On the Duchess and Mr. Leigh, her husband, leaving Pimlico Walk somewhat hurriedly the next morning with two barrow-loads of furniture and Bobbie Lancaster, Pimlico Walk, led by Mrs. Rastin, did not hesitate to give them verbal testimonials as to character. The husband, Mrs. Rastin suggested, had robbed her of someone else’s hard-earned savings; the Duchess was condemned severely by those to whom she had in effusive moments given her confidence. The Duchess’s husband was a quiet, resigned-looking man, with a fringe of whiskers that met underneath his chin; his behaviour conveyed the impression that he only desired to be let alone in order that he might do good in a quiet, unobtrusive way. He seemed, in regard to conversation, curt; he never used superfluous words, and before he spoke he always drew in a whistling breath looking around cautiously, as one anxious above all things not to incriminate himself. He for his part took the attacks of the neighbours quite calmly, and when the Duchess, so indignant that she dropped a glass candlestick with lustres, essayed to reply, he begged her to hold her tongue and to come on.

“Least said,” remarked the Duchess’s husband, “soonest mended. Give us a pound with this barrer.”

“And I ’ope,” screamed Mrs. Rastin, “that the money’ll prove a curse to you if so be that you’re the party as took it. What’ll become of the poor kid don’t bear thinking of.”

“You thought you was going to have a ’igh old time,” retorted the Duchess, “and you’re disappointed. Moment the money was spent you were going to turn the poor boy out neck and crop.”

“Don’t you measure other ladies by yourself, ma’am,” shouted Mrs. Rastin. “You’re nothing more nor less than—”

“Come on,” said the Duchess’s husband.

“But,” urged the trembling Duchess, “did you ’ear what she called me?”

“What’s it matter?” remarked the man.

Bobbie, helping to push one of the barrows through the Walk, had the happy feeling that he had really been the cause of the disturbance, and that he was engaged in making history very fast. Trixie Bell’s mother, standing at the door of her small bonnet shop, shook her head dolefully as she saw him; Bobbie make a grimace at her that checked the excellent woman’s sympathy. Behind the shop window Trixie Bell herself looked out between the ostrich-feathered hats with round, astonished eyes.

“What’s the number, Leigh?”

Mr. Leigh gave the information as the two barrows turned from Hoxton Street into Ely Place. Ely Place had more breadth than Pimlico Walk, but it was a grim, mysterious thoroughfare, it had none of the shops which served to make Pimlico Walk interesting; certainly a few of the cottages had a plot in front with a slate-coloured lawn, but these were in every case flagged with imperfect drying linen that destroyed any pretence of rusticity. Before one of these the barrows stopped.

A long young woman with sleeves folded back high above her elbow, her red hair in a single knot, swept the step casually with a bald broom.

“’Ullo,” she said, “you’ve arrived, then?”

Mr. Leigh seemed about to reply in the affirmative, but stopped himself leaving the confession to the Duchess.

“Bat’s gone out in the Kingsland Road,” went on the red-haired young woman.

“What for?” asked the Duchess, unloading the barrows.

“To get change,” said the young woman.

This reply amused the Duchess so much that, casting away resentment against the world in general and Pimlico Walk in particular, she rested a chair-bedstead in the dim passage and sat down upon it to enjoy the laugh. Bobbie, anxious to show himself as one of the family, laughed too, and Mr. Leigh almost smiled.

“You are a caution,” said the Duchess exhaustedly.

“What ’ave I said now?” asked the young woman, with all a humorist’s assumption of gravity.

“It isn’t so much what you say as your manner.”

“This your tenth?” asked the girl, resting her chin on the broom and nodding her head in the direction of Bobbie.

“He’s a little chap,” explained the amused Duchess, “that’s left without a parent, and we’re going to look after him. Ain’t we, Leigh?”

“Don’t ast me,” begged Mr. Leigh.

“He’ll come in useful,” whispered the Duchess.

“Bat don’t care for kids about the place.”

“He’s as knowing,” urged the Duchess, “as a grown-up.”

“This is only our town ’ouse,” explained the red-haired young woman to Bobbie. “Rather ’andsome, palatial sort of mansion, don’t you think?”

“Tell better,” said Bobbie, looking round, “when someone’s give it a good clean down. What’s in the room at the back?”

