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* > .
H0(ARTH HOUSE LIBRARY.
BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C.
"he following is a list of the REVISED EDITIONS of the Hogarth House
Works, published in Volumes, bound in Illustrated Covers, also in Penn
Weekly Numbers, all in print, and ready for immediate delivery:-
TOM WILDRAKE'S SCHOOLDAYS.
1 Five Wols., price ls. each; also complete in one Vol. as a Prize
dition, and handsomely bound in cloth and gold, price 5s. 6d.-
his brated School Story was the first of its class ever issued
| wee numbers; and in the face of numerous imitators it still
Dlds the foremost place. The story is a faithful narrative of the life
a high-spirited young Englishman at school-showing what he
d' it, and what he learnt and its influence on his
life. The story is carried on through Tom Wildrake's adven-
rous career, down to the time when he felt himself entitled to rest
the laurels, he had so nobly won by his many brave deeds during
he heartrending Indian Mutiny and in Aust and elsewhere.
YOUNG TOM'S ADVENTURES
n Europe, Asia, Africa, and America.
»mplete.#: ls. 6d.-This is a sequel to "Young Tom's School-
lys,” and narra
tes his hair-breadth escapes and adventures both
ith wild men and animals in the four quarters of the globe.
TEIE BOYS OF BIRCHAM SCHOOL.
impl ce 1s. 6d.-This story claims to be the first school story
at ": # red in a £ solely devoted to boys. For
amatic incident and genuine fun it has never yet been equalled.
CHARLIE AND TIM AT SCAR UM
SCEIOOL.
r ce 1s.-This story of the life of two boys, who are
: at school, has always been a popular one with our
ung friends; sho , as it does, how a sincere friendship may be
rmed at school which may have lasting effects on our boys' after
es. Every schoolboy should read it.
HARITY JOE ; or, from Street Boy to
Lord Mayor.
Implete, price, 1s:-This is the true story, of an outcast, who,
i £: and indomitable will, rose to be the Chief Magnate of #
rst City in the World. His adventures at school, and, accompanied
his dog Toby, with a travelling showman, should be read by every
1 who wishes to know what an English boy can do, no matter how
mble his first start in life, or how great his temptations.
OUT ON THE WORLD.
mplete, price ls.-This # goes direct, to the heart of the
ader, being a story of real life, depicting the troubles and trials of
o children who were stolen from their home by &#: Little
ck's brave defence of his fellow-prisoner, Lilly-He shoots at
nker Tom-They escape and tramp to London-Their adventures
the way; they join a troupe of tumblers and become street-players
They are recognised by the gipsies-The fair-The booth on fire;
d, after many narrow escapes, they are captured by Tinker Tom,
o cruelly ill-uses them-They are traced by the players to Tinker
m’s den-They are followed and risk their lives to save the children
m a horrible death-The children are restored to their parents
sough the skill of the detective police, and well reward those who
listed them in the days of their adversity. This work is very
Mphically illustrated with numerous Wood Engravings.
YOUNG TOM'S SCHOOLDAYS.
mplete, pricels.6d...This is the story of the life of Tom Wildrake's
at school; and, although complete in itself, should be read b
ryone who has read “Tom Wildrake,” as all the readers ol
ands reappear in its pages.
RAGS AND RICHES :
A Story of Three Poor Boys.
mplete, price, 1s:-The illustrations to this work are from the
mitable pencil of Phiz H. K. Browne), who did so much towards
dering popular many of the works of Charles Dickens. So faith-
y is the story of these poor boys told, and so realistic are the
nes described. that it has been £ by #: critics
best story of London life published since “Oliver Twist.”
FRANK FEARLESS;
Or, the Cruise of the Firebrand.
aplete, price 2s. 6d.—We doubt whether for fidelity of doscription
stirring incidents this magnificent sea story has been ualled
!e the days of Captain Marryat. The story of the misjudged hero's
g and troubled conflict, not only with the pirates, but with his
I mistaken countrymen, should be read, by every true British boy
an lay its leasons to heart and profit by them.
- * *
MIDSHIPMAN TOM;
Or, the Cruise of the War Cloud.
99mplete, price?s.-This is the faithful narrative of the life of a
Mids pman, on board a Man-of-War, and shows the trials, tempta.
tions, and prizes incident to the career of a boy who wears the uniform
of our gracious Queen at sea. Though strikingly sensational, the
element of fun is not omitted.
BLACK-EYED SUSAN; or Pirates Ashore.
Complete, price ls--The pathetic and stirring story of William and
Susan is here told in £ which is bound to enlist the sympathies
of all who are possessed with a true Briton's love of adventures at sea.
THE BRIGANDS OF THE SEA;
Or, the Sailor Highwayman.
Complete, price is.6d.-Money Marks, the hero of this most extra-
ordi romance of the sea, is no imaginary character, and £:
the so £ herein described are founded on fact,
th e £ of ti £ £t!: sea is #:
6 most sensatio narratives ever ofte readi 0.
It is profusely illustrated by an eminent artist. Dig pu
THE WAR CRUISE OF THE MOSCA;
Or, the Six Fighting Mids.
Complete, price is:-In this Stirring Story of the Sea, the talented
author takes a wide departure from his school and £, stories,
*nd shows us that though he is familiar with the cavalry sabre,
he can give us a vigorous and thful account of the life of those
whose lot it is to wield the sailor's cutlass, and fight their co 's
battles on the boundless deep. fig untry
FOR HONOUR; or, the Young Privateer.
Complete, rice is. 6d-This powerfully written # of the life of a
Privateer during one of the most stirring F: of England's Naval
History, is a-marvellous combination of the sensational and the
humorous. , No British boy, can read the ings and doings of
Monkey Jack and Crikey, without a laugh, and no British boy ean
read the heroic actions of the £ without feeling a thrill
of exultation that he also belongs to that glorious Empire on whose
domains the sun never sets.
ADRIFT ON THE SPANISH MAIN.
£: ls.-This Story of the old Buccaneers carri
©s wift
e.glorious days of good Queen Bess—the days when
£ settled for all #: her # to the title of "Empress of
e Seas.”
ALL’S WELL.
Complete, price ls.-The Story under the title of the above #:
seaman's £ is full of £, sensation, and humour. dra-
matic situations it is probably superior to any story of the sea ever
written. With each copy is presented gratis a Magnificent Portrait
of the greatest naval hero of modern days-Horatio, Lord Nelson.
SHEET-ANCHOR JACK.
Complete, price la.-A £ narrative of the life of a
# : “before the mast,” and should be read by every true
nglls -
THE PIRATE’s ISLE;
Or, the Wonders of the Deep.
Complete floe ls.-This is a story of adventure, both on sea and
land. of sensation, pathos, and fun.
THE BRITISE BOY SAILOR.
Complete, price 2s.-A faithful narrative of the life of a r boy
on board a British Man-of-War, during the glorious days of Nelson,
showing what a British boy's pluck can do to raise himself superior
to circumstances.
WILLIE GRAY;
Or, the Wreck of the Polar Star.
Complete, pricels.-In this spirit-stirring story the entranced reader
is carried into strange oountries, and through strange perils by flood
and field; but, from first to last, the interest, is so well sustained
that those who once take up the book are unable toiay it down until
every line has been
-
---.
HoGARTH HOUSE, BouvBRIE ST, FLEET ST, LoNDoN, E.G.


**
* *
er


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR. *
‘Sime, and to poison his mind and heart against
the world, had not those useful portions of his
cerporeal existence been of the truest and
soundest kind.
He had a dim recollection of being happy, and
of a lady whom he called mother, but the memory
of this was like the flickering of an expiring can-
dle, and Joe was compelled to believe he had
but remembered a very pleasant dream.
He had a strong remembrance of the time
which succeeded the dream up to the period
when Mr. Sivins took him out of charity. A
portion of this related to the interior of a work-
house, wherein he was taken care of and bap-
tized, for Joe had no name until the parish
officials gave him one.
The board, like embryo authors, were fond of
romantic names, so they had Joe baptised Joseph
Chudleigh Cholmondeley. The last name, in
consequence of its formation, soon degenerated
into Chummy, and as long as Joe remained in
the “house,” he was known as Joe Chummy.
Truly, there is but one step from the sublime, &c.
Joe was taken from the “house” by an elderly,
unpleasant, military-looking gentleman, who
generously repaid the parish for Joe's keep;
and, much to the lad's delight, took him in a
real carriage which stood outside the “house.”
It was a brougham, and very nice and com-
fortable Joe felt when he was being driven
through the streets, and, childlike, clapped his
hands with glee.
“Be quiet,” said the elderly gentleman,
sternly, and Joe subsided into the furthest
corner; “be quiet, sir.”
There was something in his companion's tone
that had more effect upon the lad than even the
harshest of the officials at the “house” had pro-
duced.
“Now, sir,” the old gentleman continued,
looking savagely at the boy; “I have taken you
from the workhouse to do something for you,
therefore I hope you will behave yourself, and
remember with lasting gratitude what I have
done.”
“Yes, sir.”
Joe felt ready to cry, not with joy, for the
harshly-spoken words had fallen heavily upon
bis heart.
The old gentleman did not speak again until
dhe brougham drew up at the corner of a street,
near St. George's Market in the Borough.
The footman promptly opened the door, and
Joe's companion, telling him to alight, turned to
the servant and said briefly:
“Wait.”
* * *
The boy walked beside his conductor until they
Beached a small bootmaker's shop; here they .
turned in, as Joe thought for the purpose of
buying him a pair of boots, for those he had
brought from the “house” were not of the best
fit or the most elegant make.
Alas, for Joe's hopes ! a dirty-looking red-
faced man came from behind the curtain and
looked like a Chinese mandarin, when the elderly
gentleman said:
“Here is your charge; take him, , keep the
boy well, and a similar amount will be forwarded
to you every quarter; but remember what I told
you before, seek not to find out from whence it
comes, or you will lose a good income.
The bootmaker promised never to make the
least inquiry, and Joe was left in the shop; his
conductor, beyond favouring him with a scowl of
hate, paid no attention to the childish voice
crying out:
“Oh take me away, I don’t want to stop
here.”
Perhaps he read in the man's besotted and
bloated face the cruel life that was before him,
for the perception evinced by children of the
characteristics of those with whom they are
brought in contact, is sometimes marvellous—it
is an instinct which seldom errs.
The bootmaker drank more than ever after
Joe fell to his charge, and although he kept his
shop open as of yore, he never solicited or cared
about customers either to purchase or for re-
pairs.
The man's days being spent in a tap-room and
his nights in sleep, Joe was left to run wild
among the children of those who lived by being
in “the coster line,” and the offspring of brick-
layers' labourers, sweeps,and many whose parents
had no visible profession.
So far the change was for the better, but when
the drunken brute was tired of beating his wife,
he refreshed himself by belabouring Joe with the
thick strap he kept for the purpose; here the
change was for the worse.
Five years' hard drinking had ended in a
parish funeral for the shoemaker, and a few days
after the drunkard was buried Joe was fetched
away by Mr. James Sivins; he had been a friend
of the shoemaker's, who took especial care to
inform Joe on their way from St. George's
Market that he was to consider himself lucky at
having a friend who could take care of him for
the future out of “pure charity."
Joe took to his new abode an attached friend,
it was Toby, the dog that had belonged to the
shoemaker, and Mr. James Sivins was grimly
pleased to allow this addition to his household.
Toby was not a handsome dog, rude boys were
wont to call him mongrel, until "Joe stopped
their gibes by bringing his clenched fist agains"


© CHARITY JOE; on,
the scoffer's nose. Toby's breed was perhaps
hard to name. for he in size and appearaace was
not unlike a shepherd's dog, but in place of
having a long sharp head, Toby's was rather flat,
and not unlike a mastiff's.
The dog had taken a fancy to Joe when he
first came to the drunken shoemaker's and that
fancy soon ripened into a sincere attachment.
Whatever love he had felt for his old master,
Toby transferred it with interest to Joe, and had
not the animal been securely fastened when Joe
was being beaten, he would have torn the drunken
brute limb from limb.
The boy soon came to love the faithful crea-
ture, and soon Toby could perform sundry
tricks which would have gained him rounds of
applause from any audience.
Docile and obedient as Toby was to Joe, a
word or gesture from the boy, and he became a
dangerous assailant.
Joe, as he grew in years and intelligence,
taught Toby, among other accomplishments, to
run after any boy he pointed out, and take his
cap off, and Joe levied a species of black mail in
consequence of this feat; for he would not sur-
render the cap until he received a penny if the
loser was rich; a few buttons if coin was not
forthcoming; or marbles, or tops, according to
the season.
Joe and Toby soon became a terror to the
juvenile population around St. George's Market;
and many who longed to pay Joe off for old
scores, taunted him by saying—
“Meet me when you ain't got your dog, and
I'll punch your nose for you.”
“Look here, my pippin,” Joe would reply,
“you can have all you want in that line now.
Here, Toby, mind my jacket and cap.”
He would fling off these somewhat ruined
articles of attire, and the big dog would place
his paws upon them, and watch his master give
his adversary all and more than he wanted in that
line.
One evening the stout and pursy Mr. James
Sivins, after the labours of the day, called Joe
from the back yard to his august presence.
“Look here, Joe,” he said, “you know I
cannot afford altogether to keep you out of
enarity, therstore I shall expect you to do some-
thing towards your keep."
... What aII, 1 to do?”
“Well, there's Cheeseman opposite wants
a bey, I've spoken to him about you and he's
willing to try you, so mind what you are about.”
“Should say I will, too—when am I to go?”
“To-mo. w morning at eight.”
Joe went at eight next morning, but his time
af probation was very short, for Joe could not
resist stopping on his errands to have a “go in "
at any boy who insulted him, and the conse-
quence was that other juveniles less combative
helped themselves to the butter, eggs, and cheese
which were in the basket he had set down until
the “go in ” was decided.
If a mischance of this description did not befall
him, he was sure to make all sorts of mistakes in
the delivery of the goods entrusted to him, and
those who wanted butter would have cheese left
at their doors, and the reverse.
Joe left before his week had expired, but Mr.
James Sivins soon found him employment at an
oilman's in the London-road.
Here Joe tried some experiment with the
matches, and nearly set fire to the premises, and
was expelled; his master's boot-toe accompany-
ing him to the door.
Joe's next situation was at a green-grocer's,
and his occupation mainly consisted in standing
at the door and keeping watch over the goods
outside.
Joe found the time very long on his hands; so,
to while it away, he amused himself by cracking
nuts and throwing the shells at the boys who
who passed the shop.
This led to several fights, and finally to the
appearance of the irate green-grocer, armed with
a whip; and Joe, at the sight, forsook his post
and decamped.
Mr. James Sivins was very wroth, but in spite
of all his faults, he could not help liking the mis-
chievous lad, and after reading him a long lecture,
he wound up by saying-
“Well, as you seem to have no taste to make
your fortune, I suppose I must do it for you.”
Joe felt grateful, and Mr. Sivins, as a pre-
liminary step towards the good result, taught
the boy sufficient of writing to enable him to
enter in a book the payments tendered by the
thin, ill-clad women, and the pale mechanics,
when they came to repay the loans.
All went on well for upwards of a week after
Joe was installed as clerk; and Toby, evidently
surprised at the cessation of the evening gambols,
would stick himself at the lad's feet, and look
wistfully towards the door.
One evening Mr. Sivins dressed himself pre-
paratory to going to the public-house near the
corner, and pausing on the doorstep, he said-
* Now mind, Joe, you do not leave the house,
and if Mrs. Harris comes, do not take her money,
unless she pays the fines; she has been two
weeks in arrears since Monday last Let me see,
this is the third, if she doesn't pay up, we must
go to her securities”
“All right, I'll tell her.”
“And, Joe,” said Mr. Sivins, “if that man
*
--


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAY C. R. *
F# * >
|#
* |--
: \
|
INTERIOR OF BAREAM HALL SCHOOL.
“Your mother Deb—your talented mother's
brain—created the shadowy outlines of my bold
plan, which, if it succeeds—and it will, for
there's six boys coming to morrow—we shall
make our fortunes.”
“If we succed as you remark, Samuel,” said
Mrs. Dothem, “and we shall do so if we get
the pupils.”
“And get them we shall,” said Mr. Dothem.
“An establishment like this is wanted—very
much wanted—by relatives and guardians, and
those who have particular reasons for placing
boys out of the way.”
“Well, we shall see,” said the witch-like lady.
“If you get the boys I'll wager we make it pay.”
“Let mother alone for that,” said Deborah;
“she has planned it all out so nicely: the biggest
boys are to dig up the garden and look after the
vegetables.” -
“Ah!” said Mr. Dothem, suddenly, “t' at
reminds me. Now, as vegetables, occasionally
varied with oatmeal, will be the principal diet in


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR. al
of Schools' Reports to Government, therein he
will find that truth far exceeds the wildest
fiction.
CHAPTER IV.
A FURTHER ACCOUNT OF BAREAM HALL, AND THE
RETRENCHMENT DECIDED UPON BY MR. AND MRS.
DOTHEM.-ALSO HOW SYLVIA AND DEBORAH
DOTHEM WERE BROUGHT FROM THE LAND OF
ROMANCE BY THE ARRIVAL OFMR. SIVINs, CHARITY
JOE AND HIS DOG TOBY.
MR. DoTHEM, SEN., was well aware that self-
preservation was the first law of nature—a know-
ledge that had no doubt been impressed upon
his mind in early youth, and time, instead of
obliterating the imprint, caused it to sink deeper
into the tablet.
In conducting the affairs of the school he kept
the primary law full in sight. Possibly to the
force of this juvenile impression we may attribute
the great change perceptible every day between
the master and pupils of Baream Hall.
For the former began to grow sleek and
respectable, and the latter, in a corresponding
ratio became thinner and more ragged as the
time “rolled on,” according to the ap, rowed
mode adopted by great novelists when speaking
of the flight of the old gentleman with the scythe
and hour-glass.
Yes; the time rolled on and these changes took
By the end of the first year after the establish-
ment of the Baream Academy, Mr. Dothem had
under his charge nearly one hundred pupils, their
ages varying from nine to eighteen.
His words had been prophetic; there were many
persons to whom a school of the description he
had founded was a great boom; and had many
more been acquainted with the delightful place
there would not have been many empty rooms in
the great mildewy, desolate mansion.
There was a great difference in the appearance
of these lads compared to the pupils of an
academy where every boy had a father, mother,
or relative to love them, write letters, and send
“tips,” baskets and presents, so acceptable to
the schoolboy mind.
There was no joy in perspective for the poor
hopeless lads at Baream—no jolly holidays to
look forward to; no visiting friends; to be brief
they were consigned to the care of Mr. Dothem
and his amiable family, and beyond the regular
transmission of the quarterly sum (in advance) no
one cared whether they lived or died; had it
been otherwise, Mr. Dothem would not have
taken them under his paternal wing.
£ut a small proportion of the lads could look
back with pleasure to the joyless life they had
passed. Many were orphans—many had eittier
a mother or father living who could or would
not acknowledge their children; others had been
brought up by relatives in whose way they
stood; for while they lived their greedy relatives
could not finger the money left by the boys'
parents.
It was impossible to look upon some of the
little fellows without feeling that the cheerless
life they had been doomed to had already made
them vicious and cruel beyond their years.
These lads had an expression of sullen savage
despair upon their faces, and the low, receding
foreheads and deep-set eyes added selfishness and
precocious cunning to the unpleasant appearance
of their pale, pinched faces.
Others were meek, penitent boys, whose tearful
eyes looked as though they were always on the
watch for some one to protect and love them.
This class of the boarders were the youngest
—so young that their faces had not lost that
childish expression of openness and innocence in
which the mind feelings are depicted upon tho
countenance.
There were some lads—about a dozen—who
gave Mr. Dothem and his sallow-visaged son an
infinity of trouble. These were the high-spirited
lads that no starving or punishment could
subdue.
Sturdy, broad-chested fellows, whose animal
spirit rose triumphant over the hapless life they
led; boys whose frames seemed to gather strength
from the meagre diet of Baream Hall, and who
arose as refreshed from their night's slumbers
upon a straw pallet as though their limbs had
reposed upon a bed of eider down, and their
covering a quilt of the ermine's beautiful skin.
Whatever fun and mischief took place in the
dismal school these lads were the projectors, and
Samuels, junior, the superlative, was an especial
object of their plotting; and, although the
sucking poet had more than once boasted of
terrific combats he had gone through when in
London—and with men who, from Samuel's
description, could have doubled him up like a
wisp of hay—he received from more than one of
the said lads more than his slender form could
bear.
They were too careful to repay his tyranny fin
the daytime; they chose the hour when the
poetic Samuel was wont to creep about the pas-
sages, and with his ear to the keyhole, listen to
the boys' conversation when they were in bed.
In one instance he had been caught, and
severely pommelled in the dark, and in spite of
Mr. Dothem's liberal offers of reward for the dis-
covery of the offenders, none of those in the
secret would split.


