Scamp and I: A Story of City By-Ways Page 3

policeman he shrank behind Jenks, until at last that younggentleman, exasperated by his rather sneaking manner, requested him inno very gentle terms not to make such a fool of himself.

  Then Dick, grinning more than ever, declared vehemently that "_'ee_wasn't afraid of nothink, not 'ee." But just then something, or someone, gave a vicious pull to his ragged trouser, and he felt himselfturning pale, and very nearly in his consternation dropping the dish,with that delicious supper.

  The cause of this alarm was a wretched, half-starved dog, which,attracted doubtless by the smell of the supper, had come behind him andbrought him to a sense of his presence in this peremptory way.

  "No, don't 'it 'im," said Flo, as Jenks raised his hand to strike, forthe pitiable, shivering creature had got up on its hind legs, and withcoaxing, pleading eyes was glancing from the bowl to the children.

  "Ain't 'ee just 'ungry?" said Flo again, for her heart was moved withpity for the miserable little animal.

  "Well, so is we," said Dick in a fretful voice, and turning, he trudgedon with his load.

  "Come, Flo, do," said Jenks, "don't waste time with that little sight o'misery any more, 'ees ony a street cur."

  "No 'ee ain't," said Flo half to herself, for Jenks had not waited forher, "'ees a good dawg."

  "Good-bye, good dawg," and she patted his dirty sides. "Ef I wasn't sowerry 'ungry, and ef Dick wasn't the least bit in the world crusty, I'dgive you a bite o' my supper," and she turned away hastily after Jenks.

  "Wy, I never! 'ee's a follerin' o' yer still, Flo," said Jenks.

  So he was; now begging in front of her, paying not the least attentionto Jenks--Dick was far ahead--but fixing his starved, eager, anxiouseyes on the one in whose tone he had detected kindness.

  "Oh! 'ee _is_ starvin', I must give 'im one bite o' my supper," saidFlo, her little heart utterly melting, and then the knowing animal camecloser, and crouched at her feet.

  "Poor brute! hall 'is ribs is stickin' hout," said Jenks, examining himmore critically. "I 'spects 'ees strayed from 'ome. Yer right, Flo,'ees not such a bad dawg, not by no means, 'ee 'ave game in 'im. I ses,Flo, would you like to take 'im 'ome?"

  "Oh, Jenks! but wouldn't Dick be hangry?"

  "Never you mind Dick, I'll settle matters wid 'im, ef you likes to givethe little scamp a bite o' supper, you may."

  "May be scamp's 'ees name; see! 'ee wags 'is little tail."

  "Scamp shall come 'ome then wid us," said Jenks, and lifting the littleanimal in his arms, he and Flo passed quickly through Seven Dials, intoDuncan Street, and from thence, through a gap in the pavement, into thedeep, black cellar, which was their home.

  CHAPTER THREE.

  WHAT THE CHILDREN PROMISED THEIR MOTHER.

  In the cellar there was never daylight, so though the sun was shiningoutside, Flo had to strike a match, and poking about for a small end oftallow candle, she applied it to it. Then, seating herself on hercobbler's stool, while Jenks and Dick squatted on the floor, and Scampsat on his hind legs, she unpacked the yellow bowl; and its contents ofroast goose, sage and onions, with a plentiful supply of gravy andpotatoes, being found still hot, the gutter children and gutter dogcommenced their supper.

  "I do think 'ees a dawg of the right sort," said Jenks, taking Scamp'shead between his knees. "We'll take 'im round to Maxey, and see wot 'eeses, Dick."

  "Arter supper?" inquired Dick indistinctly, for his mouth was full.

  "No, I wants you arter supper for somethink else; and look yere, Dick, Igives you warning that ef you gets reg'lar in the blues, as you did thisarternoon, I'll 'ave no callin' to you."

  "I'll not funk," said Dick, into whose spirit roast goose had put animmense accession of courage.

  "Lor! bless yer silly young heyes, where 'ud be yer supper ef you did?No, we'll go on hour bis'ness to-night, and we'll leave the little dawgwith Flo. He's lost, por little willan, and 'ave no father nor mother.He's an horfan, is Scamp, and 'as come to us fur shelter."