“You ask my ’usband that question when he comes ’ome,” said the young woman with sudden acerbity, “and he’ll strap you till he’s tired.”

“Shan’t ask him, then,” said Bobbie.

“Never pry, Bobbie,” counselled the Duchess warningly. “Little boys that go prying never come to no good. Carry that lamp upright, and don’t upset the oil, or I’ll upset you.”

Bobbie, submitted to Mr. Bat Miller upon that gentleman’s return from obtaining change in Kingsland Road, was so fortunate as to obtain favour, and Bat Miller after telling the young woman, who seemed of a jealous disposition, exactly how his time had been occupied, ruffled the boy’s head of hair, telling him that if he behaved himself he should learn in that house everything worth knowing. But none of your tricks mind, said Mr. Bat Miller. As a first test Mr. Miller took a bright two shilling-piece from an inside pocket of his waistcoat, and, spite of the protests of the two women, dispatched him with it to a certain shop in Hackney Road to purchase one ounce of shag. When Bobbie returned, panting, with the tobacco in a screw of paper and the change safely in his fist, Bat Miller first tested the coins by trying them with his teeth, and then gave Bobbie for himself a penny, some of the tobacco, and commendation in congratulatory but lurid terms. The two men went out together, and the Duchess and young Mrs. Bat Miller exchanged grievances, Mrs. Miller complaining a good deal of her husband’s irregular behaviour, and presently they too, finding themselves in agreement on several questions, went out, locking the boy in that he might look after the house. They promised to be absent for not more than two seconds, but by some error they made it two hours, and during that time Bobbie prowled over the house and went into every room, excepting only the locked-up room at the back of the ground floor.

At the door of this locked-up room he listened very carefully. The keyhole being plugged, he could see nothing, but he kept his ear to the door for some time. It seemed to him that a sound of heavy breathing came from within.

The two couples came home in admirable temper. Even Mr. Leigh’s attitude to the world seemed less guarded, and several times he appeared inclined to sing with the rest. They brought in with them fried potatoes, fish, and a large bottle; Bobbie, to his astonishment and great satisfaction, being allowed to help himself. The Duchess repeated the anecdotes of high life in the sixties that Bobbie had heard before, Mr. Leigh watching her with pride as she assumed her accent of refinement, and ordering her to tell more than one account of a past evening twice over. Later, young Mrs. Miller let down her knot of red hair, and recited a touching poem about a Russian mother who being torn from her family to endure punishment in Siberia, apparently objected to it very much and pleaded with the soldiers, but with no avail until presently her youngest born argued with them, and then the officer in charge relenting, kissed the babe and said, “Your mother’s safe, my darling child. To you she owes her life; For I, too, have an infant mild, Also a loving wife.” At which pleasing point the recital finished, leaving the hearers content, with perhaps a slight fear that the tender-hearted officer might have had some trouble in explaining his conduct to his superior officers. Then Mr. Bat Miller, a little sleepy, sang a long, long song, relating vaguely to the sea, with a refrain of “What ho for the rolling wave, me boys, And a life on the vasty deep,” and when he had finished, the Duchess consented, after a good deal of pressing, to give her imitation of a well-known serio-comic lady whose star had been high some twenty-five years previously, a performance requiring a hiccough that the Duchess had no difficulty in repeating. Bobbie had seldom enjoyed an afternoon so much.

“Time for the Fright’s ’alf pint, ain’t it?” said Mr. Leigh.

The wooden clock on the mantel-piece had just struck twelve, as notification that it was six o’clock.

“Enough left in the jug, ain’t there?” asked Mrs. Miller.

“Bit flat.”

“He don’t care whether its flat or round,” said the humorous young woman. “It’s all one to the Fright. Bat, wake up and look after your lodger.”

Bat Miller awakened, took the large bottle, and went out into the passage.

“Come back, Bobbie,” cried the Duchess, sharply. The boy did not obey, being indeed accustomed to persist in doing anything that he was told not to do. Mr. Leigh rushed out, and catching him, swung him back into the room. The two women boxed his ears.

“Stiddy,” said the boy resentfully. “Three to one’s plenty.”

“I’ve told you before not to pry,” said the Duchess.“Who was prying?”