WCHARITY JOE.
The business of the day was over, and most of
the boys were out among the wild, rank weeds
which grew to perfection in that portion of the
ground allotted for their use.
The strongest of them were debarred the
pleasure of the rank playground until they had
finished attending to the vegetable garden, and
as the weather was warm and dry, there was
much labour required to pump water from the
well to water the cabbages and other beds.
Mrs. Dothem had charge of this department,
and being a woman of tact, she soon found a
system of getting the work well done, and with
but little trouble to herself.
One of the lads (and such is the weakness of
human nature that plenty were always to be had
to carry out her wishes) was ordered to stand
over the pump and keep an account of the number
of buckets filled by each of the young gardeners.
The principal and his family were seated at the
open window of a comfortably-furnished sit-
ting room, the senior Dothem in the enjoyment
of a cigar and a glass of cold gin and water, his
the boys in his room, dear Samuel overheard him,
amiable son was in the background studying a
book; Sylvia was reading the Jowler; Deb ditto
the Roarer; and Mrs. D. sat winking and blink-
ing at the fading sun, and mentally resolved to
effect a saving in the expense of the establish-
ment by a substitution of mangel wurzels for the
more expensive carrots and turnips used in the
soup for the boarders. (Soup days were twice a
week at Baream.)
Doses of grated ginger and chalk usually
followed soup days; and something of the sort
was necessary, or there would have been work
for the doctors at Baream township.
“Well, so far,” said Mr. Dothem, “I think we
may safely say our school has been a success.”
“A great success,” said Mrs. D., “but I think,
my dear, there is room yet for improvement.”
“In the school, Mrs. Dothem ?”
“No, Mr. D., in the provision department.”
“But, my dear, the boys look well—we have
had but ten deaths since we began.”
“Quite true, Mr. D., therefore, as I said be-
fore, there is room for improvement—perhaps I
should say retrenchment—in our expenditure.”
“Let me see,” said the principal, “Mondays,
..neat, vegetables, and pudding—pudding without
suet; Tuesday's dinner, oatmeal and salt to
prevent grossness from Monday's rich food.”
“Wednesdays,” said Mrs. Dothem, when her
husband paused, “soup, good soup—the meat we
have for dinner is boiled in the water, which is
thickened with rice and vegetables.”
“(Yuite true, my dear, and well the boys look
upon the German diet.”
“Thursdays, meat pudding and vegetables
By-the-way, Mr. D., you forgot to put a barrew-
load of carrots outside the schoolroom door last
Thursday, and the consequence was, the edge
not being taken off the boys' appetites, there
was nothing but grumbling after dinner.”
“I must see to that in future, Mrs. D. Well,
Fridays, oatmeal porridge and salt.”
“Saturdays,” said Mrs. D., “bread and cheese
and beer; Sundays, meat, soup, and vegetables."
“Yet, after such a generous bill of fare, some
of the biggest boys grumble about the beer, Mrs.
Dothem. I find the last eighteen gallon cask is
nearly empty; of course you have not given
them beer more than once during the week 2”
“Only on Saturdays, Mr. D.; then the usual
quantity, four boys to a pint.”
“Strange; perhaps the barrel was not full.
Now eighteen gallons cost nine and six **
“Ten shillings on the bill, Mr. Dothem.”
“Yes; but the brewer makes a reduction in
consequence of that gawky nephew of his having
been admitted to Bareham Hall.”
“The young viper,” said Mrs. D.; “he told
that you put water to the “swankey, that was the
term he used, so that it should not cost more than
a halfpenny a quart.”
“Did he?” said Mr. Dothem; and the “did
he,” meant a great deal. “Now, my dear Mrs.
D., about the retrenchment you spoke of.”
“I have been thinking,” said the amiable lady,
“that in place of giving the young whelps doses
of chalk and grated ginger when they are unwell,
it would be much more economical to send a few
of them out to cut stinging-nettles—nettles
boiled, and the liquor taken before breakfast, is
a good purifier of the blood.”
“Perhaps you are right, Mrs. D., but I think
it would be less expensive to buy a little chaik and
ginger than to risk any of the boys running away,
which might happen if they got beyond the gates.”
“No fear of that,” said the lady, “the systems
of making the big boys punish the younger ones
answers so well that I should not feel the least
fear respecting the result you mentioned.”
“Well, Mrs D., I will be guided by your
judgment in this; to-morrow six boys of the
fourth class, with one of the first in charge,
shall go and cut the nettles you require.”
“Now," said Mrs. Oothem, “ there is a great
many carrots and turnips used in the soup on
Wednesdays and Saturdays, so I've been think-
ing ef trying mangel wurzels chopped up. What
is your opinion of the matter?"
“Well, my dear, we can but try the experiment.
At any rate I will purchase sufficient to last until
the carrots and turnips we have growing are fit
for use.”


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR. 15
she had been aroused from her nap, she was a
little confused, and in her confusion she caught
up Mr. Dothena's glass of cold gin and water,
and carried it away in her hand.
Mr. Dothem went to the door and met his
visitor; they shook hands, and by the manner
in which their eyes met, “they perfectly under-
stood each other.”
“Glad to see you,” said Mr. Dothem to Mr.
Sivins; “very glad to see you. Is this the
young gentleman you wrote about?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Sivins, “this is the
hopeful youth. What a beastly, out-of-the-way
place this is, Mr. Dothem. Why, there is not a
decent road between here and the station.”
“Sit down; and you, my little man, find a
seat. We are not ceremonious here. Beastly
roads, Mr. Sivins? Just like you London gentle-
men to make that remark. You forget we are
quite Arcadian down here. No roads, no bustle,
no hurrying to and fro of eager crowds—no Mr.
Sivins, our lives are passed after the manner de-
picted in the old pastoral poems.”
“Give me, then,” said the innocent Mr. Sivins,
“the region of the ‘Elephant and Castle, and
an adjacent pub.”
“Every one to his taste, Mr. Sivins. Now I
Prefer to dwell among the beauties of nature,
surrounded by my family and my dear boys. I
could not now be happy in any other sphere.
What is your name, my man?”
The gentleman with the taste for Arcadian
life addressed the query to Joe, who promptly
answered-
“Joseph Chudleigh Cholmondeley.”
“A beautiful name. So you have come to stay
amongst us here? Yon will—I hope you will—
do your friend Mr. Sivins, and the school of which
Ihave the honour to be the principal every credit.”
“I’ll try,” said Joe; “no cove can do more
than that.”
“Cove,” said Mr. Dothem, “is a slang word.
But never mind, we shall soon make you forget
such expressions here, for we have young gentle-
men of the highest families in the land, and by
following their conduct you will leave Baream
Hall—the seat of learning and eloquence—a per-
fect gentleman.”
“Shall I?” said Joe. “Well, that will be
something to be a perfect gentleman, 'cos they
don't have not nothing to do.”
“We must all work,” said the benign Dothem,
“but of that hereafter. Whose dog is that?”
“Mine,” said Joe, “and a rare good 'un he is,
too. Get up, Toby, and chuck your bats about.
See him doesn’t he do it fine?”
Toby, in obedience to his master's command,
stood upon his hind legs, and “chucked his bats
about” by moving his forepaws quickly to and
fro.
Mr. Dothem looked at Mr. Sivins, and Mr.
Sivins looked at Mr. Dothem ; then the former
said—
“A very obedient, but not one of the hand.
somest of his kind. I suppose you intend to take
him back with you?”
This was to Mr. Sivins, but before the agent
could reply Joe struck in with—
“No fear of that. Toby stays here or I don't,
that's the way to settle this matter. Where
Toby is there's Joe, and where Joe is there's
Toby, for one don't stop without the other.”
This was very plain—too plain for Mr. Dothem,
who began to see countless punishments in store
for the young gentleman so free of speech.
“Really,” he said, “although I admire the
affection which caused that speech, I must in-
form you, Mr. Cholmondeley, that I do not in-
clude dogs in my charge for pupiis.”
“You don't get a dog,” said Joe, “like that
in this part of the country. Why he can and
will kill anything from a fly to a cat, and, as for
a watch dog, there ain't his likes in all England,
no mistake about it. Isn't it right, what I say?”
“Very likely,” said Mr. Dothem; “but you
must be aware, I cannot afford to keep a large
dog like that and you for the small sum I charge
for boarding, washing, lodging, and educating
you.”
“Nobody asked you to,” said Joe. “Toby
don't want any keeping, he'll forage for himself,
if there ain't anything to be found, I'll tell you
what I’ll do, I'll clean all the knives, and brush
up the things, or do anything you like, if you let
him stop, if not—”
“If not, my man, what then?”
“Why I won't stop here. I don't like the look
of the crib much, so you know what to do.”
Mr. Sivins had taken no part in the foregoing
“passage” between the principal of Baream Hall
and Joe, but when he saw a red spot make its
appearance upon each of the principal's cheeks,
he thought it time to interfere; so with a gesture
he called Mr. Dothem to the window, and while
Joe stroked and patted Toby's head, Mr. Sivins
said—
“A pennyworth of poison will settle the dog,
therefore, the matter is easily managed, and as
the boy is as headstrong as he is spirited, it may
be as well to take him upon the conditions he
proposes. I have no doubt the excelleat dis-
cipline of this establishment will soon bring him
to reason.”
“Very soon,” said Mr. Dothem; “therefore,
I will follow your advice.”


16 CHARITY JOE ; or,
They left the window, and Mr. Dothem, ad-
dressing Joe said-
“Your guardian, Mr. Sivins, tells me you are
very fond of dogs, and as I like to encourage
feelings of humanity in the hearts of my pupils,
your dog can stay with you upon the conditions
you have yourself named.”
“What, if I clean the knives, eh? Is that to
pay for his lodging?”
“Exactly so, my little man.”
“But,” said Joe, “what about his keep?”
“That,” Mr. Dothem answered, “will be an
easy matter here. We keep a good table.”
“Many people,” Joe said, “keep good tables,
but they don't put much on them.”
** You *
Mr. Dothem's exclamation was stopped by the
entrance of the romantic Sylvia, who said—
“The young gentleman's room is quite ready,
sir.” Then to Joe, “Will you please to follow
me?”
“Like a bird,” said Joe. “Come on, Toby;
good-bye, Mr. Siva.s I'm much obliged to you
for all you've done for use out of charity, but as
soon as I get on my own hook I mean to have a
look out for that old gent who brought me from
the workus, and if I find him I shall ask if you
have kept me out of charity, for that ain't one of
your failings.”
“Good-bye, Joe,” said Mr. Sivins, biting his
lips with vexation, “J hope you may find the
old gentleman, then, perhaps, you will be con-
vinced of the disinterested manner in which I
have behaved to you.”
“P'raps I shall. Good-bye.”
Joe took up his bundle, and as Miss Sylvia led
the way with the air of a tragedy queen at a
country booth, he left the room, followed by
Toby.
“Who is the old gentleman referred to by this
boy?” Mr. Dothem asked; “judging by the name
he gave me I should think he belonged to a good
family.”
“The name was given him in the workhouse,”
the agent answered; “as for the old gentleman
I know no more about him than you do.”
“Yet he pays you for the boy's keep.”
“He does; but he is a cunning old dog. I have
}ried all I know to find out his name and address,
but artful as I have been, so far he has been too
cunning for me.”
“It was strange,” Mr. Dothem said, “that
you should have met him just after the drunken
cobbler in the Borough died.”
“It was.”
“I had not time when I last saw you, to listen
to the account. You may perhaps remember the
cause of my haste.”
“Perfectly well,” said Mr. Sivins, “but since
you are curious upon the point, I will tell you
how it occurred.”
“Have a cigar?”
“Thank you; of course, you are aware that
I was a particular friend of poor Lasts, who
drank himself to death ?” -
“Quite aware of it.”
“I was coming to see him at the time this boy
was brought to the borough, and as I never for-
get faces, I knew the old fellow when I met him
on the steps of the Duke of York's column.”
“This was after Lasts died.”
“Yes, a few days. I told him the bootmaker
was dead, and at once offered to take charge of
the boy, an offer he accepted, and gave me the
same terms as Lasts had been in the habit of
receiving.”
“These terms are—”
“Only known to myself and the old gentle-
man.”
“Quite right to keep the knowledge from going
further,” said Mr. Dothem. “Well, how go
affairs in a certain quarter?”
“Much the same; the fellow you employed
at times to collect the rates has got your berth.”
“Well, he deserves it, for the fellow is honest
as far as the world goes. How does your loan
office answer?”
“Pretty well; but I have to sell up a few of
them now and then.”
“Ah!” disagreeable necessity; still it must be
done.”
“Yes.”—A pause—then Mr. Sivins care iessly
asked. “How do you find this answer?”
“The school?”
“Yes.”
“Pretty well; better, I daresay, when I have
perfected my arrangements.”
“It requires time. Of its ultimate great suc-
cess I should think there is not the least doubt,
Dothem.”
“Not the least. You see it is just the sort of
thing that is wanted.”
“How about the lads when they get toe old
for your establishment ?”
“Well,” said Mr. Dothem, “I have scarcely
thought of that. Of course I must be guided
by those who send the boys here.”
“Undoubtedly; but most of theul, I should
imagine, would be ready and willing to recom-
pense you if you can get them comfortably off
their hands.”
“I have been thinking so,” said Mr. Döthen,
“and wish now that I had selected a place nearer
the sea.”
“Why?"
“Because boys, when they imagine themselves


FROM STREET BOY TO LORI) MAYOR.
17
oppressed, immediately rush off to sea, and as
shipwrecks are not unusual things, they would,
'n many cases, be as much out of their guardians'
and relatives way as though the black oblong box
held their carcases.”
“Still, there would be the chance of some of
them returning and uttering unpleasant things
about your excellent establishment.”
“Our walls are high,” said Mr. Dothem, and
the gate is always fastened; therefore those who
escaped would do so when the gate was left open
on purpose, and it would be my care that nothing
unpleasant should arise hereafter.”
“I can see as far through a brick wall as most
people,” said Mr. James Sivins, agent, “but
hang me if I can see this very clear.”
“It is a suggestion of my wife's—a clever woman
she is, Mr. Sivins, and has been a fine woman in
her time.”
Mr. Sivins merely said “Indeed!” perhaps he
doubted the lady had ever had any pretensions to
the praise her worthy spouse bestowed upon her
form.
“I should not be able to get on without her,”
Mr. Dothem continued; “she is such a wonderful
manager—very wonderful.”
“She must be so to manage such a number of
unruly boys; but the suggestion, Dothem, what
was it 7”
“Well, a very simple one, and one I have no
doubt I should have thought of afterwards;
we'll suppose it became necessary to let one of
the overgrown whelps escape—he goes—I watch
him sneak through the gate, and then my
excellent wife goes at once to his box and places
some of our property inside. Samuel brings the
box down and places it under the wall; I go at
once for the constable at Baream township.
He comes and bears witness to the narrow escape
I had of being robbed.”
you in time, so if you accept it I shall expeut a
reduction in the payment for Joe's education.”
“You shall have it if I find it feasible to my
mind.”
Mr. Sivins did not place much reliance upon
the pledge thus held out, but as he had nothing
particular to do at the moment he shook hands
with the principal of Baream Hall, justly arguing
that if it served no other purpose it would keep
the muscles of his arm and shoulders in exercise.
“Now,” said Mr. Sivins, thrusting his thumb
into the armholes of his waistcoat, lifting his
chair back and crossing his right leg over the
left, “my suggestion, which I flatter myself is
an improvement upon the seaport you just now
wished to have named, is that when you have any
lads to turn out upon the world, providing they
are strong healthy lads—mind you, it's no use
sending any narrow-chested sickly fellows—”
“I shall bear that in mind.”
“Do, unless you wish your trouble to be for
no purpose. Now such a lad as Joe when he is a
few years older, would be about the clip. Now
to put them effectually out of sight and mind
suppose at the time you had worked them into
a fit state of mind to escape when the gate was
left conveniently open, you went to the expense
of paying the fare of one of the recruiting fellows
belonging to a line regiment.”
“Ah! Go on, pray.”
“A regiment, bear in mind, that is stationed
in the East Indies, China, or anywhere you may
select as the most unhealthy spot possible to
find; you can easily get all the information you
require from the Gazette, and if you are able to
obtain the attendance of a man from a regiment
just embarking for an unhealthy station, I think
you will do much better than being near a sea-
“A capital idea—if he is caught, what then?”
“He must not be caught,” said Mr. Dothem;
“I shall be aware of the route he has taken; I
will send the constable the contrary way.”
“Still I do not understand the purpose of the
supposed attempt at robbery.”
“Don’t you? It is simple enough. If he
opens his mouth about the regulations of my
establishment. I can at once prove him to be a
thief, and as a matter of course his word will not
be taken.”
“Not a bad idea, upon my word,” said Mr.
Sivins. “Now you were regretting your distance
from a seaport town, I think I have a plan that
will answer quite as well, if not better.”
“I am open to suggestions.”
“Mine will be worth hundreds of pounds to
port, for, after all, it is not the better class of
boys who prefer the dirt and discomfort of a ship
to the pomp, glitter, and parade of military
life.”
“Perhaps not ; at any rate, I can fire their
minds for the military service by purchasing a
few books upon the subject, and leave them in
the way of those it may be necessary to see
beyond the gates of Baream, but—”
“Well? but what is the doubt, Dothem?”
“Will the soldier come down here upon the
chance of obtaining a few recruits?”
“Will ducks swim? Will a young wife mar-
ried to an old man look out for a jointure? Will
a- ?”
“You need not go any further, I can see tae
plan will succeed, that is, if the red coat will not
mind being in such a miserable place as Baream-
in-the-Willows is.”
“It's the fellow's interest to come, he gets a


