell flat.
"Any more?" cried the Bantam.
Jeremiah remained on the ground, and did not attempt to rise. The
show-man threw up his hat.
"We gives in," he said. "Three cheers for the Bantam!"
They were given with a will; and then a collection was made, and the
champion was presented with fourpence half-penny, and, wiping his
glory-covered brows, stalked off to the sweet-stuff shop, accompanied
by his admirers. Tom and Phoebe took their departure, and the show-men
shouldered their Punch and Judy, and walked away with Toby. Jeremiah
picked himself up, and crawled to the railway station, shorn of his
pride.