“Look ’ere,” said Mr. Leigh, as peacemaker, “come out ’long o’ me.”

“Where you goin’, Leigh?”

“Station,” he said.

“Ain’t you reported yourself yet?”

“I ain’t,” said Mr. Leigh, finding his cap.

“You’ll get yourself into trouble some day,” remarked the Duchess.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” interposed young Mrs. Miller.

“Got the ticket with you?”

“Course I ’ave.”

Mr. Leigh took from his inside pocket a sheet of paper about the size of an ordinary letter; he replaced it in an envelope and led Bobbie out of the house. In Kingsland Road they turned to the right. Opposite were the low almshouses standing in their own grounds and protected by a low iron spiked wall. The two went towards Shoreditch.

“Where are we going to book to?” asked Bobbie, “when we get to the station?” Mr. Leigh did not answer. “Going for ride in the train, ain’t we?”

“No!”

“What station are we going to, then?”

“Police station.”

“’Ere,” said the boy, stopping. “None of your ’alf larks.’

“You’re all right, kiddy.”

“What’s the row, then?”

“No row,” said Mr. Leigh. “Slight fermality, that’s all.”

Bobbie’s fears proved groundless. Mr. Leigh went up the steps of the police station, where one or two uniformed men and a few men in plain clothes stood under the blue lamp, and these nodded to Mr. Leigh. Bobbie waited in the hall in order that, necessity arising, he might make swift escape, and Mr. Leigh, taking off his cap respectfully, tapped at a wooden window. The window opened; the face of an inspector appeared.

“Evenin’, sir,” said Mr. Leigh.

“Well, me man?”

“Nice bright, cold autumn weather, sir,” said Mr. Leigh, holding his cap between his teeth and finding the sheet of paper. “Soon be ’aving winter on us now.”

“I thought it had turned warmer,” said the inspector, taking a book down.

“P’raps you’re right, sir,” said Mr. Leigh obsequiously.

“I ought to remember your name,” said the inspector, turning over the pages of the book. “Begins with an L, don’t it?”

“You’re right again, sir. Name of Leigh—Abraham Leigh.”

“I’ve found it,” said the inspector, who had been running his finger down the page. “Got the ticket?”

Mr. Leigh passed in the sheet of letter paper, and the inspector, comparing it with the entry in the book, endorsed it.

“Seems all right,” said the inspector.

“Slight alteration of address,” remarked Mr. Leigh humbly. “Now residing at 112, Ely Place.”

“Rum quarter,” said the inspector, as he made a note.

“Must live somewhere, sir,” submitted Mr. Leigh.“Going on straight now?” asked the inspector, as he handed the note back.

“Rather,” answered Mr. Leigh complacently. “Turned over a new leaf, I ’ave.”

“Good!”

“Other bisness don’t pay, sir,” said Mr. Leigh, replacing the folded sheet of paper in his pocket. “It’s a mug’s game, that’s what I call it. Good day, sir.”

“Good day, me man.” Shutting the window to with a decisive snap.

Mr. Leigh, coming down the steps with Bobbie, was spoken to casually by one of the plain clothes men, who in an uninterested way asked Mr. Leigh some questions concerning (it appeared to the boy) mutual acquaintances, but Mr. Leigh seemed unable to give the plain clothes man any of the information desired, complaining as excuse of decaying powers of memory.

“I think it must be I’m getting old, Mr. Thorpe, sir.”

“That’ll grow on you,” said the plain clothes man, “if you aren’t careful.”

“I can’t remember names,” declared Mr. Leigh, complainingly; “I can’t remember faces; I can’t remember any mortal thing.”

“Ah,” said the detective, “pity!”

To Bobbie, as they walked home to Ely Place, Mr. Leigh appeared slightly more communicative, counselling the boy to behave decorously if ever he should find himself in trouble.

“Inside or outside,” declared Mr. Leigh, “it pays in the long run.”

At Ely Place everything was in train, the day being special and the evening also out of the ordinary, for a visit to the theatre. Some question arose in regard to the wisdom of leaving the house alone, but young Mrs. Miller said that she wasn’t going to be left out of it if Bat were going, the Duchess said it wasn’t often she got the chance, Mr. Leigh said he didn’t see no particular harm in going to the play, Bat Miller said that too much work told on a man; that the Fright would be safe enough, and it would make a nice change for all of them. So they all went. Bat Miller locked the door with great care, and in five minutes they were finding their way up the broad stone stairs of the Britannia with a struggling, anxious, noisy, good-tempered crowd.