CHARITY JOE; or,
“I can't stand any more of this,” said Joe,
writhing with pain; “now look here, let me
alone or I'll call somebody that will make you;
you won't, eh? here dog—seize 'em, Toby-seize
'em !”
Toby had been watching the scramble evi-
dently in some doubt whether the increase in the
number of his master's antagonists was not a part
of the programme, but when he heard his master's
voice he quite understood the mistake he had
made.
Toby did his best to rectify it; the first of Joe's
extra assailants was the youth who seemed bent
upon trying how long the human hair was capa-
ble of being tugged at without coming out at the
roots.
This youth Toby seized by the collar and tore
the back clean out of his jacket, waistcoat, and
shirt.
The experimenter upon Joe's scalp gave a howl,
picked up the remnants of his clothing, and fled,
fully persuaded the dog was after him open-
mouthed.
The gentleman who was pinching Joe's arm,
in the attempt to compel him to release the head
of Boggins, next felt Toby's wrath.
The dog fixed his teeth not only through the
cloth that covered the pincher's legs, but in the
flesh, and he soon had employment sufficient in
rubbing the affected part and giving vent to his
feelings in a prolonged note in altissimo.
The youth that was operating upon Joe's nose
wisely desisted from his interesting occupation,
and moved out of the way in the hope that Toby
had not seen his purpose, but Toby was a
cunning dog, he knew the whole of Joe's assail-
ants, and was about to give chase to this one
when a cry arose—
“Old Nipguts; old Nipguts is coming!”
The old gentleman who bore this exceedingly
vulgar epithet made his appearance, cane in hand,
followed by Mr. Sivins.
Faggy and Nimblejaws desisted from their en-
counter, and slunk away in a manner they hoped
would enable them to pass unnoticed.
Joe took no notice of Mr. Dothem, ser, while
he kept up the punching, and said—
“Give in, or I'll smash you ; now you're
Wicked off your perch.”
“I give in,” said Boggins, “don’t choke me.”
“He gives in '" shouted Joe, triumphantly,
He—oh, what's up?”
His query was addressed to Mr. Dothem, who
caught Joe by the arm and drew him from
Boggins; who stood the picture of misery and
grief.
“What's the meaning of this,” said Mr. Do-
them, “here at the very moment when the bell
is ringing for evening prayers, I find two
Christian lads with bloodstained hands and faces!
Tell me, sir, what caused you to behave in that
manner?”
“Put that cane down, then,” Joe said, “and
I'll tell you all about it.”
The principal had by mere force of habit held
the heavy cane uplifted, he had no intention of
using it before Mr. Sivins, so he lowered the in.
strument of punishment, and said—
“I shall not chastise you now, and your after
punishment will depend upon the aspect of this
very serious infringement of the rules of this
establishment. Now, sir?”
“Well,” said Joe, “the long and short of it
is, this fellow, this mouldy, mean-spirited wretch,
wouldn't give Toby a drink of water, and be.
cause I asked him a second time, he talked about
knocking me into the middle of next month, so
I upset him, and we had a slog; and there heis.
ask him, and if he tells a lie, I'll give him worse
than he's got now. I—”
“Hush ! hush ! I can't allow this sort of thing.
We shall have to tame you, young gentleman.
Now, Boggins, what have you to say?”
“He wanted some water for his mongrel, sir,
and because I wouldn't give it him he kicked me
off the pail I was sitting on, and of course—of
course—I—I”—
“You struck him. Is that it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were to blame, much to blame. Your
proper course would have been to have made a
report to me, and I would have explained the
rules of this establishment to Master Joseph
Chudleigh Cholmondeley.”
“Crikey,” whispered a small boy to his neigh-
bour; “there's a name.”
“Yes, sir,” Bogging said, “I thought to have
done so; but while I was gone he would have
taken water from the pump.”
“There's no mistake about that,” said Joe. “]
should have been all there at that fun.”
Mr. Dothem reflected for a few moments, the
he said—
“The bell has rung for prayers. Go to the
dining-hall at once, and you who have lifted
your hands against each other, ask for forgive-
neSS.
The boys went towards the dining-hall, and
as they filed through Toby would have followed
Joe, but the poetic Samuel gave him a kick, and
Toby, seeing he was not wanted, stayed out.
side.
Joe saw the action, and making straight
towards the magnificent, said-
“Look here, don't you do that again, or
there”l be a row.”


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR.
“In your place sir," Samuel said, impera-
tively: “and keep a civil tongue in your head.”
“I’ll do you a kindness,” thought Joe, “before
I've been long here. So make no error about
that, my sallow-faced, ginger-waisted pup.”
Mr. Dothem came in, and Samuel called out
“Silence,” and the elder hypocrite added ano-
ther item in the black book by affecting a religious
fervour as he snuffled out the prayers for the
evening.
CHAPTER VII.
air. SIVINS TAKES HIS DEPARTURE-SAMUEL THE
POETIC RECITES THE FIRST VERSE OF HIS GREAT
POEM-THE OPINION OF THE FAMILY RESPECTING
THE POEM-CHARITY JOE AND HIS DOGTOBY.
AFTER prayers, the amiable Dothem family
assembled in the best furnished room in the old
mansion, with Mr. Sivins as their guest.
“I’ve just half an hour to stay,” said Mr.
Sivins, referring to his silver-gilt watch, for Mr.
Sivins thought himself above wearing a plain
silver timekeeper ; he fondly imagined the gild-
ing would pass for gold, and in this, as in many
other things, he showed his snobbish taste.
“Now, my friend Dothem, you ought to keep a
trap for the service of taking the guardians and
relatives to the railway station; it would look
well.”
“I have thought of so doing,” said Mr. Do-
them, “for it would be so useful, not only for
business purposes, but for the girls.”
“Ah!” sighed Sylvia the romantic. “How
pleasant it would be to drive among the hedge-
rows lined with hawthorn blossoms, and mossy
banks covered with violets and wild thyme.”
“And,” said Deborah the strongly romantic,
“what joy it would be to go to the fields when
the reapers are gathering the hay, and to romp
among the haycocks. Oh, so delightful "
“How useful,” said Mrs. Dothem, “the horse
and shay would be for me to go to market and
buy from the country people, instead of being
swindled as I am now.”
“To the lovers of solitude, to the poetic mind,”
said Samuel, jun., “how delicious, how agreeable
it would be to drive far away from the haunts of
men, and seek a lonely spot to commune with
nature in her loneliness and loveliness.”
“It would be devilish useful just now,” said
the matter-of-fact Mr. Sivins, “to drive me to
the station.”
“All this may come to pass,” said Mr. Dothem,
“if you will have a little patience—that's all
that is required. Come, Sivins, a glass before
you go. What will you take?”
“A drop of whisky and water, as hot as
'an es; that's the stuff for me."
“Sylvia, my dear, will you join us?”
“Yes, papa, but my drink must be as cool as
the zephyr's wing. Oh, would that in these de-
generated days one could slake their thirst
in the nectar such as the gods of Homer
drank.”
“A little lemonade and sherry,” suggested
Dothem, pére; it is about the coolest thing I
can recommend.”
“That will do,” sighed Sylvia; “but I should
prefer the dew gathered from the flowers—”
“Don’t be silly, Syl,” said Deb; “why don't
you drink a good glass of beer? that's the stuff
to do you good.”
“Oh, Deborah, how can you say such things
before this gentleman?”
“Mrs. Dothem,” said Mr. D., “will, of course,
take the usual?”
“The usual,” said Mrs. Dothem; “but I will
have it warm and a little lemon.”
“Samuel, my dear boy, as this is the anniver-
sary of the opening of our school, and to the
success of which you have done so much, I must
ask you to join us. I know the sacrifice will be
great for your lofty mind to descend from Mount
Parnassus to the mere enjoyment of the appe.
tite. What shall I bring for you?”
Samuel ran his fingers through his hair, struck
an attitude, glanced down at his broomstick leg,
then drawled-
“I will take a glass of wine, but it must be
good; bad wine is such an infliction.
Mr. Sivins had stood the peculiarities of the
family without smiling, but when the silly fellow
made this speech, the agent was compelled to
turn his face towards the window and indulge in
a quiet laugh.
Little wonder he did so, for he knew the
antecedents of the Dothem family, and remem-
bered the time when a glass of cold fourpenny
would have been a treat to Samuel, junior.
“Well,” thought Mr. Sivins, “the world is
coming to something. Here's an empty-headed
fool who a year or two since was an errand boy,
and now he—I beg pardon.”
The apology was addressed to Mr. Dothem,
who from the interior of a large closet kept up
the conversation by saying—
“I'm afraid, friend Sivins, I shall have a
little difficulty with the lad you have brought
here.”
“He's a bold, high-spirited fellow,” said Mr.
Sivins; “but I have no doubt you will be able
to tame him.”
“I shall try,” said Mr. Dotham, “and the
success, I have not the least hesitation in saying,
will be complete. We tame 'em here, eh, Samuel,
my boy?”


- CHARITY JOE. 2.
“LOOKEE! THAT BE OLD HUNTER, THEY BE YOUNG UNS, AND THAT BE WOLF.”
flection of a fire such as we often see in the sky
when there is a fire.”
“Perhaps it would be better,” said Samuel,
“I will think it over.”
“I’m sure,” Sylvia said, “the words are beau-
tifully placed, and so expressive—now what can
be clearer than the opening, where it explains
the man going up the dome—‘higher and higher,'
—there you have it all before you, as it were—
don't you think so, Deb?”
There was a mischievous smile upon Deb's
round face, as she answered-
3
“Yes, Sylvia, dear, I think it most beautiful,
and it will look so much better in print. What
do you mean to call it, Samuel?—it ought to
have a taking title.
“It's merely, you know,” said the tremendous,
“one of the book of poems I mean to write. I
was thinking of calling the volume “The People's
Book of Poems.”
“That will look lovely,” said Sylvia; “all
done in beautiful gold letters, upon a pretty blue
cover.”
“Very nice, indeed!” said Deborah; “of


26
CHARITY JOE; or, -
course you intend to put a nice name on the
inside for yourself?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I must do that, because
all literary gentlemen nearly do it; or else we
should see inore Browns, Jones, and Robinsons
as authors. Now, I was thinking Horatio Byron
St. James de Montmorency would sound well.”
“Very well, indeed,” said Deborah; “but it
would require a whole page of the book to put
it on.”
“Of course,” said Samuel; “it will be easy
enough to find a name when the book is ready
for the press.”
“Suppose,” Deborah said, “you should nov
be able to get any one to publish your book
after all the trouble you have taken.”
“Samuel has nothing to fear upon that
score,” said Mr. Dothem; “publishers will
only be too glad to take the manuscripts when
they perceive the fire that is in the verses. Now,
you girls, read a part. Deb can't you see the
fire of genius that shows itself in every line?”
“It is beautiful,” said Sylvia, “really beau-
tiful.”
“Yes,” said Deborah, drily; “there is plenty
of fire.”
Samuel the sensitive did not fail to notice the
way in which Deb uttered tnese words, and fear-
ing a roasting from his sister, ne toided the pre-
cious manuscript and put it in his coat pocket, at
the same time changing the conversation by
saying-
“By-the-bye, father, what boy is that brought
here this evening?”
“He was brought by Mr. Sivins.”
“Oh, he seems pretty free with his tongue,
for he had the assurance to be impertinent to me
when I kicked that brute he has brought with
him.”
“We will soon take that out of him, Samuel ;
very soon.”
“$5urely you will not allow that dog to remain
there ?”
“Decidedly not. I have already arranged
that with Mr. Sivins. A dose of arsenic will do
the needful for the mongrel.”
“I wonder Mr. Sivins brought him here with
the boy?”
“There was no choice left him,” said Mr.
Dothem; “the wilful young scamp would not
come without the mongrel. Now the brute has
already begun his mischief by tearing three or
four of the beys' clothes.”
“I heard something about it. There has been
• fight, hasn't there, between this new hoy and
Boggins?”
“There has,” said Mr. Dothem, “and I am
w°t sorry, in one sense, that Boggins has received
a thrashing, for owing to the leniency with which
we have been obliged for certain reasons to treat
the gawky fellow, he began to presume upon it."
“Is this young whelp any relation to Mr.
Sivins ?”
“No, Samuel; if he were, 1 would not have
taken him. Sivins is a very cunning fellow; now,
I have no doubt he receives a very handsome
allowance for keeping the lad, which allowance
I mean to possess, if possible.”
“But how will you find out the boy's
friends?"
“I have not thought the matter over yet, but
1 have no doubt but I shall be able to manage
it. ** -
“No more, thank yoa Y(r. D.," muttered Mrs.
Dothem in her sleep; “poetry—rubbish—I say
—stuff.”
Mr. Dothem quietly cleared the table of the
bottles, and Samuel looked anything but pleased
at the maternal criticism.
“Now,” said Mr. Dothem, “it is time you
went your rounds, Samuel. Mind, you try and
find out the young thief who has sc long baffled
us, for there were no less than four candle-ends
stolen out of the lanthorn last night."
CIIAPTER VIII.
JOE'S FIRST TURN AT SCOUTING—WHAT HE HEARD,
AND WHAT HE RESOLVED UPON-A BOUNTEoUS
SUPPER-CONSTERNATION OF THE DOTHEM FAMILY.
BEFORE Joe retired to the small bed, he made
a snug corner for Toby in the disused stable.
He bade his four-footed friend remain there
until the morning.; then, guided by Tommy
Nimblejaws, he went to his chamber, and feeling
a little strange respecting the manners and cus-
toms of the Bareamites, he sat on the side of his
palliasse, and listened to the conversation that
was going on when he entered.
“Who's turn is it to scout to-night?” a pale-
faced little fellow asked. “Aint it yours,
Nimblejaws?”
“No,” Tommy promptly answered. “I
scouted the night before last, and was nearly
nailed by Sammy Narrowback.”
“You're a good scout, you are, Tommy,” said
another lad approvingly. “We always gets
more the night you scout. We got beer once,
we did."
The little fellow smacked his lips at the
recollection, and gazed at Tommy in silent ad-
miration.
“Well, 1 ain't so bad as some,” Nimblejaws
modestly responded. “Some that I could name
only turns up with a raw turnip or carrot-a
thing as isn't good for suppers."


FROM STRICE I: 13()Y l'O LOR!) MAYOR. 27
“It's as good as I could get,” said a lad sitting
up in bed, and drawing his knees up to his chin,
“and if you'd been chased as I was by old
Mother Skinflint, you would have been glad to
have got away without even a raw turnip."
“All right, Jack Shaw,” said Nimblejaws.
“I didn't mean to throw off about you, for you
are an out-and-out scout. It was you who first
got up the dodge of finding the candle-ends before
they were lost. But that ain't it. No, what we
want to know is, who's for scout to-night?”
“It's the bed next to yours, Tommy,” said
young Shaw, “but it ain't hardly fair to set a
new hand on the first night he comes.”
“No,” said Tommy Nimblejaws, “not by no
means, but as I've taken a fancy to Joe, I'll
do his turn so as to keep the scouting regular.”
Joe had been swinging his legs to and fro
during the conversation, but when he found it
became personal he said—
“Look here, I don't exactly know what this
scouting means, but if Tommy will explain it to
me, I'll go like a bird.”
“You’d better not,” said Tommy; “you don't
know your way about here yet.” -
“Leave me alone for that,” said Joe, “I’ll
find my way back, no fear, so tell us what this
scouting means.”
“Well, it's just this,” said Tommy, “we’re
regularly half starved here, and if we say any-
thing about it, old Nipguts finds an excuse to
send those who complain for twelve hours'
punishment in a dark cellar, and no grub all the
time. I had it once; it was awful, and no mis-
take.”
“Should think it must be,” said Joe; “if he
tries it on with me, I'll jolly soon slope from this
crib.”
“That's what lots of us would do,” said
Nimblejaws, “but we don't get the chance with-
out we climbed up the high wall, and then the
sharp glass on the top !—my eyes! why it makes
the water run down your back to look up at it,
and fancy you are sitting there.”
“I’d chance that,” said Joe.
talking about it,
scouting.”
“Well, you know,” said Nimblejaws, “of
course as we are all pretty nigh starved, we gets
awful hungry about this time, so, to get some-
thing to eat, we have planned it so that one of
us shall go and look everywhere for what we can
get.”
“Do you always get something?”
“Always,” said Tommy, with a grimace.
Sometimes we gets more than we wants, but
that's when Old Nip catches any of us out of our
“Never mind
let's hear all about the
“But about the—"
“Wait a minute, and I'll tell you. Well,
sometimes old Mother Skinflint has too much a
the gin and water than is good for her, she
leaves the cupboard door open where the grub
is—”
“But that ain't often,” remarked young Shaw,
“I wish it was.”
“Then,” Tommy said, “the scout gets as
much as he can carry, and though it's soon found
out, we has it all demolished song before old Nip
or his shadder of a son can get up to our room,
even if they come up straight, which they don't,
because, of course, there is other rooms besides
this.”
“Ah!" said young Shaw, “you should have
seen old Nip and his cub the last time there
was three loaves collared, they went down on
their hands and knees to see if there was any
crumbs on the floor; but there wasn't, was there,
Nimblejaws?”
“Should say not,” said Tommy. “We were too
wide-a-wake for that, we broke up the loaves
over one of our rugs, and when we heard 'em
coming up, the rug was soon out of sight.”
Ishall certainly learn something here,” thought
Joe; “this, I suppose, is an illustration of what
old Siv used to call the learning that is begotten
of cruelty (then aloud)—go on, Tommy, you did
em fine that time,”
“Should say we did, too; there was one Bob
Allen found the beer cellar door open, and didn't
we have a guzzle, that's all; but it made us ill,
it did. It's awful swankey, Joe, we only have
it once a week.”
“Enough, too, I should say,” said Joe, “if it
is anything like the stuff old Siv used to keep for
his friends; if they had one taste they didn't
want another. He was a bad 'un was old Siv ;
you should have seen him grin when anyone he
asked to have a glass pulled a face like the head
of an old fiddle when they tasted his swipes.
But go on, Tommy.” *
“Right you are, my flower,” answered Nimble-
jaws, “I ain't told you about the candles, have
I, Joe?”
“Not yet.”
“On dark nights, you know,” Tommy said,
“we has a little bit of candle to go to bed by;
but bless you, Old Nip only allows us about two
minutes, and sometfmes we want a light, for it's
awful dark here in the winter, I can tell you. So
when we can't sleep, a light is a sort of com-
pany, you know.”
“Of course,” assented Joe.
“That's what we all thought, so we made it
up when the shadder comes to take away the
rooms after the candles have been put out—” n little bits of candle, which he does every night,


