us say-' they.
'Hallelujah!'
'Alleloojah.'
'Now, you can fire away.'
And fire away they did, eating as hungry children only can eat-never lifting their heads once from their plates until they had cleaned them out; then they looked up for more.
Jimmy Virtue was quite as busily employed as the children, and ate and drank with an air of intense enjoyment. Robert Truefit had more leisure. He ate very little, having had his dinner at one o'clock. Scarcely any conversation took place until dinner was over. Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass had eaten their fill, but they still held their knives and forks in their hands, and looked eagerly at the remains of the meal. Jimmy Virtue's face had a purplish tinge on it, and his fierce eye had a mellow light in it, as he saw the children looking eagerly at the food.
'What was it you found in your' lap the other mornin'?' he asked of Blade-o'-Grass.
'Nothin',' was the reply.
'Not baked taters?
'No; we didn't 'ave 'em in the mornin'. Tom and me woke up in the middle o' the night, and eat 'em.'
'Wasn't you astonished to find baked taters in your lap when you woke up?'
'No; we was pleased.'
'Do you know who put 'em there?'
'The baked-tater man?' asked Blade-o'-Grass, after a little consideration.
'No; it wasn't him. Guess agin.'
Blade-o'-Grass considered, and shook her head; but suddenly a gleam lighted up her face. She pulled Tom Beadle to her, and whispered in his ear.
'She ses, if yer please,' said Tom, 'that p'r'aps it was Alleloojah.'
At this suggestion, Jimmy Virtue was seized with one of his fits of noiseless laughter; but both Mr. Merrywhistle and Robert Truefit looked grave. Blade-o'-Grass and Tom Beadle saw nothing either grave or ludicrous in the suggestion, for their attention was fully occupied in the contemplation of the food that was on the table. Mr. Merrywhistle, who was observing their rapt contemplation of the remains of the feast, observed also Jimmy Virtue's fiery eye regarding him.
'It's your'n? questioned the old man of his host.
'Yes, I suppose so.'
'You pay for it, whether it's eat or not?'
'Yes.'
'Give it to the young uns.'
'How win they take it away?'
'In a newspaper.'
Sharp Tom Beadle followed every word of the dialogue, and his lynx eyes were the first that saw a newspaper on a sofa in the room. He jumped from his seat, and brought forward the paper, his eyes glistening with hope. Mr. Merrywhistle and Jimmy Virtue wrapped up what remained of the joint of meat in the newspaper.
'Food for mind and body,' said Robert Truefit, as the parcel was given to Tom.
Tom ducked his head, without in the least knowing what Robert Truefit meant-and not caring either. His great anxiety was, to get away now that he had as much as was likely to be given to him. Blade-o'-Grass shared his anxiety. The gift of the food was such a splendid one-there really was a large quantity of meat left on the joint-that she feared it was only given to them 'out of a lark,' as she would have expressed it, and that it would be taken from them presently. A premonition was upon her, that she would be hungry to-morrow.
The children stood in painful suspense before the grown-up persons. Their anxiety to be dismissed was so great, that they threw restless glances around them, and shuffled uneasily with their feet. But Mr. Merrywhistle had something to say first. He had great difficulty in commencing, however. He coughed, and hesitated, and almost blushed, and looked at Jimmy Virtue in a shame-faced kind of way.
'The other day,' at length he commenced, addressing himself to Tom Beadle, 'when I saw you and Blade-o'-Grass on the Royal Exchange-'
Tom, in the most unblushing manner, was about to asseverate, upon his soul and body, that he was not near the Royal Exchange, when Jimmy Virtue's warning finger, and Jimmy Virtue's ominous eye, stopped the lie on his lips.
'-On the Royal Exchange,' continued Mr. Merrywhistle, 'and gave you-a-a shilling, were you really ill, as you seemed to me to be?'
A look of triumphant delight flashed into Tom Beadle's eyes. 'Did I. do it well, sir? he cried, nudging Blade-o'-Grass. 'Did I look as if I was a-dyin' by inches?'
Mr. Merrywhistle winced, as if he had received a blow.
'O, Tom, Tom!' he exclaimed gently, 'are you not ashamed of yourself?'
'No,' answered Tom, without hesitation, his manner instantly changing.
Blade-o'-Grass perceiving, with her quick instinct, that something was wrong, and that Tom was likely to get into disgrace because he had made the gentleman believe that he was dying by inches, stepped forward chivalrously to the rescue.
'If you please, sir,' she said, 'you mus'n't blame Tom. It was all along o' me he did it.'
Thereupon the following colloquy took place:
Robert Truefit. Bravo, Blade-o'-Grass!
Mr. Merrywhistle [only too ready to receive justification]. Come here, child. How was it all along of you?
Tom Beadle [taking moral shelter behind Blade-o'-Grass]. Tell the gent the truth, Bladergrass; he won't 'urt you. Tell him about the tiger.
Mr. Merrywhistle [in amazement]. The tiger!
Blade-o'-Grass [gravely]. Yes, sir; I got a tiger in my inside.
Mr. Merrywhistle. Who on earth put such a monstrous idea into the child's head?
Blade-o'-Grass. Mr. Wirtue knows all about it, and so does all the others in Stoney-alley.
Jimmy Virtue [nodding gravely in confirmation]. Yes, she's got a tiger. Tell the gentleman what it does to you, Blade-o'-Grass.
Blade-o'-Grass. Eats up everythink as goes down my throat, sir; swallers every blessed bit I puts in my mouth; and when I ain't got nothink to give it, tears at me like one o'clock. Tom's giv me grub for it orfen and orfen, sir; I don't know what I should a' done lots o' times if it 'adn't been for 'im. [Mr. Merrywhistle sheds a kindly glance on Tom Beadle, who receives it with an air of injured innocence.] Well, sir, last Monday the tiger was a'-goin' on orfle, and I was so sick that I begins to cry. Then Tom comes up, and arks me what I'm cryin' for; and I tells 'im that the tiger's a-worryin' the inside out o' me. Tom feels in 'is pockets, but he ain't got a copper to giv me, so he ses, 'Come along o' me,' ses Tom; and he ketches 'old of my 'and, and takes me to the Royal Igschange. Then he ses, ses Tom, 'If anybody arks you, Bladergrass, just you say that I'm your brother, a-dyin' of consumption. I'm a-dyin' by inches, I am.' And I cries out, sir, for Tom looked jist as if he was a-dyin' by inches. [A smile of triumph wreathes Tom Beadle's lips; he has the proper pride of an artist.] But Tom tells me not to be frightened, for he's only a-shammin'. Then the peeler tells us to move on, and you comes up and gives Tom a shillin'; and the first thing Tom does is to buy a poloney for me and a 'unk o' bread for the tiger.