“Right sort,” suggested Mr. Leigh, in a whisper to Bat Miller, as they forced their way to the pay box.

“I’m sure,” agreed Bat Miller. “Don’t want no fuss ’ere.” He pinched the ear of a dark young woman in front of him.

“I’ll have your black eyes,” he said admiringly.

“You’ll get two of your own if you ain’t careful,” retorted the girl, not displeased.

“Shouldn’t mind being punched by you,” said Bat Miller. “Let me keep these others from scrouging you.”

“Bat,” cried a voice behind him.

“Now begin agin.”

“Leave off talkin’ to that nigger gel,” commanded young Mrs. Miller.

“Who are you callin’ a nigger gel,” inquired the dark young woman across the heads of the surging crowd, “carrots?”

“You,” replied Mrs. Miller frankly, “Miss Tar Brush.”

“Don’t answer her,” begged Mr. Bat Miller to his new acquaintance. “She’s so jealous she can’t see straight.”

“I pity you,” said the dark young woman.

“So do I,” said Mr. Miller softly. “Lemme get your ticket for you.”

A roaring noisy crowded gallery, like the side of a mountain going from the base with strong iron rods protecting up to the topmost point, where patrons had to bend their backs to escape the ceiling. General discardment of coats by men and boys, universal doffing of hats and bonnets, and loosening of blouses by ladies. Bobbie, perched on the rolled-up coats of the two men, saw at a distance of what seemed at first to be several miles below, the tightly-wedged people on the floor of the theatre packed closely to the very footlights, and leaving just sufficient room for a small orchestra. Mrs. Bat Miller, still trembling with annoyance, bought oranges, and selecting one over ripe, stood up and threw it, and more by luck than skill, managed to hit the dark young woman, seated below, well on the side of the face, where it burst shell-like and caused annoyance. Having done this, young Mrs. Miller seemed more content, and twisting up her rope of red hair, settled down to unrestrained enjoyment of the evening.

“I wouldn’t ’ave your dispisition,” said Mr. Bat Miller to her, wistfully, “for a bloomin’ pension.”

Bobbie felt pleased to see the two boys from Drysdale Street far above him; they would require all the austerity that a railway arch could give to prevent them from feeling envious of him. He held up a piece of apple and shouted above the babel of voices, “’Ave ’alf?” and when they screamed back “Yus!” he ate it all calmly; thus goading them to a state of speechless vexation. Everybody called to everybody else; the enormous theatre filled with appeals for recognition. Presently through the uproar could be heard the discordant tuning up of the violins, and, holding the Duchess’s thin arm, he looked down again and saw that the orchestra had come in.

The footlights being turned up, the violins began to play. The Duchess said it was nothing to the Alhambra in the old days, but Bobbie felt this could not be true. When the curtain ascended and the uniformed men posted in various quarters of the large theatre bawled for silence, Bobbie held tightly to the Duchess for fear that he might be tempted to jump over.

It was not easy to discover at first the true intent of the play, because the gallery did not at once become quiet; two fights and a faint were necessary before quietude could be obtained. When the words from the far-off stage came up more distinctly to Bobbie’s quick ears, he realized that a plot was being arranged by two gentlemanly men in evening dress to rob the bank of the sum of fifty thousand pounds, and it seemed that they wished to do this unobtrusively, and indeed desired that any credit for its success should be placed to the account not of themselves, but of the manager of the bank. The manager came on just then to a majestic air from the orchestra; the audience seemed to know him, for they cheered, and he stood in the centre of the stage bowing condescendingly before he commenced to interest himself in the drama. He was rather a noble-looking young man, a little stout perhaps, with a decided way of speaking; you could hear every word he said, and when he had to make any movement the orchestra played briskly, as though to intimate that whatever misfortune might cross his path, he had always the support of four fiddlers, two bass viols, a cornet, a pianist, and a trombone. The two villains intimated their desire to open an account at the bank. The manager asked for references. The two villains, first looking cautiously off at the wings to make sure that no one observed them, suddenly flung themselves on the bank manager. They were engaged in binding him with ropes, when a ragged boy (who the Duchess said was not a boy but a girl) jumped in at the window, and said,—

“What price me!”

