into the pot, and having inserted his feet into slippers, he prepared to go out of the room.
“Bedroom, with use of the kitchen, for a single gentleman,” he said, winking one eye. “That’s me. Back in five minutes, youngster.”
It must have been ten minutes before he returned, with the coffee-pot in one hand and the two rashers of hot sputtering bacon in the other, when in the most friendly spirit he drew a chair to the table, and saying, “Help yourself, youngster,” placed one rasher upon my plate and took the other upon his own.
“I say, only to think of my mate coming upon you fast asleep in London,” he said, tearing me off a piece of bread. “Why, if he’d been looking for you, he couldn’t ha’ done it. Don’t be afraid o’ the sugar. There ain’t no milk.”
I was very hungry, and I gladly began my breakfast, since it was offered in so sociable a spirit.
“Let’s see. How did you say Mary looked?”
“Very well indeed, sir,” I replied.
“Send me—come, tuck in, my lad, you’re welcome—send me any message?”
“She did not know I was coming, sir.”
“No, of course not. So you’ve come to London to seek your fortune, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you going to look for it first?” he said, grinning.
“I don’t know, sir,” I said, rather despondently.
“More don’t I. Pour me out another cup o’ coffee, my lad, while I cut some more bread and scrape. Only to think o’ my mate meeting you! And so Mary looks well, does she?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And ain’t very comfortable, eh?”
“Oh no, sir! It’s a very uncomfortable place.”
“Ah, I shall have to find her a place after all! She might just as well have said yes last time, instead of going into a tantrum. I say, come; you ain’t half eating. I shall write and tell her I’ve seen you.”
If I was half eating before, I was eating nothing now, for his words suggested discovery, and my being given up to Mr. Blakeford: when, seeing my dismay, my host laughed at me.
“There, get on with your toke, youngster. If I tell Mary where you are, you don’t suppose she’ll go and tell old Blakeford?”
“Oh no, sir! she wouldn’t do that,” I said, taking heart again, and resuming my breakfast.
“And I say, youngster, suppose you don’t say sir to me any more. I’m only a policeman, you know. I say, you were a bit scared last night, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir—yes, I mean, I was very much afraid.”
“Ah, that’s the majesty of the law, that is! Do you know, I’ve only got to go into a crowd, and just give my head a nod, and they disperse directly. The police have wonderful power in London.”
“Have they, sir?”
“Wonderful, my lad. We can do anything we like, so long as it’s men. Hundreds of ’em ’ll give way before a half-dozen of us. It’s only when we’ve got to deal with the women that we get beat; and that ain’t no shame, is it?”
“No, sir,” I said, though I had not the faintest notion why. “You’re quite right,” he said; “it ain’t no shame. What! Have you done?”
“Yes, sir—yes, I mean.”
“Won’t you have that other cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then I will,” he said, suiting the action to the word. “Well, now then, youngster, what are you going to do, eh?”
“I’m going to try and find Mr. Rowle’s brother, sir, at a great printing-office,” I said, searching my pockets, and at last finding the address given me. “Perhaps he’ll help me to find a situation.”
“Ah, p’r’aps so. They do have boys in printing-offices. Now, if you were a bit bigger you might have joined the police, and got to be a sergeant some day. It’s a bad job, but it can’t be helped. You must grow.”
“I am growing fast, sir,” I replied.
“Ah, I s’pose so. Well, now lookye here. You go and see Mr. Rowle, and hear what he says, and then come back to me.”
“Come back here?” I said, hesitating.
“Unless you’ve got somewhere better to go, my lad. There, don’t you mind coming. You’re an old friend o’ my Mary, and so you’re an old friend o’ mine. So, for a week, or a fortnight, or a month, if you like to bunk down along o’ me till you can get settled, why, you’re welcome; and if a man can say a better word than that, why, tell him how.”
“I—I should be very, very grateful if you would give me a night or two’s lodging, sir,” I said, “and—and I’ve got six shillings yet.”
“Then don’t you spend more than you can help, youngster. Do you know what’s the cheapest dinner you can get?”
“No, sir—no, I mean.”
“Penny loaf and a pen’orth o’ cheese. You come back here and have tea along o’ me. I don’t go on duty till night. There, no shuffling,” he said, grinning. “If you don’t come back I’ll write and tell old Blakeford.”
I could see that he did not mean it, and soon after I left my bundle there, and started off to try if I could find Mr. Rowle’s brother at the great printing-office in Short Street, Fetter Lane.
Chapter Fifteen.
“Boys Wanted.”
I went over the address in my own mind to make sure, and also repeated the directions given me by Mr. Revitts, so as to make no mistake in going into the City. Then I thought over again Mr. Rowle’s remarks about his brother, his name, Jabez, his age, and his being exactly like himself. That would, I thought, make it easy for me to recognise him; and in this spirit I walked on through the busy streets, feeling a good deal confused at being pushed and hustled about so much, while twice I was nearly run over in crossing the roads.
At last, after asking, by Mr. Revitts’ advice, my way of different policemen when I was at fault, I found myself soon after two in Short Street, Fetter Lane, facing a pile of buildings from the base of which came the hiss and pant of steam, with the whirr, clang, and roar of machinery; while on the doorpost was a bright zinc plate with the legend “Ruddle and Lister, General Printers;” and above that, written on a card in a large legible hand, and tacked against the woodwork,