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR. 31
CHAPTER IX.
MR. DOTHRM IIOLDS OUT MANY INDUCEMENTS TO
JoE-SAMUEL TRIES How MUCH PULLING JOE's
EAR will STAND, AND GETS SOMETHING FOR HIS
TROUBLE-JOE CARRIES THE POISONED DISH FOR
TOBY, BUT HALTS ON THE WAY.
BEFORE the summer sun could make much im-
pression upon the damp soil around Baream Hall
the boys in Joe's room were aroused by a thump-
ing upon the door, and the dulcet voice of Mrs.
Dothem calling out-
“Now, then, you Joseph Cholmondeley, get
up, and look sharp about it, or I'll come and
fetch you.”
“All right,” said Joe, jumping out of bed,
“I’ll be down in less than no time.”
“What's up?” asked Nimblejaws.”
it can't be four o'clock yet?”
“It's all right,” Joe said; “I'm to do the
odd jobs for Toby's keep and lodging. If I don't
do ’em before school-time, I shan't afterwards, I
expect.”
Joe found the lady at the end of the corridor,
and by the expression of her face he mentally
augured the light supper he had left them had not
agreed with her constitution.
“You know what you have to do, I suppose?”
she said. “It has all been arranged between Mr.
Dothem and you, hasn't it?”
“Well, mum, not exactly,” Joe said; “I of-
fered to make myself useful if Mr. Dothem would
allow me to keep Toby here.”
“Ugh ! quite enough to feed, I should think,
without having a lot of mangy curs brought
here.”
“Toby ain't a cur,” said Joe, bridling up,
“neither is he mangy.”
“I don’t want any of your sauce,” said the
lady; “and if you don't keep a civil tongue I'll
wring your nose for you.”
“You're a nice one,” Joe thought, “you are;
wouldn't it have been a treat to have seen her
when she found the cupboard empty—ha! ha!”
“Why
“What are you laughing at, youyoung whelp?”
the lady asked, turning round fiercely upon Joe;
“you'd better not laugh at me.”
“I wasn't laughing, mum,” said Joe; “it’s a
bad cough I have always of a morning, mum.”
“Cough ! I'll cure that for you,” said the ma-
tron, gravely; “you shall have some of my medi-
cine for it.”
“Medicine makes it worse,” said Joe, quickly;
“besides, it's much better now than it has
been.”
They reached the kitchen by this time, and
Joe saw the savage look Mrs. Dothem bestowed
npon the cupboard, and his cough broke out
wka”
Fortunately the amiable female was too much
occupied in the contemplation of her wrongs to
notice Joe's cough, or he certainly would have
been compelled to have swallowed a teacupful of
aloes and water.
“Now,” she said, fachng round upon Joe, who
had scarcely time to pull a long face, “the first
thing you must do is to take that chopper, go to
the back of the house and you will find some
tree stumps, chop enough to make the fire, and
don't be long about it.”
“No, mum.”
“After that clean all those boots, there's
only six pairs, they won't take you long, and
mind and don’t waste the blacking.
“No, mum.”
“When you've done that pump enough water
to fill that boiler and the large butt in the wash-
house.”
“Yes, mum.”
“After that sweep out the dining-hall and
take up that pile of tin mugs. By that time
the water will be hot, so you can scrub down
this table with hot water and sand; after you
have done that sweep down the steps and take
up all the weeds you can find in front of the
door.”
“Yes, mum, anything else.”
“Clean the windows of our sitting-room, and
if you have time when you have done, there's a
few odd jobs before breakfast. Come to me and
I'll find you something else to do.”
“Yes, mum.”
“Joe took the chopper, and the lady went
upstairs to have a few hours' sleep.
“Well,” snid Joe, scratching his head, “get
through this lot. I can't, that's impossible.
Why it would take two days. Oh, Jemima
Jane, not for Joe.”
He came in view of the gnarled trunks of the
trees Mr. Dothem had had dug up for fuel, and
limited as Joe's knowledge of arboriculture was,
he knew that it would take at least two hours
to chop sufficient wood for the boiling process.
“It's no use beginning,” said Joe, “so I'll
step over and ask Toby what's best to be done
under these very pleasant circumstances.”
Toby welcomed his master, and in his eager-
ness to meet him knocked down an old plank.
“I knew Toby would manage the business,”
said Joe, hoisting the plank to his shoulder;
“this is a little softer than the tree stumps.”
Joe fell to work with a will, and soon cut the
worm-eaten wood to pieces, and as he began to
collect them he was surprised to see Nimblejaws,
followed by the whole of the boys belonging to
his room.
“We would have come before,” said Tommy,


33
CHARITY JOE: 98.
“but we wasn't sure the old dame had gone back
to bed. Now what's she given you to do?”
Joe told him.
“Just what we said,” said Tommy; “she
would give you more than you could do, so that
she could find an excuse to stop your breakfast,
or get you a good licking at school time.”
“She's a nice old girl, I don't think,” said Joe;
“of course she knew I couldn't do a quarter of it
in the time.”
“”Tain't likely,” said Nimblejaws; “but we'll
do it for you. Now then, my pippins, go in, and
if the old woman doesn't stare when she comes
lown I ain't here, that's all. Now, Bob, off you
go, and clean the boots; young Shaw and two
more pump the water. Off with you, Charley,
Dick, George, and Jem to the big hall, and sweep
it out, then bring the mugs up.”
Nimblejaws soon arranged matters, and long
... before Samuel came down and rang the bell for
the boys to leave their rooms, the work was all
done, and Joe doing a little extra by dusting the
sitting-room. *
Mrs. Dothem opened her eyes as she inspected
each of the tasks she had given Joe, and he could
scarcely help laughing when she took up the boots
and examined them, for Nimblejaws had dexter-
ously cut all the stitches round the welts, remark-
ing as he did so— -
“Work for the snob; they'll not last above a
day.” -
“You’ve worked very well,” said Mrs. Dothem,
examining Joe suspiciously: “have you done it
all yourself?”
“Toby helped me, mum.”
“Toby"
“Yes, mum; he's a clever dog, mum. Bless
you, he thinks nothing of taking a scrubbing
brush in his mouth and cleaning a room. You
should see him using the flannel, he does it with
his paws, and can't he work the pump, too;
you've only to fasten a bit of rope to the handle
and tell him to pump, and he does it, and—”
“You can go,” said Mrs. D., she had a suspi-
cion that Joe was not sticking to facts; “that
will do; the work is done; that's all I care about.
To-morrow morning, I'll stay and see how you
manage it.” -
Joe reflected over this as he went to the break-
fast of oatmeal porridge flavoured with salt, and
he began to feel a little puzzled how to manage
affairs.
He talked the matter over with Nimblejaws as
they went to the stable where Toby was fastened
—for Joe saved his four-foo" is end a portion
of the oatmeal porridge—k: £ey could not
come to any satisfactory arrangement.
“There's only one thing to do,” Nimblejaws
said, “I can come downstairs and set fire to
something in the kitchen, and when you see the
smokeyou must shout out ‘fire; that may put the
old woman off the scent.”
“But,” said Joe, “it will never do to set fire
to the place.” -
“No, I shall only light some brown pape
and throw it in the fender, so as it will smoke.”
“No good,” said Joe, “as soon as it is put out
she'll be at me again. No, Tom ; we must think
of something else; we've all day to do it in."
The school bell rang, and Joe and Nimblejaws
sat on the same form, and during the time the
elder Dothem was examining a class, one of the
boys made a mistake, and the heavy ruler th:
principal held was brought down upon the lad's
head.
The culprit dropped his book, and clapping
both hands to his skull, danced and howled with
pain.
“What a brute he is!” whispered Joe to his
neighbour. “He ought to be kicked for doing
that.”
Samuel, the poetic, was passing close behind
Joe at the time, and heard the words intended
only for Nimblejaws.
Joe soon had evidence of the monitor's pre-
sence, for Samuel's thin cane twined around the
boy's shoulders, and caused him to leap from his
seat.
“Drop that,” Joe said; “I’ve not done any-
thing to be hit like thau.”
“Silence!” said Samuel; “keep your seat.”
Joe returned to his seat, and as the junior Do-
them was moving away, the boy whispered loud
enough for the vain monitor to hear—
“I should like to have a turn up with that
effigy of a man. Crikey! look at his shoulders;
they ain't a bit wider than a mackerel's.”
Little men, as a rule, are very vain. Samuel
was no exception to this rule. The boy's jeer-
ing words cut him to the quick, and as his sallow
visage became a fiery scarlet, he rushed at Joe
and caught him by the ear.
“Come out,” he said. “Come out, you im-
pertinent beggar's brat, come out, or I'll wring
your ear off.”
There seemed every prospect of Joe being
minus of one ear, for the vindictive Samuel not
only twisted the organ, but imbedded his nails
in the lobe.
“You’d better leave go,” said Joe, writhing
with pain, “ or I'll mark you. Do you hear, you -
brute?”
“Come out,” repeated Samuel, “and I'll cane
you within an inch of your life.”
“Will you? Take that, you effigy.
Joe, in muscular strength, was by far the so-


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR.
86
*Yes, sir."
+ Now you can go; but no, stay one moment.”
Mr. Dothem went to the cupboard. “Here's a
plate of bones and potatoes for your dog; and as
you are passing the yard where the fowls are you
can give them these few pieces of stale bread.
Break the bread up and throw it in their water,
for I want them to get used to you, as you will
have to feed them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Joe went upon his errand, the conviction being
stronger that bad as old Siv was, Mr. Dothem
was worse by far.
Joe halted when he reached the yard and looked
for a few moments at the fowls, then at the plate
of poisoned food.
“I don't know,” the boy muttered, “whether
it is wrong for me to poison these birds; perhaps
it is. They can't help the old scamp's doings;
so I won't poison them, although he would have
killed poor Toby. Well, he's a bad 'un, he is.
Here, chuk, chuk, chuk here's half the bread;
the other half is for Toby, as for this—"
Joe looked spitefully at the plate, then taking
a spade that stood against the wall, he went to
an unfrequented part of the desolate grounds,
and carefully buried every particle of the poi-
soned food.
He trampled the earth over it, then beat it
down with the flat of the spade.
“I feel better,” he thought, “than if I had
given it to the fowls, because I know it's not
right to take away life—not even of an insect;
so I'm glad I have not done it.”
After this, Joe replaced the spade, and went
to Toby, and as he caressed the faithful dog the
tears came from his eyes, as he in fancy saw his
canine friend stiffened out in death.
“I won't leave you here, Toby,” he said;
“there's the dinner bell; so come on, old fellow.
You must sneak in after me and lie under my
seat.”
Toby frisked about with joy at being released
from the cord which had fastened him to the old
manger, and Joe, as he admired the shaggy
animal, little thought the important part Toby
would play in the great rebellion at Baream Hall.
CHAPTER X.
JOE BECOMES THE CHAMPION OF HIS SCHOOLFELLOWS'
WRONGS, AND HEADS A REBELLION.—TOBY DOES
GOOD SERVICE, BUT DAMAGES THE POETIC SAMUEL.
–THE FOE BETREAT, BUT AT THE MOMENT OF
VICTORY AN UNEXPECTED ALLY ARRIVES UPON
THE SCENE OF DATTLE.
It was “meat” day at the Hall, but there was
no reckless profusion of the flesh of animals.
'a uree ieau ureasts of mutton graced the table,
-
and at the head, where Mr. Dothem was seated,
a leg from the same lean animal was placed.
Large bowls of half-grown potatoes and a few
cabbages (the hearts, by the way, had been taken
out by the lady superintendent before thoy came
to the boys' table).
Joe took his seat and glanced at the double
row of pale hungry faces, from thence his eyes
rested upon twenty little fellows who were
seated at a side table looking as wretched as
boys could look, who were compelled to par-
take of a bowl of oatmeal porridge, while their
companions were upon the point of feeding upon
the lean breasts and the small leg.
The side table was the punishment table,
and the boys who sat there had, for divers
trivial causes, had their meat stopped for that
day.
This batch of delinquents were, strange to
say, always very strong upon meat days.
Tom Nimblejaws was uncharitable enough to
say, that old Nip always took especial care to
have, at the very least, one-fourth of his pupils
debarred from the luxury of meat, and further,
Nimblejaws averred that old Nip so managed this
punishment, that the whole of the lads were
subjected to it in turns.
The master was in the act of saying grace
when Joe entered, and when he had concluded
he pushed his spectacles up until they rested
upon his forehead, and, looking sternly at Joe,
said-
“You are late, Joseph Cholmondeley, mind it
does not occur again, or I shall have to stop
your allowance of meat; much as this punish-
ment goes against me, the discipline of the school
must be maintained.”
“The bell has only just rung, “Joe said,
“And I"—
“Silence!” said Samuel the poetic, from the
lower end of the table. “Silence 1 or leave the
hall.”
“I’ll drop you one yet,” Joe thought: “you
yellow-faced, herring-backed apology for
man.”
The carving continued until the three breasts
were distributed in minute fragments; the leg
was reserved for Mr. Dothem, Samuel, and a
few of his favourites.
Joe's plate was passed to him by Nimblejaws,
who took the opportunity to whisper-
“You'll find the meat underneath one of
the taters; it won't choke you, if you swallow
it all at once.”
So Joe thought when he held the small
piece of greasy mutton upon his fork, and
mentally" calculated its weight aud ineasure-
ment


as CHARITY
JOE; on,
“Hold it tight,” shouted Joe, struggling to
escape from the grasp of Mr. Dothem; “stick
to it, Toby. Here, Nimblejaws, pull this old
reptile off or he'll choke me.”
True to his colours, Tommy came to the
rescue, and taking the elder Dothem by the back
of his neckcloth, compelled him to release his
grasp upon Joe's throat.
Joe jumped to his feet, and saw the day was
lost, for the whole of his army had retreated,
evidently afraid of what they had done, and to
make matters worse, Boggins and his compeers
were belabouring Toby to compel him to relieve
his grip of Mrs. Dothem's weapon.
“Stick to me, Nimblejaws,” whispered Joe,
hurriedly; “let’s make a dash at the bullies, then
slope and go on our own hook.”
“I'm with you,” said Tommy. “Come on.”
The pair of sturdy lads rushed at the boys
who were playing upon Toby's ribs; there was
a scuffle, then the sound of blows being given
and received, and Toby was free, and Joe stoop-
ing, wrenched the mop from Mrs. Dothem,
reversed it, and gave that lady such a lunge
under the left ribs, that she went down, as Joe
afterwards expressed it, all of a heap.
Retaining possession of the weapon, Joe
snatched up his jacket, then with Nimblejaws
and Toby ran from the hall, pursued by Mr.
Dothem.
Sylvia the gushingly romantic, and Deborah
the strong ditto, stood in the doorway as though
to bar their path, but Joe flourishing the mop,
and the sweet girls yelled murder and bolted.
“Now for the gate,” said Joe. “Who's the
fellow on it?”
“Brownling,” said Tommy; “but we'll smash
him, if he attempts to stop us.”
Across the rank lawn, down the avenue of
trees, sped the boys, and when they came in
sight of the gate, the boy in charge was in the
act of opening it to admit the baker's cart from
Baream township.
“Shut the gate,” yelled Mr. Dothem from the
rear. “Shut the gate.”
Too late; the baker's cart prevented the gate
from closing, and as Joe and his companion ran
out, Brownling went on a few steps after them,
but Joe stopped the pursuit by hurling the mop
at the gatekeeper's head, and the handle striking
him across the nose, caused a dozen Joes and as
many Nimblejaws, not reckoning the millions of
stars, to dance before his eyes.
Mr. Dothem gave up the pursuit, and returned
to the hall, and addressing his pupils in a crying
speech, bade them be good boys for the future,
and not be led away by such ne'er-do-wells as
Charity Joe and Tommy Nimblejaws. l
CHAPTER XL
JOE STARTS UPON THE WORLD-ARRIVES AT BUD.
DLETON-CUM-PETERS-MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINT.
ANCE-ASTONISHING THE YokELS.
THE fugitives ran for nearly a mile, then finding
they were not pursued, sat upon a heap of stones
by the road-side.
“We're on our own hook now,” said Joe i
“now which way shall we go?”
“It don't matter now, I expect,” said Tommy.
“There's one good thing: no matter which way
we go, or where we go to, we shan’t be
robbed.”
“No,” said Joe: “I haven't a copper; how
much have you?”
“Exactly the same amount, so it wont take
long to spend.”
“That's true,” answered Joe; “but what's to
be done?”
“I'm blowed if I know, Joe. Can't you think
of something?”
“Well we must make for London; that's
the first thing; but how we are to live till
we get there I don't know yet; but I sup.
pose we shall find plenty of fields as we go
along.”
“Plenty; but what's the good of fields?”
“Every good,” Joe said; “’specially if they
grows mangel wurzels, beet roots, and them sort
of things.”
“I see,” Tommy said. “We must be content,
I suppose. Now where does this road lead to ?"
“To London perhaps," said Joe. “Anyhow,
we must foliow it, for the other leads to Baream
town, and if we go there we shall be collared
and taken back.”
“They won't know us.”
“P'raps not; but the baker will, and old
Nip's sure to put him up to us. So along this
road we goes. There's the mile-stone; let's see
what it says.”
They read the half-defaced inscription, but
could make nothing of it, beyond the fact
that they were six miles from somewhere.
Joe hoped it was six miles from London, for
he felt sure he should meet the old gentleman
who took him to the shoemaker's in the Borough,
as soon as he reached the great city.
“Six miles ain't much,” Tommy said, “so
let's be jogging, for the sooner we have it over
the better.”
They started, Toby gambolling on before
them, as though delighted at obtaining his
liberty.
“I tell you what it is,” said Tommy, as they
trudged on side by side; “I wish these were the
days of highwaymen, Joe.”
“Do you? what for?”


40
CHARITY JOE; or,
“Looks like it,” Tommy said; “but what's
to be done, now, Joe?” We can't do the sixteen
‘miles back P”
“No,” Joe answered; “let’s have a look at
this place, and by the time it is dark, we can go
to that haystack and have a sleep. I like sleep.
ing in hay, do you, Tommy?”
“When I can't sleep anywhere else.”
They went up the front street, which, like
the usual thoroughfares in small towns, led to
the market-place.
It was market-day, and the little square was
crowded, although some of the salesmen were
still roaring the unsold portion of their wares.
The first thing that attracted Joe's attention
when he had given some longing looks at the
various piles of eatables was a man with a peep-
show.
He could not see the individual, but the voice
seemed familiar, so Joe came to a standstill, and
listened.
“Here you are,” said the voice; “the same
exhibition as was shown to the Prince o' Wales
on the werry day he got married to the Princess
o' Wales and all the Royal Family. Now, one
penny is the charge, and I only wants one more
to begin.”
“Dang it,” said a red-faced lad, working his
way through the crowd, “if I don't ha' a
penn'orth, 'taint often I be’s so rich as 1 be
inow.”
“Now the first picture I shall show you,”
said the man, loosening a string and allowing
the picture to fall, “is the battle of Sebastopol.
There on the right you see the Prince of Cam-
bridge riding on a white horse, and in front of
him his big guns; but them you can't see
for the smoke. The little black dots—leastways
they should look like black dots—is the guards a
going up the Alma. Look to the left and you
will see a lot of spikes; the spikes is the
Rooshans. You can't see any more of 'em be-
cause of the smoke, for of course in a great
battle like that there was plenty of smoke.”
“Now the next scene is—. Look here, little
girl with the big baby, I wish you'd go away, for
the cries of a hinfant with lungs like that one
makes me feel so narvous that I can't go on with
the performance; so go away, little girl with the
big baby, unless you are waiting to have a look.
You ain’t? Well go away. I thought—”
“B'aint ’ee going on with—”
“Yes, sir; you've paid your penny, and are
entitled to see the whole of the performance;
the same performance, ladies and gentlemen, girls
and boys, the identical performance as was shown
to the Prince of Wales the morning he came to
his birthday--".
“I thought 'ee maid it was the day he gut
married.”
“So I did, so I did; and I repeat it. He has
seen it times, not like the gentlemea of some
towns, who stand with their mouths wide opes
listening to all I have to say, and then mot so
much as to have a pennyworth of-–”
“Look here, maister, ain't you going on with
the per—”
“The Prince, gentlemen,” said the showman,
elevating his voice, “says it's the purtiest sight
ever he saw in his life, and *
“What darned lies you be—”
“The next scene is the grand panoramic views
from the thrilling tragedy of ‘The Forlorn
Milkman; or, the Haunted Mangle, scene the
fifth, act the fourth, as performed before her
Majesty the Queen of England, Ireland, Scot-
land, Wales, Australia, India, and lots more
places. This scene represents the forlorn milk-
man a cleaning his cans. Look to the left, and
you will see him. Look a little to the right,
and you will see his milk cans. Now, then, you
two lads, don’t be pushing, or you will have the
whole of the machinery over, and the boiler will
bust and blow you up. Haven't I told you the
scenes are worked by a steam engine? What-
what do you say?”
“I can't see the cans.”
“Can't you? I pity you then. Bring a pair
of spectacles, and put 'em on next time you
come. The next thing I must bring to your
notice is the mangle. Look to the right and
you will see the mangle. Well, while the milk-
man was cleaning his cans, he hears the mangle
begin to work of itself, and looking over his
right shoulder he sees the ghost of his sweet-
heart, Sarah Jane Brown, rising up in a cloud of
smoke.
“The next picture shows the milkman's
sweetheart a coming up through the smoke *
“Darn me if I can see the ghost: there's a lot
of smoke, that be all.”
“Ghosts are not visible in daylight; so you
can't expect to see it. Come to-night when the
show is lighted up with the great electrical light,
and then you'd see all—Well, I'm blessed, if
it ain't Charity. What cheer, Charity? Who'd
a thought of seeing you here? Wait a minute,
old son, and I'll speak to you.”
“The next and last scene is a grand represen-
tation of Chinese fireworks; you see, when I
turn this handle and sets this steam-engine a-
going, you see the juveniles a-dancing and kick-
ing up their heels like mad; it was this werry
same that the Prince of Wales, when he saw it,
says to me, ‘You deserve to be made city show-
man to the Royal Family; “but no,' says I, ‘I