Upon which the two villains instantly decamped; the ragged boy summoned the clerks (who, reasonably speaking, should have heard the struggle, but apparently did not), and the manager ordered that the ragged boy should he offered a highly responsible post in the bank, for, said the manager to the gallery, of what use is sterling honesty in this world if it be not liberally rewarded? a sentiment with which the gallery found itself able to express cordial agreement. In the next scene the two gentlemanly villains, undeterred by their rebuff, were seen in a vague light, drilling with caution the cardboard door of an immense safe of the bank. They had but just succeeded when voices were heard. Plaintive music and entrance of heroine. Dressed in white, she had come to bring a posy of flowers to the manager, whom, it appeared, she was to marry on the morrow. This visit seemed unnecessary, and it was certainly indiscreet; after the manager had surprised her and had given to the gallery a few choice opinions on the eternal power of Love, which made Mrs. Bat Miller so agitated that her rope of red hair became untied, the heroine went, after an affectionate farewell, leaving a note on the floor.

“You’ve dropped something, Miss,” shouted Bobbie.

“’Ush,” warned the Duchess. “That’s done a purpose.”

This note the villains found, after a struggle with the girl boy, who, demanding of them, “What price me?” was clubbed on the head, and left insensible. The note only required a slight alteration with the tearing off of one page to be construed into evidence of complicity in the crime; so that when, in the next scene, a cheerful wedding party in secondhand clothes came out of the church door, bells ringing, villagers strewing flowers, and wedding march from the orchestra, two constables suddenly pushed their way through the crowd and placed hands on the shoulders of the astonished bride, causing so much consternation that the bells stopped, the wedding march changed into a hurried frantic movement, what time the bride clutched at her bodice, and assured the gallery (but this they knew full well) that she was innocent. A boy inspector, with a piping voice, stepped forward and proceeded to act in accordance with stage law. Woman, I arrest you. Oh, sir, explain. This letter (said the inspector) in your handwriting was found in the bank after the robbery. Sir, said the tearful bride, ’tis true I wrote that letter, but—. Woman (said the stern boy inspector), prevarication is useless; who were your accomplices? You decline to answer? Good! Officers, do your duty. Scoundrels (shouted the bridegroom bank manager), unhand her, before God she is innocent as the driven snow, I swear it. Ho, ho (remarked the boy inspector, acutely putting two and two together), then this can only mean—here the orchestra became quite hysterical—that you yourself are guilty. Officers, arrest him also! May Heaven, begged the bride emotionally, addressing the gallery, may Heaven in its great mercy, protect the innocent and the pure. It seemed that Heaven proved somewhat tardy in responding to the heroine’s appeal, for from a quarter to eight until a quarter to eleven, she and the hero found themselves in a succession of the direst straits, which, apportioned with justice, would have been more than enough for fifty young couples. It did seem that they could not by any dexterity do the right thing; whereas, the two villains, on the contrary, prospered exceedingly, to the special annoyance of Mr. Bat Miller, who, constituting himself leader of a kind of vigilance committee in the hot perspiring gallery, led off the hisses whenever either or both appeared, and at certain moments—as, for instance, when in the hospital ward they lighted their cigarettes, and discussed cynically the prospect of the injured boy’s speedy departure from life—hurling down at them appropriate and forcible words of reproof, that did credit alike to his invention and to the honesty of his feelings.

It is only fair to add that the gallery gave to Mr. Miller ready and unanimous assistance. How they yelled with delight when the boy (who was a girl) defied one of the villains, and bade him do his worst! How they shivered when the villain, producing a steel dagger, crept furtively up to the boy, whose back was turned, and how they shouted with rapture as the boy, swinging round at exactly the right moment, presented a revolver at the villain’s forehead, causing that despicable person to drop the dagger and go weak at the knees. How they held their breath when, on the boy incautiously laying down the revolver and going to look at the wings, the villain obtained possession of the deadly weapon, and covered the boy with it. And then when the boy had affected to cower and to beg for mercy (which, it need hardly be said, the villain flatly declined to grant), how they screamed with mad ecstasy on the boy saying with sudden calm,—

“By-the-bye! Hadn’t you better make sure that that little pop-gun’s loaded?”