  The boys and girl laughed, the supper, however good and plentiful, cameto an end, and then Dick in rather a shamefaced way prepared to followJenks; the two lads ran up the ladder and disappeared, and Flo stoodstill to watch them with a somewhat puzzled look on her woman's face.

  She was eight years old, a very little girl in any other rank of life,but in this Saint Giles's cellar she was a woman. She had been a womanfor a whole year now; ever since her mother died, and she had workedfrom morning to night for her scanty living, she had put childish thingsaway, and taken on herself the anxieties, the hopes, and fears, ofwomanhood. Dick was ten, but in reality, partly on account of her sex,partly on account of the nature within her, Flo was much older than herlittle brother.

  It was she who worked all day over those old shoes and boots,translating them, for what she called truly "starvegut" pay, into newones. It was Dick's trade, but Flo really did the work, for he wasalways out, looking, as he said, for better employment.

  But the better employment did not come to Dick, perhaps because Dick didnot know how to come to it, and Flo's little fingers toiled bravely overthis hard work, and the wolf was barely kept from the door.

  Her mother had taught her the trade, and she was really a skilful littlework-woman.

  Comforted now by her good meal, by her run in the open air, by thewonderful sights, and by the crowning sight of all she had seen;comforted also not a little by Scamp's company, she resumed heremployment.

  The dog, satisfied and well pleased, rolled himself up as close aspossible to her ragged gown, and went to sleep; and Flo, feeling surethat she would be now undisturbed, arranged quite a nice amusement forherself.

  She would begin supposing now in earnest.

  She had seen the queen, she had seen fine ladies, she knew at last whatvelvet and silk, what lace and feathers, what horses and carriages werelike. She could suppose to any amount. She had no longer need to drawwholly on her own resources, she knew what the real things were, atlast.

  She had a very vivid imagination, and she dropped her work, and her bigbrown eyes looked far away from the real and ugly things about her, tobeautiful things elsewhere. But somehow, and this was strange,unpleasant thoughts would intrude, a present anxiety would shut awayimaginary joys, and with a sigh the little girl resumed her work and hercares.

  Her trouble was this. What railed Dick? His embarrassment, his fear ofthe police, his forced mirth, had none of them escaped Flo's observanteyes.

  Generally he was the merriest little fellow in the world, but to-night,even while partaking of a supper that would have rejoiced any heart,even while eating those exasperatingly delicious morsels, he had beengrave, subdued, and his laugh (for through it all he laughed constantly)had no true ring in it. He was also the bravest little boy possible; hehad never in all his life funked any one or anything, and yet to-nightat the sight of a policeman even in the far distance he had got in themost cowardly way behind Jenks.

  There was some cause for this. There was also something else to beaccounted for.

  How was that supper bought? Where had the money come from? Flo knewwell that 'ot roast goose, with sage and onions, with taters and gravy,not to make any mention of the bowl that held them, had not beenpurchased for a few pence; so where, where had the money come from?

  Dick had it not, and Jenks, though _werry_ liberal, liberal to theamount of now and then presenting her with a whole red herring for theirsupper, was to all appearance as poor and as hard up as themselves.

  True, Flo did not know how Jenks made his living; his trade--for he toldher he had a trade--was a secret, which he might enlighten her aboutsome time, but certainly not at present.

  Jenks got his money, what little money he had, in some mysterious way,of that there was no doubt.

  She thought over it all to-night, and very grave were her fears andsuspicions.

  Was it possible that Jenks was a bad boy, and that he was teaching Dickto be a bad boy?

  Was it possible that Jenks was not honest, and that the delicious
supperthey had just eaten was not honestly come by?

  What a pity if this was so, for 'ot roast goose _was_ so good. PerhapsDick had helped some old lady to find a cab, and she had given him ashilling, and perhaps Jenks, who was _werry_ good-natured, had kindlyassisted some other body, and thus earned 'arf-a-crown; this sum wouldpay for their supper, good as it was!

  But no; had they earned the money in that way, they would have told Flo,they would have been proud to tell Flo, whereas the word money had neverbeen mentioned at all between them!

  Had Dick got the money rightly he would have