CHARITY JOE; or,
brella full of pictures. Of course my show was
no good without pictures.”
“Of course not,” said Joe, and the tall, thin
Andividual “tootled” so loud through the mouth-
piece of the trombone, that Toby gave a sharp
bark. “Be quiet, Toby, and learn to behave
yourself in company.” -
“This chap,” said Bill Adler, “had lots o
pictures, and very cheap, too; so I buys four of
'em—the same as is in the show now. Of course
I coloured 'em a bit before I could put 'em in the
frames—for the boys likes 'em coloured. Well,
after I'd got the pictures I buys the bull's-eye
glasses at a shop in Hounsditch; then I was set
up—”
“Tootle-tootle-tootle!” went the gentleman
with the trombone mouthpiece.
“I don't much care for music at the best of
times,” said Bill, in a whisper; “had too much
of it where the 'spectable broker came to seize;
my landlord's boy used to grind away upon a
concertina all day long, and night, too, some-
times. Well, as the chap in the Penny Diversity
says, to continue. I puts the traps together and
starts off, and so I’ve been ever since now nigh
upon a year, and if I ain't made a fortune I’ve
got a shilling or two to spend with a friend, and
maybe a pound to help him if he wants it.”
“Bravo Bill, said Charity; “let’s have a look
at your show, will you?”
“You wouldn't care about it, Joe, it's the
patter that takes it off. Lor, bless you, some-
times I jaws away till I forget all about the
pictures, and I call 'em sometimes the Battle of
Waterloo, sometimes other battles, and all sorts
of things, but it don't matter much, as far as
that goes, for they are as much like one battle as
another, and not much like any that has been
fought in our time or anybody else’s.”
The boys laughed, and the gentleman with the
mouthpiece “tootled” so loud, that his compa-
nion asked-
“What are you making that horrible noise
about?”
“Noise!" said Trombone Mouthpiece; “I’m
getting my embouchure. You know very well
I'm to take the trombone now, since the fellow
who played it bolted away with our Circassian
ponies, as came from somewhere out Finsbury
way.”
“It's a pity you can't get your what-you-
call it when you're asleep, not make that noise
here.”
“Ah!” said Trombone, “so it is. Well, Tll
try it, I'll tie my mouthpiece to my mouth when
I go to bed to-night.”
“Brother professionals,” said Bill Adler, “I'll
be sworn.”
“Yes,” said Joe, “especially him with the
mouthpiece, he's setting his cap at us.”
“Very likely,” Bill said. “You lads, what
are you going to be up to?”
“Don’t know,” said Joe, “thought of going
to London, but the journey is rather long, and
we are without coin.”
“Well,” the showman said, “I don't know
that you'd do much good if you were to go there.
Why not join me in the show line?”
“I should like to,” said Joe; “but I don't see
how I can be of any use. Besides, if 1 could
there's Tommy and Toby, for of course we
wouldn't part, as we have come on our own hook
together.”
“Of course not,” Bill Adler said, “I’m net
the man to ask you. Come, can't we think of
something that will make all our fortunes in no
time.”
“I'm afraid not,” Joe said. “Coin isn’t made
very easy now-a-days, unless like old Siv, we
could keep a loan office, or like old Nip keep a
school to starve the poor chaps that have no
mothers or fathers.”
“I was thinking,” Bill Adler said; “but that
fellow with his tootle-tootle—why don’t he leave
off?—I was thinking that we might do a little
business together like this. Now, you and
Tommy there, when I made a pitch with my
show, eould come up and have a look, and when
there was a mob round me, go among 'em, say it
was the splendidest sight you ever set your eyes
on.”
“Yes," Joe said, “that would do for a time;
but if we stayed too long in one place the yokels
would soon be up to the dodge.”
“That's right enough, worse luck, but as we
have met like we have I don't mean for us to
part if there's anything to be done. Now, I'm
tired of lumping that show about the country,
but half a loaf is better than none, so I sticks to
it till something else turns up ; now, can't you
both think of something so as we can all join in,
Toby and all-”
“Tootle, tootle, tu, tu, tukka, tukka katuk!”
went the thin gentleman through the mouthpiece
of the trombone.
“I wish that lean chap,” said Bill Adler,
“would swallow his blessed mouthpiece, I do.”
“It weuld'nt hurt him,” Joe said, “if it didn't
stick in his throat; well, now, something that
we can all join in-come, Tommy, let's hear
what yea have to say.” -
“I wish Toby was a wolf,” said Nimblejaws;
“then we might de something.”
“A wolf!” exclaimed Joe; “a wolf!”
“A wolf!" said Bill Adler; “a wolf "
“Yes,” said Tommy, “a wolf."


**,
CHARITY JOE. 49
TOBY MAKES FRIENDS IN THE KITCHEN.
That, sir, is also Joe's and mine; we invented it
last night before we went to sleep."
“Just so,” Mr. Banks said, rubbing his
hands, “just so. A very good time for study, a
very good time, indeed, are the quiet hours of
night.”
“They is,” Bill Adler answered, “but some-
how I always falls asleep when I'm trying to
think over anything when I goes to bed. But
Joe—”
Bill Adler paused, and his honest face gleamed
with admiration as he looked at Joe.
f.
“That lad, sir, will make anybody's fortune;
mark my words, sir, mark my words.”
“Certainly,” Mr. Banks said, “certainly, Mr
Adler.
“A great fortune too,” the showman continued,
“for he's got brains, sir, pienty of brains; and
so you would have said if you had seen him and
heard him last night as he sat up in bed and in-
vented all the performance.”
“Very clever indeed,” said Mr. Banks. “I'm
sure it's clever, althoug. I have not seen it.”
“You shall, Mr. Banks. Now, Joe, begin,


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR.
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BEHIND THE SCENES.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Dubbs, glancing at
the small quantity of spirit and the large
supply of water the red-cheeked waitress placed
before him, “we must, for a time at least, forget
all little envious dissensions that may exist
amongst us, as members of a profession that
has from time immemorial been celebrated for
—for—little petty jealousies amongst its members
hem "
“From the time,” muttered the walking
gentleman, “that Pylades broke Nero's skull
with the jawbone of an ass.”
“I beg pardon,” said Tragedy, turning to the
walking gentleman, fiercely, “did you apply
that remark to me?”
“Remark, sir!”
“Remark, sir! I repeat it, remark 1"
“No, sir,” said the walking gentleman; “I did
not, that I most emphatically declare.”
“'Tis well, sir,” said Mr. Dubbs: “I
accept the explanation.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Fadlads. “I beg to
say that I have not the slightest wish to dis-
turb the friendly feelings which ought to be more
1 * *
genera'.


58 CHARITY JOE ; or,
“A proper sentiment,” said Mr. Clarence—“a
very proper sentiment, sir."
“In which I most heartily concur, I do assure
you,” said the heavy man, solemnly; “pray pro-
ceed, Mr. Percy Fitz Algernon.”
“As I said before,” Mr. Dubbs resumed,
“we must forget all jealousies and unite for
the complete overthrow of the common enemy.”
“Hear, hear,” said the comic man, “to over-
throw the common enemy.”
“Yes,” Tragedy continued, “the common
enemy, for I can use no other term to express
the party of interlopers who have torn the glory
of the drama from us, its impersonators.”
The heavy gentleman rapped the table with
his knuckes.
“I ask you all,” said Tragedy, in continuation,
“whether we shall suffer the degradation that
has fallen to our lot for the last few days?”
“No 1 No! NO!”
“Upon this point we are all agreed,” said Mr.
Dubbs, triumphantly. “I am glad it is so, for
a band composed of such—such—hem—clear-
headed, talented gentlemen are quite able to
carry out the plan I shall have to propose.”
“Quite able,” said the comic man, “to over-
throw the prospects of the theatre if we like.”
“Quite so,” said Mr. Dubbs, “quite so, there-
fore let us trample under foot—of course I speak
metaphorically, the cause of the coldness with
which all our efforts to please have been received
by the audience for the last week.”
“There has been a marked change in their
behaviour,” remarked the heavy gentleman—“a
very marked change indeed.”
“There has,” and Mr. Dubbs thumped the
table to give force to his words; “and why has
this change occurred, I will tell you—yes, mine
shall be the lips to acknowledge—to make known
the humiliating cause.”
A dead silence, the heavy man refilled his
pipe, the comic man pensively contemplated the
threadbare sleeve of his coat, and the walking
gentleman tried hard to repress the sneer that
rose to his lips.
“In vain have you, sir,” to the comic man,
“tried to create a laugh by your famous hat
business: no, sir, you might smash the best hat
in the world over your eyes now and declare
yourself lost, before a grin-yes, sir, even a grin
-could be expected from one of the thick-
headed audience.
“That's true,” said the comic man, “for not
only has the mat business failed, but even when
1 tried the effect of the ragged pocket handker-
chief that was as little noticed.”
“You, sir,” to the heavy gentleman, “have
also felt the soul-chilling effects of an audience
who wished our performance to end in order
that they might see something more.congenial to
their stupid tastes; in vain have you in the
dungeon scene uttered those memorable words:-
“‘Convey him to the ramparts and s-t-r-i-ke
off his head. There has been no applause, no
sensation, when the daring lover who came to
carry off your daughter has been led forth to
execution.”
“A fact, sir,” replied the heavy man, ** that
speaks for itself, and shows how sadly deficient
the audience must be in those ennobling feelings
which were, once upon a time, so general among
those who frequent theatres.”
“Again,” Mr. Dubbs said, addressing the
walking gentleman, bold lover, wronged heir,
&c., “what has been the reception you have
met with when you, as the wronged heir, and
the hunted prince, meet four bandits in the
forest, and engage them single-handed in mortal
combat? I ask you, sir, has there been one
shout of bravo as you vanquished the host ci
robbers ? Not one, sir.”
“No, Mr. Algernon,” replied the ill-used heir,
“not one encouraging voice has sounded upon
my ears. I have leant upon my sword, panting
and breathless, not allowed, like the soldier, to
wipe away a tear; although the tears of exertion
stood thickly upon my brow, and I dared not wipe
them off, because, as an injured prince of the
middle ages, I was not supposed to carry a
pocket-handkerchief.”
“Where, I ask, continued Tragedy, “Where
has all the enthusiasm gone; the clapping of
hands, the shouts of bravo that used to greet
me when I entered as the Black Baron of the
Border, and exclaimed, “By my halidom, and
the good steel I wear at my hip, I will crush out
the power of those who dare to come within bow-
shot of the stronghold of Bluster-Dee. Beware
the Black Baron of the Border | No sound has
words that were wont to shake the very walls of
our theatre. Need I ask you the cause of all
all this? I leave it in your hands. Yet, bad as
it is to be thus humilated in consequence of the
engagement of these low fellows and their dog
there is worse yet to be told."
Chorus: “Worse !”
“Aye,” said Mr. Dubbs, “infinitely worse
The—the—my weary tongue refuses to make
known the perfidy of the man who has for so
long commanded our respect. Yet the truth
must be told. He has, gentlemen—he has–
and in my presence, offered the low fellows an
increase of salary, beyond their share in the
half-takings, if they will sign an agreement to
stay in our company for one year certain. Shall
this be allowed to take place, is all I ask?"


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR. .
59
“No,” said the comic man.
“Certainly act.” said the heavy gentleman.
“By all means let us combine,” said the
walking gentleman, “and at once crush this
four-headed serpent.”
So they drew closer round the table and
plotted the downfall of the Wild Hunters of the
Frozen Mountains and the Jumping Wolf Junga.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE KES:LT OF THE PLOT.—A SCENE NOT INCLUDED
IN THE PERFORMANCE.-RETIREMENT OF THE
WILD. HUNTERS AND THE PERFORMING WOLF FROM
THE THEATRE-ROYAL AND GENERAL EXHIBITION.
“THEN we are all agreed,” said the tragedian:
“all boamd to an inviolable bond of secresy in
this matter.”
“We are all agreed, and bound to secrecy.”
“And you are certain the fellow with the dog
will assist us, Mr. Clarence”
“Quite sure, Mr. Percy Fitz Algernon, for he
has already expressed a wish for his dog to have
a turn-up, as he expresses it, with the wolf.”
“By this time to-morrow,” said Tragedy, “I
hope to see the interlopers disgraced and the legi-
timate drama restored to its proper position; to
carry out this I will do all in my power, even to
the cutting of the fastenings of the skin that en-
velopes the false wolf.”
Next day the appearance of the two young
hunters was hailed by the audience with the
most boisterous applause, and Tragedy, Comedy,
walking gentleman, and heavy man smiled grimly
at each other, for the moment was approaching
when their diabolical plot would be put into
execution.
Charity Joe and Nimblejaws rolled the blanket
around them; it was not a very sound blanket,
for Joe and his companion were in the habit of
looking at the faces of the audience through the
slits in their coverings.
Toby appeared, and there was much clapping
of hard, rustic palms; and when this greeting
had subsided, Joe heard one of the audience, who
sat in the front seat next the orchestra, say to a
companion-
“Tell 'ee what, mate, I'd back Towzer here to
beat that animal they calls a wolf in no time.”
“You’ll see, sur-ree; for d’rectly the wolf
comes this way I'll set Towzer at he.”
“Towzer can foight,” answered the other,
“but I don't think he'd do much with a hanimal
Nke that 'ere.”
Joe, from his point of observation, “took
stock” of the speakers, and saw the owner of
Towzer was an awkwardly-built country fellow,
about twenty years old. Joe also saw Towzer-
a large colley dog, much larger than Toby, but
uot so well and strongly shaped.
“Hear that,” he whispered to Tommy; “he
means to set his tyke on Toby.”
“Let him,” said Tommy; “Toby's able to
take the polish off three such mongrels as that.”
“Very likely,” Joe said; “but if the wolf
jumps down among the people there'll be a row
and no mistake.”
“Don’t much matter, I should think,” Nimble-
jaws answered; “for we leave here to-morrow,
and the wolf, breaking loose and demolishing
that tyke will bring more people to see us—look
out, Joe?"
The warning came too late, for as Joe jumped
to his feet, Toby sprang forward, cleared the
intervening space, and seized Towzer by the
neck.
Unfortunately for the veracity of Mr. Josiah
Banks, the wolf broke the fastenings of his extra
skin, and revealed his true species to those who
were near the canine battle.
Quite regardless of the exalted position to
which he had been raised was Toby when Tow-
zer sat on the seat beside his master, and, roused
by the latter's “Watch him, boy; look at him,
good dawg,” gave a growl of defiance.
Toby stopped suddenly, and looked at his
challenger; the note of defiance was repeated,
Toby walked nimbly to the foot-lights, Towzer
gave an angry bark—Toby replied with a growl,
then made the unfortunate spring that displaced
the wolf's covering.
Now a scene took place.
and fainted, men yelled:
“The Wolf was loose !”
“The wolf be eating up folks!”
“Get thee out, Giles. Darn it! don't 'ee
stop for door, cut a hole in canvas.”
Jack-knives were soon at work making long
slits in the canvas to give egress to those who
were too far off to escape by the door.
At this aperture a crowd of women, men, and
boys were tearing, scratching, and fighting to
get out, and the cry of “Wolf! wolf!" was heard
above the loud-tongued oaths of the rustics and
the screams of the women.
To add to the din, those who were in the pit
seats stood up and shouted—
“It bain't a wolf; it be only a dawg; we seed
his skin.”
“Don't 'ee go there; let us pull down old
rattle trap of theatre, and serve out the smooth-
faced old cheat who told the lies about the wolf.”
Mr. Banks rushed on the stage frantically,
and his appearance was greeted with such a storm
of yells and hisses that he felt it would not be
prudent for him to remain there too long.
Yet there might be a chance of propitiating
those who had discovered the cheat; as for those
Women screamed


69
CHARITY JOE.
who had passed outside, Mr. Banks cared but
little. There was no re-admission at the Theatre
Royal and General Exhibition.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Josiah began, “it is
wish the most profound re—”
“Get thee off, old thing ! get thee off, thou liar
and cheat, get thee off l”
“Fettle his head,” one of the audience sug-
gested; “fettle him well.”
This gentleman tore up one of the seats, and
his example was soon followed with a vigour not
pleasant to the properties.
“Take that, thee lying old rascal.”
A board, about three feet in length, whizzed
Wast Mr. Banks's head. The hint was sufficient,
he manager retired, and left the Hunters of the
Frozen Mountains to fight it out with the audi-
ence, two or three of whom began to scramble
over the orchestra, much to the dismay of Trom-
bone, who, with his brother musicians sought
safety by retiring behind the scenes.
“Hold him, Toby,” Joe shouted, forgetting all
about his inability to speak English; “shake him,
boy, that's it.”
“Hunters, be thee, of Frozen Mountains?”
said the fellow who had been instigated to create
the disturbance. “Come down here, and Ill
frozen thee hide for thee.”
There never was a challenge so readily
accepted.
“Keep them off the stage,” said Joe to his
companions; “use the handles of your spears;
the game's up, so I might as well just punch the
fellow who caused it.” -
Joe jumped from the stage to the orchestra,
then clearing the partition, he stood in front of
his challenger. -
“Here I am, my pippin,” he said, “and quite
ready for the freezing. Take that to begin
with.”
Joe's right hand and the lout's nose met; the
concussion was not pleasant to the latter, and
before he could take the water from his eye, he
received a blow in the mouth that caused his
teeth to rattle.
“I'll choke thee,” growled the lout, “that's
what I'll do.”
“Exactly so,” said Joe, touching the country-
man's right eye with his left hand, “but you'll
have to be quick about it, or you'll want a pair
of spectacles.”
So the lout discovered; for the street boy's
hands were not idle for a moment, and always
dropped upon a place the countryman the least
expected.
During the time Joe was thrashing his adver-
sery, Bill Adler, Tommy Nimblejaws, the scene-
shifters, and others connected with the theatre,
were busy repelling the assault upon the stabe,
Twice the mob had gained a footing, each time
they were driven back—much the worse for the
repulse, for the defenders were armed with sticks,
property swords, spears, and hatchets.
The matter was becoming serious. for the
assailants ripped up the seats, and thus armed,
made another rush to drive back the defenders of
the stage.
They partly succeded—not for the want of
pluck on the defenders' part, but in consequence
of the “weight” of numbers. -
“Hooray,” shouted the foremost yokel, “pull
down t theatre ; come on.”
The cry was taken up. The defenders were
forced still farther back. Another moment and
the properties would have been destroyed; but,
as the mob were about to tear down the scenes,
a voice in the rear said, loud enough for Bill
Adler and his companions to hear—
“Stand clear ! Make your escape by the
wings!”
They did so, for it was the voice of Mr. Banks
that had spoken; and no sooner were the de-
fenders clear of the centre of the stage, than the
distant view of the Rocky Mountains parted, and
revealed Mr. Banks, armed with the hose of a
small fire-engine.
“Pump away!” shouted the manager.
it, my lads.”
Cluk, cluk, fizz, fizz, spirted the water through
the jet, and the foremost of the assailants were
drenched to the skin; and those who were yet
safe from the unwelcome bath beatahasty retreat.
In less than two minutes the stage was cleared,
and the boldest of the enemy was seen slinking
away, his “Sunday-going” suitasad and wet sight.
Mr. Banks followed up the advantage by com-
ing forward and playing upon Joe and his an-
tagonist, who were locked in a very close if not
loving embrace.
The continuous stream soon separated the
pugilists—aye, even Toby relinquished his grip
of Towzer, who, by the way, had received quite
sufficient punishment, and was glad to limp after
his master, who made the best of his way to the
door, his watery foe pursuing him until he be-
came wedged in amongst the crowd who were
scrambling through the place of exit.
“Pump away,” roared Mr. Banks, “pump
away, my lads.”
The lads did pump, and until the last of his
patrons had dispersed, Mr. Banks kept the
stream of water playing around their heads and
down the backs of their necks.
When the theatre was clear the proprietor re-
signed his weapon and said-
44 Go


