the question,” Richard continued, “was how to climb the wall,”—still looking up at the chevaux-de-frise.
“I should have tried muffins,” said the lady.
“I should have cut off the water,” remarked the gentleman.
“I did neither,” said Richard; “I tried a rope.”
At this very moment, by some invisible agency, a thickly-knotted rope was thrown across the chevaux-de-frise, and the end fell within about four feet of the ground.
“But her heart it is another’s, and it never can be mine.”
The gentleman who couldn’t succeed in winning the affections of Miss Gray was evidently close to the wall now.
In a much shorter time than the very greatest master in the art of stenography could possibly have reported the occurrence, Richard threw the Emperor of the Waterworks half-a-dozen yards from him, with such violence as to cause that gentleman to trip-up the heels of the only daughter of the Pope, and fall in a heap upon that lady as on a feather bed; and then, with the activity of a cat or a sailor, clambered up the rope, and disappeared over the chevaux-de-frise.
The gentleman outside was now growing indifferent to the loss of Miss Gray, for he whistled the melody in a most triumphant manner, keeping time with the sharp plash of his oars in the water.
It took the Emperor and his female friend some little time to recover from the effects of the concussion they had experienced, each from each; and when they had done so, they stood for a few moments looking at one another in mute amazement.
“The gentleman has left the establishment,” at last said the lady.
“And a bruise on my elbow,” muttered the gentleman, rubbing the locality in question.
“Such a very unpolite manner of leaving too,” said the lady. “His muffins—I mean his manners—have evidently been very much neglected.”
“He must be a Chelsea householder,” said the Emperor. “The householders of Chelsea are proverbial for bad manners. They are in the habit of slamming the door in the face of the tax-gatherer, with a view to injuring the tip of his nose; and I’m sure Lord Chesterfield never advised his son to do that.”
It may be as well here to state that the Emperor of the Waterworks had in early life been collector of the water-rate in the neighbourhood of Chelsea; but having unfortunately given his manly intellect to drinking, and being further troubled with a propensity for speculation (some people pronounced the word without the first letter), which involved the advantageous laying-out of his sovereign’s money for his own benefit, he had first lost his situation and ultimately his senses.
His lady friend had once kept a baker’s shop in the vicinity of Drury Lane, and happening, in an evil hour, at the ripe age of forty, to place her affections on a young man of nineteen, the bent of whose genius was muffins, and being slighted by the youth in question, she had retired into the gin-bottle, and thence had been passed to the asylum of her native country.
Perhaps the inquiring reader will ask what the juvenile guardian of Richard is doing all this time? He has been told to keep an eye upon him; and how has he kept his trust?
He is standing, very coolly, staring at the lady and gentleman before him, and is apparently much interested in their conversation.
“I shall certainly go,” said the Emperor of the Waterworks, after a pause, “and inform the superintendent of this proceeding—the superintendent ought really to know of it.”
“Superintendent” was, in the asylum, the polite name given the keepers. But just as the Emperor began to shamble off in the direction of the front of the house, the boy called Slosh flew past him and ran on before, and by the time the elderly gentleman reached the porch, the boy had told the astonished keepers the whole story of the escape.
The keepers ran down to the gate, called to the porter to have it opened, and in a few minutes were in the road in front of it. They hurried thence to the river-side. There was not a sign of any human being on the swollen waters, except two men in a punt close to the opposite shore, who appeared to be eel-spearing.
“There’s no boat nearer than that,” said one of the men; he never could have reached that in this time if he had been the best swimmer in England.”
The men took it for granted that they had been informed of his escape the moment it occurred.
“He must have jumped slap into the water,” said another; “perhaps he’s about somewhere, contriving to keep his head under.”
“He couldn’t do it,” said the first man who had spoken; “it’s my opinion the poor chap’s drowned. They will try these escapes, though no one ever succeeded yet.”
There was a boat moored at the angle of the asylum wall, and one of the men sprang into it.
“Show me the place where he jumped over the wall,” he called to the boy, who pointed out the spot at his direction.
The man rowed up to it.
“Not a sign of him anywhere about here!” he cried.
“Hadn’t you better call to those men?” asked his comrade; “they must have seen him jump.”
The man in the boat nodded assent, and rowed across the river to the two fishermen.
“Holloa!” he said, “have you seen any one get over that wall?”
One of the men, who had just impaled a fine eel, looked up with a surprised expression, and asked—
“Which wall?”
“Why the asylum, yonder, straight before you.”
“The asylum! Now, you don’t mean to say that that’s the asylum; and I’ve been taking it for a gentleman’s mansion and grounds all the time,” said the angler (who was no other than Mr. Augustus Darley), taking his pipe out of his mouth.
“I wish you’d give a straight answer to my question,” said the man; “have you seen any one jump over that wall; yes, or no?”
“Then, no!” said Gus; “if I had, I should have gone over and picked him up, shouldn’t I, stupid?”
The other fisherman, Mr. Peters, here looked up, and laying down his eel-spear, spelt out some words on his fingers.
“Stop a bit,” cried Gus to the man, who was rowing off, “here’s my friend says he heard a splash in the water ten minutes ago, and thought it was some rubbish shot over the wall.”
“Then he did jump! Poor chap, I’m afraid he must be drowned.”
“Drowned?”
“Yes; don’t I tell you one of the lunatics has been trying to escape over that wall, and must have fallen into the river?”
“Why didn’t you say so before, then?” said Gus. “What’s to be done? Where are there any drags?”
“Why, half a mile off, worse luck, at a public-house
