nature—so different from what he had hitherto met with in his wanderings,—and that he was resolved to offer her his gratuitous services as a message-boy and general servant, without requiring either food or lodging in return.
“But Mrs Willis may object to such a dirty ragged fellow coming about her,” said I.
“Ain’t there no pumps in London, stoopid?” said Slidder, with a look of pity, “no soap?”
“True,” I replied, with a laugh, “but you’d require needles and thread and cloth, in addition, to make yourself respectable.”
“Nothink of the sort; I can beg or borrer or steal coats and pants, you know.”
“Ah, Slidder!” said I, in a kind but serious tone, “doubtless you can, but begging or borrowing are not likely to succeed, and stealing is wrong.”
“D’you think so?” returned the boy, with a look of innocent surprise. “Don’t you think, now, that in a good cause a cove might:—
“‘Take wot isn’t his’n,
An’ risk his bein’ sent to pris’n?’”
I replied emphatically that I did not think so, that wrong could never be made right by any means, and that the commencement of a course of even disinterested kindness on such principles would be sure to end ill.
“Vell, then, I’ll reconsider my decision, as the maginstrates ought to say, but never do.”
“That’s right. And now we must part, Slidder,” I said, stopping. “Here is the second sixpence I promised you, also my card and address. Will you come and see me at my own house the day after to-morrow, at eight in the morning?”
“I will,” replied the boy, with decision; “but I say, all fair an’ above-board? No school-boardin’ nor nuffin’ o’ that sort—hey? honour bright?”
“Honour bright!” I replied, holding out my hand, which he grasped and shook quite heartily.
We had both taken two or three steps in opposite directions, when, as if under the same impulse, we looked back at each other, and in so doing became aware of the fact that Dumps stood between us on the pavement in a state of extreme indecision or mental confusion.
“Hallo! I say! we’ve bin an’ forgot Punch!” exclaimed the boy.
“Dumps,” said I, “come along!”
“Punch,” said he, “come here, good dog!”
My doggie looked first at one, then at the other. The two indicators in front rose and fell, while the one behind wagged and drooped in a state of obvious uncertainty.
“Won’t you sell ’im back?” said Slidder, returning. “I’ll work it out in messages or anythink else.”
“But what of the bobbies?” I asked.
“Ah! true, I forgot the bobbies. I’d on’y be able to keep ’im for a week, p’r’aps not so long, afore they’d nab him.—Go, Punch, go, you don’t know ven you’re vell off.”
The tone in which this was uttered settled the point, and turned the wavering balance of the creature’s affections in my favour. With all the indicators extremely pendulous, and its hairy coat hanging in a species of limp humility, my doggie followed me home; but I observed that, as we went along, he ever and anon turned a wistful glance in the direction in which the ragged waif had disappeared.
Chapter Four
In Which Dumps Finds Another Old Friend
One morning, a considerable time after the events narrated in the last chapter, I sat on the sofa waiting for breakfast, and engaged in an interesting conversation with Dumps. The only difference in our mode of communication was that Dumps talked with his eyes, I with my tongue.
From what I have already said about my doggie, it will be understood that his eyes—which were brown and speaking eyes—lay behind such a forest of hair that it was only by clearing the dense masses away that I could obtain a full view of his liquid orbs. I am not sure that his ears were much less expressive than his eyes. Their variety of motion, coupled with their rate of action, served greatly to develop the full meaning of what his eyes said.
“Mrs Miff seems to have forgotten us this morning, Dumps,” I remarked, pulling out my watch.
One ear cocked forward, the other turned back towards the door, and a white gleam under the hair, indicating that the eyes turned in the same direction, said as plainly as there was any occasion for—
“No; not quite forgotten us. I hear her coming now.”
“Ha! so she is. Now you shall have a feed.” Both ears elevated to the full extent obviously meant “Hurrah!” while a certain motion of his body appeared to imply that, in consequence of his sedentary position, he was vainly attempting to wag the sofa.
“If you please, sir,” said my landlady, laying the breakfast tray on the table, “there’s a shoe-black in the kitchen says he wants to see you.”
“Ah! young Slidder, I fancy. Well, send him up.”
“He says he’s ’ad his breakfast an’ will wait till you have done, sir.”
“Very considerate. Send him up nevertheless.”
In a few minutes my protégé stood before me, hat in hand, looking, in the trim costume of the brigade, quite a different being from the ragged creature I had met with in Whitechapel. Dumps instantly assaulted him with loving demonstrations.
“How spruce you look, my boy!”
“Thanks to you, sir,” replied Slidder, with a familiar nod; “they do say I’m lookin’ up.”
“I hope you like the work. Have you had breakfast? Would a roll do you any good?”
“Thankee, I’m primed for the day. I came over, sir, to say that granny seems to me to be out o’ sorts. Since I’ve been allowed to sleep on the rug inside her door, I’ve noticed that she ain’t so lively as she used to was. Shivers a deal w’en it ain’t cold, groans now an’ then, an whimpers a good deal. It strikes me, now—though I ain’t a reg’lar sawbones—that there’s suthin’ wrong with her in’ards.”
“I’ll finish breakfast quickly and go over with you to see her,” said I.
“Don’t need to ’urry, sir,” returned Slidder; “she ain’t wery bad—not much wuss than or’nary—on’y I’ve bin too anxious about her—poor old thing. I’ll vait below till you’re ready.—Come along, Punch, an’ jine yer old pal in the kitchen till the noo ’un’s ready.”
After breakfast we three hurried out and wended our way eastward. As the morning was unusually fine I diverged towards one of the more fashionable localities to deliver a note with which I had been charged. Young Slidder’s spirits were high, and for a considerable time he entertained me with a good deal of the East-end gossip. Among other things, he told me of the great work that was being done there by Dr Barnardo and others of similar spirit, in rescuing waifs like himself from their wretched condition.
“Though some on us don’t think it so wretched