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR. 69
they were casting off the hunter's skins; after he
had done this, and when the little party left the
theatre, crest-fallen by the sudden reverse of
fortune, Joe was the happiest of the three.
“Something will turn up,” he said, hopefully.
“What's the use of being down upon it?”
Poor old Bill would not be consoled, he knew
how hard the somethings were to turn up, and
new that his show had been destroyed, the future
was very dreary and hopeless for him.
CHAPTER XIX.
TROUBLES INCREASE WITH UNPLEASANT SWIFTNESS-
THE LATE HUNTERS BECOME OBJECTS OF UNWISHED-
FOR ATTENTION-THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT
BATTLE.
THAT the possession of money has much to do
with our comfort, no one in their senses will
deny. That the possession of a little of the
“filthy lucre.” also controls the behaviour of
those worldly beings with whom one may be
brought in contact is such an established fact,
that no more need be said in these pages upon
the subject, except as far as it concerns the
individuals now on their way from the Theatre
Royal to the “Three Jolly Ploughmen.”
The tongue of rumour carried in the mouth of
a red-headed boy had conveyed the news of the
strange scene at the theatre to the host of the
“Three Jolly Ploughmen,” so when the dis-
comfited trio returned and seated themselves in
the parlour, the landlord entered the room hold-
ing between the first and second fingers of the
right hand a piece of folded paper.
“The bill !” mentally observed Joe, “and not
a blessed copper amongst us.”
“The bill !” thought Nimblejaws. “What
fools we were not to slope instead of coming back
here.” -
“Glad to see you back, gentlemen,” said the
host; “thought perhaps you might have got
hurt by our lads. They be rare high-spirited
chaps.” -
“The bill, I suppose,” said Old Bill Adler,
mildly.
The subject was not pleasant, so he tried to
change the current of the landlord's thoughts.
“Yes, sir,” answered mine host, “I thought
you and the young gentlemen would perhaps be
in a hurry to leave, as the theatre is packing up.
You'll find it right, sir.”
The landlord's face when he entered the room
expressed a little disquiet, but when the ex-
showman referred to the bill, mine host's face
brightened up, and the oily civility flowed as
smoothly as ever from his tongue.
“One pun, seven and tuppence,” sighed old
Bill; “tuank goodness, 1'm able to pay it, but
there won't be much left out of my little savings.”
Old Bill dived his fingers into his waistcoat
pocket, and took therefrom a small roll of dirty
linen; and during the time he was unwinding
the covering of his little store, the landlord
rubbed his hands, and mentally observed—
“Well, they are honest, after all, whatever
may be said about the wolf business. Hallo!”
The host's exclamation was cawsed by the
sudden collapse of the showman, who had fallen
back in his chair, his face expressing astonish-
ment, horror, and fear, while at arm's length he
held the contents of the small roll of dirty linen.
The host, Joe, and Tommy Nimblejaws ran
up to the old man, who groaned:—
“Robbed—robbed ! My savings of a whole
year gone. Three half sovs.-bright gold half
sovs., have been taken out of this, and three
farthings put in. Oh, Lord-oh, Lord!”
“Come, come,” the landlord began, “none of
your play-acting tricks with me.”
“As true as I sit here,” said old Bill, “I
thought I had the three half sovs. in my pocket.
Oh, dear-oh, dear! when could this have hap-
pened?”
“Now, look here,” said the landlord, “this
game won't do. I want my money, and mean
to have it; so out with it, or to the lock up you
go.”
“Wait a minute,” Joe said, “don't be so fast,
about the lock-up, perhaps Mr. Adler has the
money in another pocket.”
“That alters the case,” the host said. “I hope
he has. If he has, of course I shall be sorry for
what I've said.”
“You ought to be,” said Joe, “because if we
had wanted to have cheated you, we shouldn't
have come back.”
“Which,” said Tommy, “is true—make no
mistake about it.”
Bill Adler felt in all his pockets, the lining of
his coat, even looked in his boots, but there was
no second dirty roll of linen.
“I knowed it was no good,” said Mr. Adler,
“and I might have knowed it was gone, for I've
dreamt of a black cat for these three nights run-
ning, and—”
“You can't find it, then?” exclaimed the
landlord. “Of course you can't, you—”
“No,” said old Bill, “I can't; I wisn I
could, and I wish I knowed the thief what nas
taken it, and I wish I knowed how they found
out it was there.”
The publican looked, first at old Bill, then at
Joe and Tommy, then his red, angry face was
turned towards the showman, and from his lips
there came a confused sound as he attempted to
utter words which his anger rendered unintelli-
gible.


64
CHARITY JOE; oR,
At last his articulation returned, and shaking
his fist within an inch of his unlucky debtor's
head, he spluttered—
“You thieving, dirty-minded old play-acting
vagabond l so you think to palm this tale off
upon me, do you?”
“It's true, every blessed word—”
“Hold your jaw, you old thief, or I'll break
it for you; and Dan Smith has broken many a
man's jaw—better men than such a grey-headed
old thief as you are.”
There seemed every probability of the publi-
can's fist and old Bill's faee being very closely
acquainted, so Joe, who was always ready to
fight while he had a leg to stand upon, turned
up his cuffs, and, ranging alongside his friend,
placed himself in the attitude Ben Smasher,
ex-champion of the light weights, had taught
him.
“Hands off, old son,” said Joe, “ or mayhap
there will be something like a row in this crib
before long—look after the poker, Tommy,
make it red hot in case any of the louts should
come in.”
Dan Smith, the landlord of “The Three Jolly
Ploughmen,” was not a hero, in fact there was
not a man on the face of the sea-girt isle who
had less inclination to become a hero than Dan
Smith. *
Yet he was looked upon as a bit of a bruiser,
for more than once he had turned a disorderly
rustic out of the tap—disorderly rustic at the
same time being much the worse for cold four-
penny.
Dan Smith felt himself equal to the task of
thrashing poor old Bill, but when he saw the
attitude of the sturdy street-boy, and read in his
fearless eyes a determination to stand by his
aged companion, Dan Smith's pugilistic feelings
considerably abated, lowering his arm, he said—
“So you would square up to a man, would
you, my cock sparrow; why, I could wring your
neck.”
“That's very likely,” replied Joe, “bnt 1
should be there when you tried it on, and
Tommy wouldn't be far off with the red-hot
poker—blow the fire, Tommy—as for Toby, he
would keep his teeth clean by trying the tender-
ness of your calves, so I think under these cir-
cumstances you had better not try to smash old
Bill's jaw.”
“I shall not give you the chance of getting
away without paying me,” said Dan Smith;
*for you would have a chance if I were to give
you all a good thrashing, all round, and I could
do it as easily as I could kiss my hand.”
“Kissing your hand would be easier,” Joe
suggested. -
*
“No,” continued Mr. Smith, “you shall not
have the opportunity of charging me with an
assault; but I will fetch the constable and have
you all locked up for rogues, thieves, and play-
acting vagabonds—there !”
The last word was uttered triumphantly, as
Mr. Smith suddenly opened the door, then closed
it with a bang, and the ex-hunters heard the bolt
thrust into its socket.
“Giles, Giles!” shouted Mr. Smith, as he
stood close to the door; “be quick, you bandy-
legged fool.”
“Here I be, measter,” a voice answered from
the rear of the premises; “wait a minnittill-”
“Come at once,” yelled Mr. Smith; “bring
your hay-fork with you—there's three robbers
locked up in the parlour.”
“All roight.”
The gentle sounds of a pair of hob-nailed boots
followed, then Mr. Smith said:— -
“Stand in front of the window, Giles, and
prick 'em with the fork if they try to get out.”
“Won't I, measter, that's all; be they the
play-akters? Thought they be a bad lot; but I'll
prick 'em!”
So Giles came to the window, and while his
master went in search of the only policeman the
town could boast, Giles occupied himself, much
to Joe's disgust and annoyance, by making faces
through the window.
“I wonder who could have done it?” groaned
poor old Bill, resting his head upon the table;
“I meant to pay him, I did. Oh Lord! Oh
Lord! we shall all be taken to prison.”
“It looks like it,” said Joe; “but I think we
ought to try and get away. Is the poker hot,
Tommy?”
“Red hot, Joe.”
“Right. I should like to cram it down that
fellow's throat, the carroty-headed, bandy-
legged son of a-”
“Yah! yah! play-akters be nabbed this
toime !” said the sentinel, flattening his nose
against the window. “Wouldn't 'ee like to
come out. Wouldn't Iloike to catch 'ee at it, I'd
tuck 'ee up wi' fork.” -
“Joe,” said Tommy, “as the fellow in the
penny play says, there is but one more between
me and sweet liberty. You are not afraid of
cutting your fingers, are you?”
“I'd cut 'em off to get out of this,” answered
Joe; “but why do you ask?” -
“Well,” answered Tommy, “I know yon
you would like to give that sweet youth with
the large mouth a dab on the nose, and, if you
don't mind the glass, why there's a good
chance.”
*There was, Tommy, but he has left the
:


66 CHARITY JOE; on,
populace flocked to the sights and shows, and
thus the streets were left to take care of them-
selves—a task they were quite able to fulfil, for,
up to the present time not one of them had been
known to stray away from this place.
It was owing to this state of matters that our
adventurers, to use an original (?) term, were
able to carry out their daring plan of escape,
and to so signally discomfort the superlative
Giles.
This youth, when the “akters” had reached
the end of the street, emerged from his place of
concealment to go in search of his master and
the constable, for he had made the agreeable dis-
covery that he was more frightened than hurt.
True, his nose bled rather freely, but that would
do him good. As for the hot poker, that had
only scorched his moleskins, so, under the cir-
cumstances, he felt himself equal to the task of
aiding in the re-capture of the foe.
When he reached the street, he was equally
surprised to meet about a dozen boys and gawky
young men running towards the “Three Jolly
Ploughmen;” they had come to his assistance in
consequence of the news of the outrage having
been brought to them by a small boy, who had
seen the whole transaction from one of the win-
dows opposite.
“Where be they gone to?” asked several of
the band; “Where be the play-akters?”
“Up street,” said an old female, who had been
nearly upset by the retreating hunters; “I see
play-akting fellows; they run agin' I.”
Up street went the pursuers, Giles armed with
the fork, another of the party took the poker.
When they reached the end of the street, they
caught sight of the fugitives as they slackened
their pace to regain their breath.
It was the shouts of Giles and his companions
that caused Joe and his companions to go for-
ward again, and well they kept the lead for
3mearly a mile, then the poor old man was
obliged to give in, for his strength was all gone.
“Leave me, you lads,” he said; “I’ll go back
with them.”
Joe's reply was the hasty gathering of all the
loose stones that lay near, and Tommy followed
his example, and Toby, the late wolf, as though
he knew something was to be feared from the
advancing rustics, crouched down and showed
his fangs.
“Coom back!" said Giles, when the party
came within fifty yards of the trio; “coom back,
thee cheats, to measter!”
Two stones, flung with that accuracy of aim
so peculiar to the London street-boys, caused
the pursuers to halt; one got struck on the
shoulder, another hopped about holding his right
leg.
This gentleman's shins had been touched by
the missiles flung by Charity Joe.
CHAPTER XX.
THE RETREAT OF THE PURSUERS-OLD BILL FALLs
BY THE ROAD-SIDE-A FRIEND IN NEED-COM-
FORTABLE QUARTERS-AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL,
AND AN UNEXPECTED CHANGE OF CIRCUM-
STANCES.
THE bold stand made by the unlucky trio was
sufficient to bring the rustics to a halt, and the
two wounded leroes, as usual in warlike encoun-
ters, fell to the rear, and urged their companions
forward.
“Go on, Giles; thee hast fork-prod play-
akters wi' it.”
“Thee may have fork,” said the obliging Giles,
“if 'ee likes to do it theeself.”
“Come on,” said another, “we be stronger
than they; let us run in upon them.”
This seemed the best plan, so the boldest ad-
vanced, and Toby, urged on by Joe, ran bark-
ing towards them at the same time as the late
hunters sent in a shower of stones.
Toby's savage aspect did more than the stones,
for they could dodge those missiles; but as it
was uncertain which of the rustic legs the dog
might fancy, those in the rear prudently retired,
one remarking-
“Thee all stand here, while I go for con-
stable; he be best.”
Toby selected Giles. Possibly the weapon
carried by the red-haired youth caused the dog
to attack his shins.
Giles valiantly repelled the assault; but Toby
was much too careful to get within reach of the
fork-handle.
“Help I,” shouted Giles.
some of thee."
His voice was unheeded, for his companions
had gone to fetch the constable.
Joe whistled for Toby, and the dog released
his grip of the moleskin.
“Now,” shouted Joe, “let’s burke him.”
Giles did not care about being burked, so as
Joe, Tommy, and the dog advanced, the rustic
youth beat a hasty retreat.
“Dang it!” he said, “if one goes to fetch con-
stable, all needn't ha' gone and left I here.”
“The enemy having retired,” said Joe, “we
will follow their example, but in another direc-
tion.
“Beat dog off,
“Yes,” said Tommy, “we will. Come along,
Bill.”
Discretion, the trio knew, was much the better
part of valour, so they trudged on until the spire


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR.
-
*
- \
*'.
N |
s'
MASTER JOSEPH SAT FUMBLING WITH HIS HAT.
“I've been a showman, sir,” said Bill Adler,
“for nigh upon thirteen months, and managed
to get a crust and a bed out of it; but misfor-
tunes came, sir-regular bad luck—and I ain't
got a penny piece, nor a hole to put my head in.”
“Dear me, how very unpleasant, to be sure !
And where is your show, my man? I suppose
you do not carry it in your pocket, eh?”
The old gentleman chuckled at the little joke,
and Bill Adler replied—
“No, sir; it warn’t very big, but it was too
big for that—much too big; no, sir, it's all broke
* * * ,
r
up—smashed up to little bits, and the pictures
all torn up to ribbons!” -
“Bless me! ah! how did this happen, pray?"
“It's a long story, sir,” said Bill Adler; “but
I will tell you if you like, sir."
“The very thing I should like, my man. Mind
you do not omit the slightest particular, for I
am writing a book—a book, my man, that will
yet make the country shake; a book relating to
the poorer classes, so mind you give me all the
information you can.”
“Yes, sir."
*


70 CHARITY JOE; or,
So old Bill told the story of his meeting with
Charity Joe and Tommy, and their adventures
up to the present hour, and his listener sat with
pencil and note-book in hand, jotting down such
portions of the recital as were of use for the
great book he had in preparation.
“Now,” said Sir Charles, “I shall be glad if
you will tell me a little of your life previous to
your meeting with these lads?”
“It's very kind of you, I'm sure, sir,” old Bill
said; “very kind of you to listen to my ups and
downs; of course, I'll tell you as much as I can.”
So the showman related that portion of his
career already known to the reader, and Sir
Charles took copious notes.
During the time this was going forward
Charity and Tommy Nimblejaws sat apart from
the narrator and his listener, Joe moody and
thoughtful, Tommy keeping up the name he bore
by rattling away as quickly as possible.
“I say, Joe, we’ve dropped in with a good
sort. Don't you think so? I do. We shall have
no end of a good feed when we get down to the
old swell's house; heard him tell the lady to send
a cart down for us. Didn't you? I did. I say,
what will you have if they ask you what you
like 2 I know what I'll have. I say, what's the
matter with you, found a penny and lost a lucky
sixpence? You look like it. What's up, Joe?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, nothing. Well, nothing makes people
look as though there was something the matter.
I say, ain't there?”
“Ain’t there ! What?”
“Something the matter.”
“No.”
“What makes you look so glumpy, then?”
“Well, I don't know that we have much to
make us look anything else.”
“What a crammer I Ain't we going to this
old swell's house? I say, I hope he'll ask us the
same as he has asked Bill.”
* What has he asked Bill?”
“To tell him all about his ups and downs. I
say, if he asks us, won't we show old Nip up?
I wonder how he gets on, and all of 'em at
Baream. It ought to be Barebone.”
“I don't know,” said Joe, “that it would do
us much good to say anything about old Nip.”
“It won't do us much harm,” said Tommy.
“But this I know, there is something the matter
with you, or you would not be so jolly disagree-
able. Now, isn't there?”
“Well, there is,” Charity replied, “and a
sort of something I never felt before. You saw
that lady, Tommy.”
“Should say I did, too.”
“Come nearer. I don't want to shout. Did
you ever have a dream?”
“Dream?” Nimblejaws repeated. “I should
say I have, and a good many of them, too.”
“Did you ever dream anything that you re-
membered a long time afterwards, and when you
thought of it made you feel queer all over?”
Tommy fingered the last button that remained
upon his jacket, and when he had succeeded in
twisting it off, he exclaimed—
“Yes, that I have. I dreamt once, when I
was at home, that my mother-in-law's husband
was giving me a tanning, and when I woke up
my dream was right, for he was laying on to me
with a bed-rail. Yes, I remember that, for 1 got
every whack with the stick just as I had dreamt
it, only a jolly sight harder. And I dreamt an-
other time, when we were at old Nip's. Of
course I had gone to bed awfully hungry, and
while I was snoring I dreamt I was at a table
feeding upon beef-sausages and nice new bread,
and a mug of beer to wash it down. Yes, I re-
member that dream, too, for it was skilly day at
old Nip's.”
“That's not the sort of dream I mean,” Joe
said, “for I don’t seem to know when I had the
dream. Perhaps I should not have thought of it
at all had I not seen the lady's face; and when
I saw it, I felt quite queer. I can't tell you how
I felt, though it was such a curious feeling. My
heart beat ever so fast, and there seemed to
be something saying to me, “Go and speak to
her.’ * -
“If you had,” said Tommy, “wouldn't that
flunkey have given you a topper, that's all?”
“He could not have stopped me,” said Joe.
“It was her voice when she spoke that made me
feel quite giddy, for l’in surel veheard it before,
and seen her face before; either in a dream, but
I can’t remember, or—yes, it must have been a
dream I had long before I was taken from the
workhouse.”.
No, Joe, it was a reality; but you were too
young at the time to remember the home where-
in your childhood was spent, too young to re-
member a handsome bearded man who taught
you to lisp a few words, too young to remember
the mother who wept so often over the little father-
less prattler. Better that you should think it all a
dream, for the awaking to the truth would be a
heavy sorrow for one so young to bear.
“Dreams,” said Tommy, “doesn't ought to be
remembered, for when I–”
The appearance of a light spring cart put a
stop to Tommy's reminiscences, and, much to the
delight of the younger members of the party,
they were soon seated in the vehicle, and the
three-quarter-bred bay “spanking out" towards