Causing the villain to curse his fate and to snap the trigger ineffectually, thus giving the boy a cue for saying once more,—

“What price me!”

Bobbie in support whistled and hissed and howled so much, that after a while he became exhausted, and to his regret found himself unable to express opinions with vigour; this did not, however, prevent him from weeping bitter tears over the hospital scene. It was in the hospital scene, as a matter of fact, that the luck of the hero and heroine turned. The injured youngster suddenly recovered sight and reason; denounced the two villains, now cringing beneath the triumphant, hysterical theatre; called upon the boy inspector, fortunately at the wings, to arrest them, which the boy inspector instantly did, thus retrieving his position in the esteem of the audience; amid an increasing hum of approval from the mountain of heads in front, the youngster arranged from his couch for the future happiness of the hero and heroine, capping it all and extracting a roar from the house by remarking,—

“Now, what price me!”

Which might have been the pure essence distilled from all the best jokes of all time, judging from its instantaneous and admirable effect. Then the hero and heroine, at the centre of the stage, managed to intimate that sunshine had broken through the clouds; that trustful and loving, they would now proceed to live a life of absolute peace and perfect happiness; the orchestra feeling itself rewarded at last for all its faithful attention, broke out into a triumphant march, and—rideau.In Hoxton Street it was drizzling, and the crowd surging out of the doorway turned up its coat collars and tied handkerchiefs over its bonnets, and set off for home. Bobbie, dazed with excitement, clutched the Duchess’s yellow skirt and trotted along, after a minute’s rest at a whelk stall, the two men and Mrs. Miller following closely behind. At the corner of Essex Street they waited to allow a four-wheeler to go by. The elderly horse, checked by the driver, slipped, and nearly fell, recovered itself, and slipped again, made vain efforts to get a secure footing, and upon the driver standing up to use his whip and saying bitterly, “Why don’t you fall down and ’ave done with it,” did fall down, and remained there. A small crowd formed without a moment’s delay; Mr. Bat Miller went to the stout old gentleman inside the cab, now trying without success to let down the window, and opening the door, assured him with great courtesy that he had no cause for fear. Having done this, Mr. Miller re-closed the door and stepped back. He passed something furtively to red-haired Mrs. Miller, who slipped the something into Bobbie’s pocket, telling him in a commanding whisper to cut off home like mad. Bobbie, feeling that he was helping in some proceeding of an imperial nature, complied, noting as he darted away the very stout gentleman hammering with his fists at the closed window of the four-wheeler. Mr. Miller sauntered off Kingsland Road way; the two women and Mr. Leigh went unconcernedly to a public-house.

Bobbie was shivering when five minutes later the company rejoined him at the street door of the house in Ely Place. Mr. Miller found his key and let them in. The smelly lamp in the passage burned low; in the closed back room a quavering voice sang a hymn.

“Dare to be a Daniyul,
Dare to stand alone,
Dare to ’ave a purpose firm,
And dare—”

“Shut it!” commanded Bat Miller, knocking at the door of the back room sharply. “Get off to sleep, can’t you?” He turned to the others. “And now,” he said with a change of manner, “let’s see what kind of a little present this young genelman’s bin and brought ’ome for us.”

“I b’lieve he pinched it for me,” said young Mrs. Miller cheerfully, “’cause to-day isn’t my birthday.”

Bobbie, with something of majesty, brought from his pocket a heavy gold watch and part of a gold chain, and laid them on the table. The four put their heads together and examined the property. Then they beamed round upon the small boy.

“I foresee, Bobbie,” said the Duchess, in complimentary tones, “that you’re a goin’ to grow up a bright, smart, useful young chep.”

“He’ll want trainin’,” suggested Mr. Bat Miller.

“And watchin’,” growled Mr. Leigh.

“And when he gets to be a man,” said young Mrs. Miller facetiously, as she pulled off her boots, “all the gels in the neighbourhood ’ll be after him.”

With these praises clanging and resounding in his heated little brain, Bobbie went upstairs to bed.