Colin makes an acquaintance, and is put in a way of being introduced to his sister, a “public singer.”

THE temptations of the Yorkshire House were not sufficiently great to induce Colin to remain in it after the conclusion of the foregoing adventure. Having returned to discharge his shot, he bade good b'ye to the place altogether, and again betook himself to the streets, with the double idea of looking about him, and of seeking out another home. In the course of the afternoon he contrived to pick up an acquaintance at a small public house where he called, in the person of a tall, thin young man, not unlike a pea-rod split half-way up: clad in a blue coat, partially out at elbows, and so short in the arms that his wrists and great red hands hung out full a quarter of a yard, like fly-flappers; while his trowsers,—an old-fashioned, striped, summer pair,—allowed his ankles to descend below them, in no contemptible imitation of a pair of stilts. His sallow countenance strongly resembled in shape a boy's humming-top. From certain conversations which Colin had with him, it appeared that this miserable being, whose name was Wintlebury, was but about two-and-twenty years of age, and had been brought up as assistant to a poor painter of window-blinds, scenes for licensed concert-taverns, and such like, then resident in some obscure back street near the Commercial Road. As his master was himself half-starved upon the productions of his genius, the lad—who came in but second—very naturally starved outright; and one night, in the mere desperation of hunger, fell upon some chops, which had been prepared for the family's supper, and devoured them. On the discovery of this atrocious act, he was turned out of the house at ten o'clock, and left to wander about the streets. His only friend was his sister, who sang and performed some minor parts at the threepenny tavern concerts, so numerous at the eastern end of the town; and whose finances, unfortunately, were not in a much better condition than his own. Sickness had ruined her; and she paid much more to keep herself alive, than her living ordinarily cost her: he therefore could not find in his heart to apply to her. That night he walked the streets, till, tired and worn out, he sat down about two o'clock on the steps of Guildhall, and fell asleep. Here he was apprehended and lodged in the watch-house; taken to the police-office the next day, and committed to prison for sleeping in the open air;—a sentence the term of which had expired but a short time before.

As Colin had yet a round sum left, and, as the day advanced, began to feel something like the want of a dinner, he adopted the advice of Wintlebury, and walked with him into one of those bow-windowed shops in which a display of greasy-looking hams, varnished pork-pies, and dry boiled-beef, is usually made; while a savoury steam ascends through the bars of the area-gate, as a sort of hint to the nose of the 'passer-by that in the region above he may make his dinner. Having regaled himself and his companion with an ample repast, Colin discharged the bill, and they wandered into the town. As neither of them knew where to put up at night, Wintlebury, advised Colin, for economy's sake, to look out for a private lodging; and recommended him to apply at the identical house where his own sister lodged; as he thought the mistress most probably would have one sort of room or another unoccupied.

To this proposal Colin consented. They walked in the direction of Shoreditch, and did not halt until they arrived at the door of a house in the Mile End Road.

“All right!” said Colin's companion,—“there's a paper in the window.”

Just as Wintlebury had ceased to agitate the knocker, Colin—whose eyes were downwards—saw a dirty face popped close to the panes of the low kitchen window, with a pair of white eyes turned up to catch a glimpse of the applicants.

Mrs. Popple soon made her appearance; and having ascertained the object of the visit, proceeded to conduct them into the house. As the party ascended the stairs, Mrs. Popple informed Colin that he would find her upper room a most delightful retreat. He might there read his book in peace; or, if he were so disposed, might play his flute, violin, trombone, tambourine, or even drum, without fear of complaint from any of the other lodgers, who really agreed so well together, that it was almost like paradise itself to live in such a social community. The window of it also overlooked all the backs of the surrounding houses, while a skylight in front opened directly upon the heavens themselves. Colin replied, that he neither played on any musical instrument, nor did he particularly admire such heavens as he had hitherto seen over London. He did not think the attic was likely to suit him. As he threw a careless eye around, he observed a black stump-bedstead, one decent chair, and three rush-bottomed ditto; while in one corner stood an old oak chest, made, probably, in the early days of George the First, and large enough almost to be converted, if occasion required, into a family burying-place. On the whitewashed walls were scratched with the artistical finger-nails of previous occupants various ill-proportioned figures.

Colin at length decided to become “the monarch of all he surveyed” for the space of one week. In the mean time Wintlebury had taken the opportunity of seeing his sister, and had received two free orders from her for a concert at the Condor Tavern that evening.