7: CHARITY JOE ; or,
“Say thankee,” said Joe, when Toby had re-
ceived the bone. “Come, sir!”
Toby dropped his prize, and after two or
three failures succeeded in balancing himself
upon his head, and returned thanks in the
“doggie” language.
This feat pleased even more than the one pre-
ceding it, and while the company were laughing
heartily, John James entered the hall.
“I hope you are not hurt,” said Joe.
look all right.”
“I am not severely hurt, certainly,” said
the powdered being, serenely stroking his well-
greased whiskers, “yet that animal's claws have
marked me more than ever I was marked be-
fore.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said Joe, kicking at
Tommy's leg but hitting old Bill's shin instead.
“Now what's the matter, Bill?”
“Nothing,” said the old man, “only some-
thing hit me on the shin.” -
“Oh,” said Joe, “that's not much to pull such
a face about, is it, Tommy?"
Tommy made no reply, but was busily engaged
talking to Mr. Bung, telling that very stout and
superlatively gentlemanly gentleman, how they
met Sir Charles Elthorne.
“He’s a kind gentleman,” said Mr. Bung,
“and goodness! how many poor people he brings
to the Hall to feed. “Sometimes,” added Mr.
Bung, “I finds he is too benevolent, for he does
not stop to inquire whether the persons he brings
or sends up to the Hall are poor persons or
rascally tramps. I believe I am correct when I
say this, am I not, Mr. John James?”
The magnificent ceased the severe manipulation
of his whiskers, placed his hands under the tails
of his coat, and answered—
“Well, Mr. Bung, as you appeal to me, who
ought to know about these matters, I must say
we are not so particular at all times as we ought
to be.”
“No,” said the butler, “not by no manner of
means.”
“Of course,” continued Mr. John James,
“benevolence is a fine thing—a very fine thing,
Mr. Bung.”
“Yes, Mr. John James, it is.”
“Such being the case, I think benevolence
ought to be used for one purpose only: that pur-
pose, Mr. Bung, ought to be to give to such
gentlemen as you and I all the spare cash the
gentleman we condescend to serve may have in
his pocket.”
“Them,” said Mr. Bung, “is my sentiments,
Mr. John James, to a T.”
“And mine,” said the housemaind.
* Just what I thinks, too,” said the cook.
“You
“Mr. John is quite korreck,” said the pretty
chambermaid; “but it ain't often benevolence
goes that way except the General; he does some-
times give me a chuck under the chin and half-
a-crown.”
“The General is a strict man,” said Mr. John
James; “although he is her ladyship's father,
he is a troublesame man to have in the house.”
“Her ladyship's father,” thought Joe. “Keep
your ears open, Charity.”
“Yes, said Mr. Bung, “he is a very trouble-
some person; he thinks nothing of making a
gentleman run up and down stairs for nothing.
I believe I am correct, Mr. John James?”
“I well know it,” said the effulgent. “I know
one thing, I should not like to be this person's
gentleman, for when we were in town, her lady-
ship druv to his house in Eaton-square, and I
heard him a cursing his gentleman up hill and
down dale.”
“Eaton-square,” Joe mentally repeated.
“I’ve heard say,” said Mr. Bung, “that the
old General made her ladyship, that now is,
marry our Sir Charles, or she wouldn't have had
him, if every hair of his head was stuck with
diamonds. I believe I am correct, Mr. John
James?”
“Well-ah, yes, Mr. Bung. I have heard
something like this, but you know as we are a
very rich baronet, people will scandalise us."
“Well,” said the chambermaid, “if I was a
lady, Sir Charles is just the husband I should
like, for he lets her do just what she chooses,
and never says a word.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. John James, surveying
his plush and stockinged legs, tenderly smooth-
ing his whiskers; “you know, Susan, there's no
accounting for tastes. Now, if I were a lady, I
should prefer to marry a gentleman of face and
figure, no matter what his station might be—no,
not even if he was a gentleman in livery.”
This speech so tickled Tommy and Joe that
they made a kick at each other's legs under the
table, and, both boot-toes missing their object,
the shins of poor old Bill Adler suffered.
“Oh, Lord!” he gasped, and the tears came
to his eyes; “oh, Lord! what's that for?”
“I was going to kick Toby,” said Joe; “hope
you ain't hurt, Bili.” -
“You know, Mr. John,” said the housemaid,
“it ain't every gentleman, no, not even if he was
a dook, has such a face, such a pair of whiskers,
and such a figure as some gentleman as I could
name; and, perhaps, you know, Mr. John, the
lady didn't see the gentleman as I could name,
or she would have made love to him, and left
Sir Charles in the lurch—give him regular tur-
nips !”


FROM S XXI:2:: ISOY TO LORD MAYOR.
70
“Mary,” said Mr. John James, “those senti-
ments does you confound the bell ! I wonder
who it can be 2”
The haughty being ran quickly upstairs, and
the paces detracted from his dignity, but it went
far to prove how affable he was that night, or he
would not have cared how long any “person”
remained at the door.
Visitors were not plentiful at Elthorne; and
there was much speculation going forward among
the ladies and gentlemen, barring the three ex-
hunters, as to the quality and condition of the
visitors.
Presently Mr. John James returned, his face
end deportment plainly showing there was some-
thing of importance to communicate.
“Who is it, Mr. John James?” asked Mr.
Bung, the butler, “The ladies will have it it's
the paper-hanger come to see the drawing-room,
but I say it's the carrier from London. Am I
correct, Mr. John James?”
“You are all as far out as Robinson Crusoe was
when he climbed up to the North Pole to look
for a cold leg of mutton. No, ladies and gentle-
men; the persons who are now talking to Sir
Charles is the—”
“What? WHAT 2 WHAT P” different voices
cried.
“The constable from Buddleton-cum-Peters,
and ever so many people at his back.”
“The constable from Buddleton ?”
“That is the very identical person,” John
James said. “The constable from Buddleton-
cum-Peters.”
•-
CHAPTER XXII.
BILL ADLER, JOE, AND TOMMY NIMBLEJAWS PER-
FORM BEFORE THE PUBLIC IN A MANNER NOT
QUITE AGREEABLE TO THEIR FEELINGS.
WERE the dome of St. Paul's suddenly to take
wing and soar upwards, before the city gentle-
men whose custom it is to set their watches by
the clock every day at 12 noon, they would not
be more astonished than our heroes (I believe
that is the correct mode of expression) were when
John James gave utterance to that sentence
which closed the preceding chapter.
“The constable from Buddleton-cum-Peters,
and ever so many people at his back "
Old Bill Adler's arm fell to his sides, and, as
he upturned his eyes he gasped, in a melancholy
manner :-
“Oh, Lord, oh Lord! we shall be all trans-
ported !”
Charity was taken aback for a few moments,
and Tommy looked up the wide chimney, as
though calculating the chances of escape by that
sooty aperture.
Mr. Bung, John James, and 'Enry Chawles
looked profoundly wise, and the ladies quitted
their seats and collected in a group as far as
possible away from the late Hunters of the
Frozen Mountains.
“Haw, really,” said Mr. Bung, pulling down
his vest; “really, quite an event here—a offi-
cers of the law ! I believe I am correct, Mr.
John James?”
“Quite correct, Mr. Bung,” the magnificent
responded, as he tenderly manipulated his glossy
whiskers; “in fact, I may say it is superlatively
correct; but it is nothing more than we have
expected, Mr. Bung.”
*Nothing more, Mr. John James, nothing
more.”
“No, Mr. Bung; if we do bring persons of a
certain description to our Hall, all I have to say
is that we ought to expect this sort of thing.
What are you laughing at, 'Enry Chawles?”
“Nothing,” answered the page; “I wasn't
laughing at nothing.”
“He means,” said Joe, who soon recovered
from his confusion, “that you are nothing,
Johnny.”
“How dare you, sir,” said John James.
fiercely, his face the colour of his plush; “how
dare you address yourself to me? Do you think
that I am to put up with the owdacious remarks.
of a person whom the law is about to claim;
for understand I know the cause of the officer's
appearance here.”
“Do you?” was Joe's saucy answer; “it’r
wonderful you are so clever. I should hav
thought the lot of flour you have put on you,
hair would have got into your head and made a
pudding of your brains, that is if you ever had
any.”
John James's frame trembled with indigna-
tion. He looked at Mr. Bung as though ex-
pecting that gentleman would at once rush upon
Joe and annihilate him.
He looked at 'Enry Chawles as though ex-
pecting that youth, instead of grinning, would
assist at the annihilation.
But Mr. Bung only twisted his watch-chain
and said-
“Really—ahem—quite out of the usual man-
ner in which gentlemen are addressed.”
“’Enry Chawles tried to look as though he did
not enjoy John James's discomfiture, and to add
to that gentleman's misery the page said-
“I wouldn't stand that, Mr. John.”
The ladies were present, and John James felt
bound to appear valiant, so after ascertaining that
he could not count upon any assistance from his
fellow-gentlemen in retainership, he assumed the
lofty and majestic tone of a hero who too much


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR.
“Dear, dear,” said the old gentleman, “I see
it is as you have said, Mr.—”
“Dan Smith, sir.” -
“Never heard that name before,” interrupted
Joe. “Did you, Tommy.”
“Yes, Mr. Smith,” continued the master of
Elthorne, “they are bad persons, very bad. Con-
stable, I'm afraid you must do your duty.”
The official, like his town brethren, was quite
equal to the task; he flourished his staff, called
upon the half-dozen rustics who had accom-
panied Dan Smith and Giles to Elthorne, to as-
sist in the Queen's name, and the party were
marched off, much to the delight of John James,
but to his confusion when Joe turned his head
and called out- *
“I say, Johnny, don't you be making of
sheep's eyes at the housemaid. I saw you,
and if I was your master I'd soon put a stop
to **
The footman closed the hall door, and looking
very red in the face he crept past the dining-
room, fearing every moment his master would
emerge from thence and charge him with the
remarkable liberty of being partial to one of his
fellow servants, such things being expressly for-
bidden under pain of instant dismissal.
Thus was Joe taken from his mother's house,
and the proud woman, from one of the windows,
watched the group pass down the avenue, and
wondered how it was possible her husband could
have his mansion polluted by suffering such ill-
iressed people to cross the threshold.
The lock-up at Buddleton-cum-Peters only
consisted of one spare receptacle for the evil-
doers and law-breakers, when the party reached
that old-fashioned structure. There were more
chambers, but owing to the fair and the statutes
they were all filled.
Old Bill sank upon a stool, and hid his face in
his hands. It was the first time he had been
imprisoned, and the poor fellow felt the humilia-
tion keenly.
Not so his companions. They looked upon
their incarceration as a rare piece of fun, and put
their juvenile wits to work to pass the time away
pleasantly.
They sang snatches of all the songs then popu-
lar in London, made Toby perform all sorts of
antics, and when tired of this Joe espied a bell
fixed in the wall just over the bed.
“Hallo, Tommy, here's a bell. I suppose it's
put there for us to ring.”
“Of course it is ; so here goes.”
They gave such a peal that the attendant,
thinking one of his captives had committed
suicide, ran to the door, and pushing back the
slide, looked through the grating and inquired”-
“What's the matter in No. 4?”
“Does your mother know you're out, old cock-
alorum ?” said Joe. -
“All right,” answered the gaoler.
you something for this.”
“You’re a beauty, you are,” said Tommy.
“Wouldn't your face do for an old knocker,
that's all ?”
The gaoler closed the slide and went away,
much enraged by the above conversation.
“The young varmints,” he growled; “I'd
like to tie ’em to a cart's tail, and give 'em a
good whipping—that's what I should like to do.”
The next morning, after a sumptuous repast
of skilly, the trio were taken before one of the
great unpaid, and his justiceship having heard
the evidence of Dan Smith and Giles, thus sum-
med up and sentenced the aggressors:-
“The country,” he said, “is overrun with
gangs of tramps; but a more daring set I never
had before me. You go to a respectable man's
house; you eat and drink of the best, then have
no money to pay. Of course not. You think
your old tricks will do here, but I'll let you seo
that we have justice in this town; and I will
take care that you are made a warning to others;
therefore I sentence you all to be placed in the
stocks for two hours; then, if you do not pay
Mr. Smith for the food and lodgings you have
tried to cheat him out of, you shall all go to
prison for seven days. Take them away, con-
stable.”
Old Bill sobbed like a child; he would have
implored for mercy, but his heart was too full
for him to speak.
As for those young gentlemen, Master Joseph
and Tommy, they were so astonished at their
sentence that they could not chaff the red-nosed
policeman.
That relic of a bygone time—that terror to
the evil-doer—the stocks—was a favourite mode
of punishment at Buddleton, and the hapless
prisoners were here at all times a source of much
amusement to the juvenile population.
The news soon spread that three “akters"
were to be imprisoned in the wooden machine,
and long before they reached the place of pun-
ishment, there was an expectant, if not an ad-
miring crowd.
The stocks were made to hold four, and when
the upper half was raised to admit the legs of
culprits, Toby, with his usual curiosity, put his
head in one of the unoccupied holes, and the
constable closing the machine at the moment,
Master Toby was made prisoner with his
master.
The spectators laughed at the unusual scene,
“1'll get
| and this merriment aroused the ire of Tommy


78
CHARITY JOE ; or,
and Joe; poor old Bill was too much broken
down to care whether he were a subject for the
rustics' merriment. Fate had done its worst,
and he wished himself in the quiet grave.
The most active among the tormentors was
*ffes; that youth dancing with joy and clapping
his hands, brought the quartette more promi-
nently before the public by shouting:-
“Lookee, that be old hunter, they be young
uns, and that be wolf. Hoy, hoy! bean't they
a foine lot ?”
Joe wriggled and twisted with rage, as he en-
deavoured to get free; he would at that moment
have given ten years of his life to have had a
fair up and downer with Giles.
His hands and legs being thus fettered, he
had but his tongue, and the volley of choice ex-
pressions he hurled at Giles and the crowd
would, had they taken effect, have caused a
great decrease in the population of Buddleton.
He culled the rarest flowers of language from
the bouquet before mentioned in this history,
and they lost none of their fragrance by the
manner in which they were distributed.
Joe had to pause to regain his breath, then
Tommy took up the cudgels, and his speech was
quite as effective as Joe's.
“Eh, swear away, thee plap-akters,” said
Giles; “that's all thee can do—hah, hah, hah !”
“You turnip-headed, hobnailed, clod-hobbing
chaw-bacon!” roared Joe; “I'll mark you for
this, if it's seven years to come.”
“Ee'll do lots after thee gets seven days'
skilly, won't thee? I'll tell 'ee what, if con-
stables were not here I'd pull thee nose for
thee '"
“You—you?” yelled Joe; “I’ll—”
Joe's utterance became indistinct, and so did
Tommy's, who joined his friend's challenge to
fight the whole of the male population of Bud-
dleton-Cum-Peters.
Never in this sublunary sphere were two
youths so thoroughly roasted with the chaff of a
delighted audience as were our friends, and
their rage became so great that they fairly
howled at their inability to get at their tor-
mentors. -
As for Toby, he looked up every now and then
at his master in a wistful manner, as though
seeking for an explanation of the peculiar situa-
tion his canineship had so suddenly and unex-
pectedly found himself.
Matters had reached this stage when the swift
approach of a carriage caused the crowd to
separate, and Joe, looking up, saw the lady and
gentleman from Elthorne seated in the vehicle.”
The lady was calling the master of Elthorne's
attention to the culprits, and Joe saw them both
smile at the droll sight.
The proud lady little knew that the object of
her scornful words was her only child, little
imagined the face she declared bore the impress
of vice and crime was the same face she had st
often kissed and watched with a young mother's
care and pride.
There was John James, too, on the box, and he
laughed as he pointed the criminals out to the
fat coachman.
Joe saw this, and his rage increased, and at
the top of his lungs yelled out—
“Lick-plate flunkey, sneak, hound, kitchen
sneak.”
And Tommy shouted in chorus-
“Johnny, bring up the coals. Flunkey, wash
the dog, and take him out for a walk.”
All this was very vulgar; but it made John
James's very whiskers tremble with anger and
mortification, for the rustics, whom the lordly
John James looked upon as quite an inferior
class of beings to his exalted self, took up the
cry, and used epithets not pleasing to his refined
ears.
“If," said John James to the coachman, when
they were out of hearing of the crowd, “I was
a king, I'd have all them sort of persons hanged.”
The coachman nodded a ready assent, and after
an effort said-
“So would I, Mr. John. I hates them wulgar
pussons.”
Soon after the carriage passed, a slim, genteel-
looking youth of about seventeen summers,
autumns, winters, and springs, wended his way
towards the market-place.
He was a traveller. That was told by the dust
upon his boots and the small carpet-bag he car-
ried.
The stranger forced his way through the crowd,
and looking for a moment or so at the faces of
the captives, exclaimed-
“Well, I'm blessed !”
CHAPTER XXIII.
GENTLEMAN BOB, A FRIEND IN NEED-ANOTHER
FRIEND-SOME PARTICULARS OF THE CAUSE OF
GENTLEMAN BOB'S VISIT TO BUDDLETON-CUM-
PETERS-AND SOME NEWS ABOUT BAREAM-IN-THE
WILLOWS.
THE slim young gentleman with the carpet-bag
and the dusty boots would have gone closer to
the instrument of punishment had he not been
told to keep back by the constable with the red
In OSe.
“Charity and Tom Nimblejaws! Well, I never
thought to have seen them here,” thought the
slim young gentleman. “I must ask what they
had been up to before I speak.”
:


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR.
79
#|
#
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-
*
*
sa
*
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*-
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Before the genteel youth could make the
necessary inquiries he was recognised by Joe,
and that youth gave a shout of joy, and called
Out-
“Why, Bob, who'd have thought of seeing
you here?”
“How do, Charity? how do, Tommy? what,
and Toby too? well, this is a sight for free-born
Britons, who never shall be slaves. What have
you been up to?”
“I’ll tell you eight days hence,” said Joe, “if
I see you. But, Bob, I want you to do me a
favour; will you?”
* “Anything, my boy, that I can, except lend
you a crown; that is impossible.”
“I don’t want that,” Joe said; “but if you
will oblige me by giving that red-headed thief
there, him to your left, a-something-good
hiding I shall never forget your kindness.”
“With pleasure,” said Gentleman Bob. “You
can consider it done.”
The slim young gentleman began to “peel,”
but before he had taken both arms from his jacket
Giles retired in a very undignified manner, as he
said to milk the cows, but mayhap the slim
young gentleman had something to do with it.
“Our friend,” said Gentleman Bob, “has re-
tired from the scene. Now, my boy, is there any-
thing else?”
“I know my duty,” said the constable, “so you
keep back. There's no talking allowed with these
'ere prisoners.”
“My friend,” said Gentleman Bob, “believe
me, I have the most profound respect for your
knowledge. Why did you not tell me this be-
fore?”
“You ought to have knowed, I should say.”
“Quite true, my friend, quite true. I ought
to have done so. Still-eh?”
The query was addressed to a person who came
up at that moment; a person whose outward
garb might have led to the supposition that the
wearer was a journeyman tailor out of employ, or
a shoemaker keeping Saint Monday; for his
habiliments were, at least they were once, blue-
black, but age and wear had deprived them not
only of the gloss, but of their colour.
“I begs pardon,” said the mysterious per-
sonage; “but are you a friend of those poor fel-
lows?”
“A sincere friend,” Gentleman Bob said, “a
bosom friend.”
“That's all right, then,” said the mysterious
stranger; perhaps you will give the old chap
this when he gets out of limbo.”
“Certainly,” Gentleman Bob began, as he
held out his hand to take a small roll of dirty
“My savings!” shouted old Bill, when he
caught sight of the little roll; “my savings.
That's the scene-shifter of the theatre.”
“I am the scens-shifter,” said the mysterious
individual, “and this little parcel is Mr.
Adler's, and I should not have known it was his
if I had not been to the court this morning, and
heard him say he had lost his money at the
theatre.”
didn't understand the meaning of these explana-
tions, but by his ready tact made it appear he
was thoroughly in the late wild hunter's confi-
denc. “Yes, I perfectly understand.”
“I thought it was gone,” said old Bill; “I
thought it was gone. Thank God, it hasn't; we
can pay now, and shan’t have to go to prison for
seven days. Hooray !”
Old Bill's hooray was but a feeble attempt at
that lusty mode of expressing joy, but it did him
good.
“Why don't you held your jaw 7” said the
constable to old Bill. “Havn't I told you I
knows my duty ? Now open your mouths again,
any of you, and I'll bring you before the justice,
and he'll give you another hour in the stocks.”
The threat had its weight, the time of punish-
ment had nearly expired, so even Joe thought
it better to keep his mouth closed for ten minutes
than to have another hour's punishment.
“Keep back, all of you,” the constable said to
the audience; “if I catches one of you near the
prisoners I'll take any of you up.”
The constable's nose was redder than ever when
he uttered this awful threat, and the rustic crowd,
awed by the great man, retired, and left the cul-
prits to pass the remainder of their sentence in
peace.
The genteel young gentleman with the carpet-
bag and the scene-shifter retired beyond the
group of idlers, and the latter in a mysterious
whisper, said-
“I am glad you are a friend of those poor
fellows, sir.”
“Most happy to hear the knowledge of our
friendship gives you pleasure,” said Gentleman
Bob; “most happy.”
almost afraid to bring this money back, for I
thought it very likely I should get into a little
scrape over it.”
“For bringing money to those not overbur-
dened with that article !” Bob said. “My dear
fellow, such an extraordinary occurrence was
never yet placed upon the records of even the
most primitive countries.”
“Wasn't it, sir?” the mystified scene-shifter-
linen. “Certainly, with—”
said; “perhaps not, but, of course, you know
“Precisely so,” said Gentleman Bob, who ,
f
“You see, sir,” the scene-shifter said, “I was


