"All right. If you take that off, gov'nor, I slides--I mean it--so I
do."
There was a look of such wild determination in his pinched face that
Reginald gave up the struggle for the present.
"We'll share it between us, at any rate," said he. "Whatever induced
you to do such a foolish thing, Love?"
"Bless you, I ain't got no sense," replied the boy cheerily.
Day broke at last, and Liverpool once more became alive with bustle and
traffic. No one noticed the two shivering boys as they wended their way
through the streets, trying here and there, but in vain, for work, and
wondering where and when they should find their next meal. But for
Reginald that walk, faint and footsore as he was, was a pleasure-trip
compared with the night's wanderings.
Towards afternoon Love had the rare good fortune to see a gentleman drop
a purse on the pavement. There was no chance of appropriating it, had
he been so minded, which, to do him justice, he was not, for the purse
fell in a most public manner in the sight of several onlookers. But
Love was the first to reach it and hand it back to its owner.
Now Love's old story-books had told him that honesty of this sort is a
very paying sort of business; and though he hardly expected the
wonderful consequences to follow his own act which always befall the
superfluously honest boys in the "penny dreadfuls," he was yet low-
souled enough to linger sufficiently long in the neighbourhood of the
owner of the purse to give him an opportunity of proving the truth of
the story-book moral.
Nor was he disappointed; for the good gentleman, happening to have no
less than fifty pounds in gold and notes stored up in this particular
purse, was magnanimous enough to award Love a shilling for his lucky
piece of honesty, a result which made that young gentleman's countenance
glow with a grin of the profoundest satisfaction.
"My eye, gov'nor," said he, returning radiant with his treasure to
Reginald, and thrusting it into his hand; "'ere, lay 'old. 'Ere's a
slice o' luck. Somethink like that there daily bread you was a-tellin'
me of t'other day. No fear, I ain't forgot it. Now, I say sassages.
What do you say?"
Reginald said "sausages" too; and the two friends, armed with their
magic shilling, marched boldly into a cosy coffee-shop where there was a
blazing fire and a snug corner, and called for sausages for two. And
they never enjoyed such a meal in all their lives. How they did make
those sausages last! And what life and comfort they got out of that
fire, and what rest out of those cane-bottomed chairs!
At the end of it all they had fourpence left, which, after serious
consultation, it was decided to expend in a bed for the night.
"If we can get a good sleep," said Reginald, "and pull ourselves
together, we're bound to get a job of some sort to-morrow. Do you know
any lodging-house?"
"Me? don't I? That there time you jacked me up I was a night in a place
down by the river. It ain't a dainty place, gov'nor, but it's on'y
twopence a piece or threepence a couple on us, and that'll leave a brown
for the morning."
"All right. Let's go there soon, and get a long night."
Love led the way through several low streets beside the wharves until he
came to a court in which stood a tumble-down tenement with the legend
"Lodgings" scrawled on a board above the door. Here they entered, and
Love in a few words bargained with the sour landlady for a night's
lodging. She protested at first at their coming so early, but finally
yielded, on condition they would make the threepence into fourpence.
They had nothing for it but to yield.
"Up you go, then," said the woman, pointing to a rickety ladder which
served the house for a staircase. "There's one there already. Never
mind him; you take the next."
Reginald turned almost sick as he entered the big, stifling, filthy loft
which was to serve him for a night's lodging. About a dozen beds were
ranged along the walls on either side, one of which, that in the far
corner of the room, was, as the woman had said, occupied. The
atmosphere of the place was awful already. What would it be when a
dozen or possibly two dozen persons slept there?
Reginald's first impulse was to retreat and rather spend another night
in the streets than in such a place. But his weary limbs and aching
bones forbade it. He must stay where he was now.
Already Love was curled up and asleep on the bed next to that where the
other lodger lay; and Reginald, stifling every feeling but his
weariness, flung himself by his side and soon forgot both place and
surroundings in a heavy sleep.
Heavy but fitful. He had scarcely lain an hour when he found himself
suddenly wide awake. Love still lay breathing heavily beside him. The
other lodger turned restlessly from side to side, muttering to himself,
and sometimes moaning like a person in pain. It must have been these
latter sounds which awoke Reginald. He lay for some minutes listening
and watching in the dim candle-light the restless tossing of the bed-
clothes.
Presently the sick man--for it was evident sickness was the cause of his
uneasiness--lifted himself on his elbow with a groan, and said,--
"For God's sake--help me!"
In a moment Reginald had sprung to his feet, and was beside the
sufferer.
"Are you ill," he said. "What is the matter?"
But the man, instead of replying, groaned and fell heavily back on the
bed. And as the dim light of the candle fell upon his upturned face,
Reginald, with a cry of horror, recognised the features of Mr Durfy,
already released by death from the agonies of smallpox.