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR. 87
After a hittle delay, the Ghost is made to walk
on and off the stage in obedience to the proper
cues. End of the first scene.
The King (Bob's brother):—“Have you
your father's leave? What says Polonius?”
Polonius (old Bill), he knew every word of
his part before he came on; now his mind is a
perfect blank.
“What says Polonius?” the manager re-
peats.
“He—wrung-no—hath wrung my—leave—
no-from me—”
“Come, Mr. Adler” (the manager's voice is
rather stern, and frightens the old man), “this
will never do.”
“I'm very sorry, I'm sure,” old Bill began;
but he was cut short by the manager saying-
“Come, come, your part. Now, prompter.”
“He hath, my lord,” says the prompter.
“Yes, that's it,” exclaimed Polonious. “He
hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave,
ect., etc.
Joe's delivery of Hamlet's reply to the King
was a little nervous at first. By-the-bye, the
heavy man should have been present to rehearse
his part of Claudius; but “sparkling bitter”
had led him from the path of duty, thus the
manager had to do the best he could under the
circumstances.
Joe's nervousness wore off by the time he
had passed on to the soliloquy which begins—
* O that this too solid flesh would melt.”
Scene the 4th.
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.
Dialogue until Joe comes to the cue for the
Ghost to enter.
Hamlet-“Doth all the noble substance often
out, to his own scandal?”
Horatio—“Look, my lord, it comes.”
Hamlet—“Angels and ministers—”
Manager, in a passion—“Stop, stop ; where
the deuce is the Ghost?” At the top his voice,
“To his own scandal.”
Voice at the side (Tommy under the Ghost's
helmet)—I hear, but I can't find my way; this
beastly helmet's so big that it has settled down
on my shoulders, and I can’t see.”
Crash! then a howl from Tommy. He had
run against the wings, and flattened the paste-
board visor upon his nose.
“Mr. Dillon " roars the manager, “Mr.
Dillon 1"
Enter the property-man, looking very red and
uncomfortable.
“Here, sir.”
“For goodness sake do something to that
confounded Ghost's dress, or we shall be in a
pretty mess to-morrow night.”
Ghost: “Yes, sir.” Moves off and captures
Tommy, and adds:—“Of course; couldn't expect
anything else; no business to put boys in men's
clothes.”
Joe and Miss Gusherton laughed at Tommy's
mishaps; the stage manager fiercely talks at
them, but addresses himself to the call-boy.
“Do you think a rehearsal is got up for your
amusement, sir? Take that—I'll teach you to
laugh, sir.”
Kicks call-boy off the stage, then waves his
hand and says:-
“Now, please, scene the fifth.”
Hamlet: “Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak!
I'll go no further.”
Ghost: “Mark me.”
Hamlet: “I will.”
Tommy appearing at side: the property-man
has drilled two holes in his visor: “All right
now. Mark me.”
Hamlet : “I will.”
Ghost: “My hour is almost come, when I to
brimstone—”
“Sulphurous"roar the manager and prompter
in one breath.
“Sulphurous and e-tormenting flames must
render up myself.”
Hamlet: “Alas, poor Ghost.”
Ghost: “You may well say that-no I mean,
pity me not,” &c., &c.
So the rehearsal goes on, and about half-past
four in the afternoon the company break up,
thoroughly tired and worn out.
The young old Miss Gusherton sticks to Joe,
and he has to see her home.
Poor old Bill plods to the inn, and mentally
wonders whether it will ever be more natural
to him to begin his part when he comes on the
stage instead of feeling inclined to say-
“Very sorry, I'm sure, but oh, I remember;
I ought to say, ‘What is it, Ophelia?” Dear
me! I don't think I shall make an actor. That
lad will; that lad will; he is a genius; but I am
not. The show would suit me better.”
The opening night comes. The posters have
done their work.
Hamlet to be performed by the youngest
living actor. People came from all the outlying
villages, and the Theatre Royal Winkletop is
full.
The performance goes on without a hitch.
Even Tommy manages to feel comfortable in his
particular suit; and the heavy man had ab-
stained from bitter the whole day; and old Bill
does not require prompting more than at every
second line.
Scene the 4th closes; scene the 5th must be
given as it occurred. The reader will please to


88 CHARITY
JOE; oR,
understand that Toby had taken a bitter dislike
to the Ghost, and when the light was thrown
upon the figure, to add to the supernatural
effect, Toby fairly howled with fright.
This had occurred at the rehearsal, therefore
Joe left his canine friend at home on the opening
tright,
The interview between the Ghost and Hamlet
goes on very smoothly until Tommy in his speech
says-
“I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young
blood:
- “Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from
their sockets.
“Thy knotted and combed locks to part, and
each particular hair to stand bolt upright.
“Like frightful quills upon the ugly porcupine.
“But this eternal blazon must not be.
“To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O,
list !”
“If thou did'st ever thy dear father love.”
Hamlet: “Oh, Heaven.”
Ghost: “Revenge this foul and most nn-
natural murder."
Toby suddenly rushes upon the stage, and
begins to bark furiously at the ghost.
Hamlet : Murder 1"
Toby: “Bow-wow-wow !”
Ghost : “Murder most foul *
Toby: “Bow-wow-wow !”
Hamlet (aside): “You, Tommy, here's a go.”
Ghost: “As in the best it is.' But this most
foul, strange, and unnatural (aside) Give Toby a
kick.” t! t < r *
Hamlet (aside): My shoes are so thin they
won't stand it. Curse the dog!" the audience
are laughing at us.” Continuing his part: “Haste
me to know it, that I with wings so slight as
meditation or the thoughts of love, may sweep
to my revenge. (Aside.) Hang the dog! the
house is an uproar.”” -? -
Toby: “Bow-wow-wow ! Growl-growl.”
Hamlet (Shakespeareslightly altered): “What
ho, my guards! remove this fierce and untamed
animal.”
Toby is removed by the Danish soldiers, some
of them dressed in brigand costume, and the
audience shout-
“Bravo, bravo!” and clap their hands at Joe's
ready wit.
Joe saved the credit of the house by the utter-
ance of those few words, for the manager, appalled
by the way in which Tommy had rendered Shake-
speare, had already begun to look upon his pros-
pects as ruined, when Toby's unwished-for per-
CHAPTER XXVI.
GENTLEMAN BOB'S PLAY-A FAC-SIMILE OF THIE
ANNOUNCEMENT-AN ADDITION TO THE COM-
PANY, AND JOE's PLANS OF REVENGE FOR THE
CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE WILD. HUNTERS or
THE FROZEN MOUNTAINS,
IT was lucky for the manager and his company
that the inhabitants of Winkletop knew as much
about Shakespeare as they did about the indi-
vidual who designed the Great Pyramids.
Had they been familiar with the merits of the
great poet's works, the first performance would
have been sufficient.
At the second representation, when the Ghost
scene was taking place, the “gods” manifested
some impatience, and when the Ghost bids
Hamlet adieu, a number of the intelligent (?)
audience in the gallery yelled out:- -
“Come back, t’owd chap; the dog ain't been
on—you mun wait for he l"
Hamlet with a dog not being quite the text,
the Ghost made his exit, and Joe began his so-
liloquy:- *
“Oh, all you host of——"
“The dawg—where be the dawg? Hold thee
jaw, and fetch the dawg !”
Cat-calls, shrill whistles, and stamping of feet
gave emphasis to the demand, and Joe said to
the prompter:— -
“Send for the manager; he must explain the
matter to these fools.”
The manager, alarmed by the uproar in the
gallery, made his appearance before the foot-
lights; but when he attempted to speak, the
clamour increased threefold. -
“Give th' chap a chance to speak," roared a
lusty young fellow in a blue Guernsey; “give
him a chance.”
The noise abated a little, and the manager,
placing his hand upon his left breast, and bow-
ing very low, looked towards the gallery and
said:—
“Ladies and gentlemen, the appearance of the
dog last night was a mistake, for Shakespeare
never intended a dog to perform in the—"
“Let him alter th’ play, then; we like a dawg
in th’ piece.”
“But, ladies and gentlemen, who ever heard
of Hamlet and a dog—”
Cat-call. yells, and whistles followed, and
drowned the manager's voice for a time.
“You shall have a dog,” he said; “we have
a splendid melo-drama in preparation, and—”
A piece of orange-peel struck the manager on
the mouth, and he retired, his speech as he
passed the wings not being complimentary to
#ormance put the culminating point to his agony.
the enlightened audience.
:
i
£
|
|


CHARITY JOE; oR,
audience would have liked to have done so too,
for the music was enough to harrow up the feel-
mgs of even unsophisticated Winkletop.
Behold the curtain raised; or as a youth in
the gallery poetically remarked-
“The rag is up.”
Enter, to pathetic music, Nina; she gazes
upon the boundless ocean (about two squar”
yards of white and blue canvas), and listens to
the roar of the breakers (a broom handle per-
forming a solo on an old tea tray.)
She speaks—she weeps, for her lover, the
gallant Vincento, is about to leave her to face the
dangers of the painted canvas—no, the raging
main.
Music, more pathetic, as she comes forward
and sings—
“Why will my lover leave me,
Why will my lover leave me,
y
The remainder of the song is inaudible in con-
sequence of the orchestra choosing to fall out
about time, and will insist upon playing the
symphony instead of the pathetic air.
The groaning of the instruments and the
squeaking of Miss Gusherton's voice subside,
then the plaintive lady informs the audience that
it relieves her bursting heart to sing.
Sing is the cue for the orchestra, they per-
form a hurried bar of music (?) and the youths
in the gallery know this is the prelude to the
entrance of the villain of the piece.
Enter Bernardo (Gentleman Bob) in a pair of
whiskers much too large for him.
“I have thee now!” he exclaims.
art mine for ever! for thy lover has—”
“Never ! villain, will I be thine,” Nina
answers warmly. “Sooner will I throw myself
in the bosom of the boundless ocean than,
than *
“Ha Iha I’”
She goes to throw herself in the bosom of the
boundless deep; but, upon the verge of the
giddy precipice (three feet high) the villain
seizes her wrist.
Terrific struggle, during which she seizes the
dagger in his sash (a table knife in a red worsted
comforter).
Imposing Tableaux!
“Advance one step further, and this glittering
blake shall drink thy life! (A novelty, blades
to have mouths. Perhaps it was one of the
“Thou
thirsty blades we hear about).
The villain pauses, but—“ha, ha!” draws a
pistol from his sash, fires, and knocks the dagger
from Nina's hand.
Sensation, especially in the gallery.
Again they struggle. This time the villain is
triumphs.”t, drags virtue from the brow of the
cliff, and is about to carry her off. (Qy, why
did she not take the leap into the bosom of the
boundless deep when the kni-dagger—was
knocked from her grasp?)
Another struggle close to the footlights.
“Ha, ha! she is mine.”
Voice in the distance: “No, you long-shore
land-lubber, you pirate,” and many more sea-
faring terms (not) used by seamen. Then enters
Bob Mizenroyal, the true-blue son of the ocean.
“What!”he exclaims, “a petticoat in distress!
Why, you pirate, dash my top-masts, take that.”
Takes quid from his mouth, knocks villain down
with it.
“You will protect me, sir?”
“Protect you, my frigate under sky-scrapers!
Ask Bob Mizenro-rel to do that when he's a true-
blue salt of the C-iny ocean? Ha!”
Villain draws another pistol, and fiercely
exclaims, as he pulls the trigger—
“Take that for your pains, meddling fool.”
Pistol misses fire, of course—villain and true-
blue struggle desperately—true-blue victorious
—then, to slow and dreadful mnsic, hurls Ber-
nardo over the cliff.
All Winkletop, at least all that are present at
the theatre, show their appreciation of this feat
by shaking the very walls with their applause.
“Now, my sweet craft, take in your signals,
eh?” "
Rushes forward in time to catch Nina in his
arms, and as he chafes her forehead with the
cuff of his jacket, Leoni enters.
“Faithless wretch!” she cries, “is it thus—”
She prepares to scratch her rival's face, but
the son of the ocean waves her off, and says–
“What, my clipper beauty, would you have a
man stand by when—”
Flourish of music, enter Vincento (Joe) and
Kosmos, the Dog-Avenger (Toby).
Tableaux—Supposed to represent Leoni and
Vincento's feelings at beholding the baseness of
their sweethearts.
Drop scene, and more applause.
Sepulchrous music announces the next scene,
and, as much in the way of scenery is left to the
imagination of the audience, Bernardo flounder-
ing about the stage with a few yards of green
gauze about his body, is supposed to be in the
bosom of the boundless sea, and the villain
swimming.
A few feet behind the swimmer the giddy
rocks are seen (about three feet high), and when
the villain loudly announces the fact of his
existence, and informs the audience Nina shall
yet be his, Vincento appears upon the verge of
the mighty precipice.
He sees the villain, for all has been explained,


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR. 93
|
:
scene is used for the bandits' band, even the
*: hat and cloak are concerned. -
*# More unearthly music, then Gomez the bandit
and, pointing a pistol, tells him to “Die, mis-
creant!” but the piece does not go off, and
Vincento, like all stage heroes, utterly regardless
of the cost of his fire-arms, hurls the faithless
weapon into the sea.
This is the cue for Toby, who jumps down
after the pistol, but Joe exclaims, “At him, good
dog," and the audience are frantic with delight
at Kosmos' sagacity.
A piece of meat in the villain's hand aids the
deception, for while Toby is trying to get it away
from Bernardo, a very good idea of a deadly
struggle betweeu the neble dog and the villain
is given.
Despair of Vincento, who sees his dog stabbed
by the villain; but the latter must be wounded
by the dog's fangs, for the green gauze—no, the
boundless waves close over them as they sink
through the trap.
This scene is termed a carpenters' scene, it
gives them time to prepare scene the 3rd, the
Bandits' Cave. ” -
Unearthly music, as the scene opens, and dis-
covers the bandits asleep; except one solitary
watcher, Toby, his neck bandaged, is seen tied
to the leg of a table. ..
N.B.—The whole strength of the company,
save of course those who have to speak in the
Misses Gusherton and Loveday have large cloaks
and slouched hats, and recline in one corner of
the cave. -*.
Vincento is also a fine bandit, as far as the
chief yawns, rises from His rocky bed, and says-
“Still they sleep.”
A remark surely unnecessary considering the
stillness around. -
“What—ho! sentinel, is all well ?”
“All's well,” Daggerande-(Tommy) answers,
“and the moon is rising.” -
A yellow object about the size of a cheese
plate appears at the opening of the cave, and
substantiates Daggerande's words.
The bandit chief strides to and fro the stage
in deep thought, and to convey an idea of his
cruel and merciless disposition (as per account
on posters) he kicks all the sleeping bandits who
* in his path, and they groan most dismally.
The sound seems pleasant, for the chieftain
amiably remarks, “Groan, dogs, what else are
ye fit for but to be spurned by my foot ?”
So he kicks them all round again, and they
groan with pain as he passes on, the last recipient
•f a kick starts to his feet, stiletto in hand.
“Hah! Bernardo,” exclaims the delighted
breast, but come hither, lad, I would speak with
thee.”
They go hither—close to the foot-lights—and
are about to speak, when a low whistle was
heard without.
“Ha! a stranger,” and the bandit father and
son grip the handles of their knives.
“Who goes there?" demands the sentinel; a
voice answers, “Friend.”
Slow torture—more music. Enter Bill Adler,
the poor but honest peasant, he cowers beneath
the fierce looks of the chief and his son, and the
former asks-
“Well, slave, what has brought thee here to
the bandits' lair?”
The poor but honest peasant expresses a desire
to join the band, and he is told his wish will be
granted if he has the nerve to go through the
customary rites. * * *
“To-morrow,” says the chief; “thou and ten
of my trusty band will go forth, and the first
man, woman, or child you meet must die by your
hand—thus.” - -
The gesture accompanying the last word im-
plies that the hapless man, woman, or child must
be killed by Karl's hand drawing a knife across
the victim's throat.
The poor, but honest peasant retires to the
wings, wringing his hands and giving other
tokens of his dislike to the interesting rite.
Now the father and son converse; the father
admits his love for Leonie, the son for Nina.
Poor, but honest peasant listens attentively,
and wrings his hands all the more.
Before another moon rises the “gurls” are to
brought to the cave, and the elder bandit, who
does not explain his reason, expresses the most
violent hatred against Nina's father.
Declares he would like to make mincemeat of
Bill Sheavehole, the amiable smuggler, who has
been made miserable by his enemies, but whose
heart is the dwelling-place of virtue and love.
The son experiences much about the same
kindly feelings for Bob Mizenroyal.
“Ha, ha! the lugger returns to-morrow at
eleven; you are a good surmiser-re—ve—nge
is ours!” * -
Now the plot is unfolded; Bernardo disguised
is to be taken on board the smuggler's vessel.
He will then drill a hole in the bottom and-
“Ha, ha!” so perish those who stand in the
way of Gomez, the bandit chief "
Poor, but honest peasant nearly wrings his
hands off during this interesting conversation-
at least he is unable to listen any more, so creeps
away home through the opening at the back of
*f; “I see thy father's spirit animates thy
the stage. Sentry suddenly espies him leaping
from rock to rock and fires. **


100
CHARITY JOE; oR,
CHAPTER XXX.
MESSRS. ADLER AND CO. IN THE GREENGROCERY
LINE.-The LADY WHO FED THE POOR OF THE
NEIGHBOURHOOD WITH TRACTS.-JOHN RECOGNISES
THE “PUSSONS" AND THEIR DOG.
IHE whole of the funds in the possession of the
irio when they reached London did not amount
}o more than five pounds sterling.
But it proved amply sufficient for the object in
view.
A small shop and parlour were obtained at a
very low rental, and the first conspicuous article
purchased was a large card, bearing this inscrip-
tion:-
No TRUST.
“It's a good neighbourhood for business,”
Joe said, “but a bad one for tick, so it won't do
to give any.
Next morning before daylight, Joe trudged off
to Covent-garden, trundling a barrow before
him, and Tommy went to Billingsgate to procure
a supply of fish.
The lads were pretty keen hands at making a
bargain, thus when they returned laden with a
multitude of purchases, old Bill lifted his hands
in astonishment.
“And not spent all the money!” he said.
“Well, I hope we shall sell all these things, if
we does, we shall soon make a fortin?”
You would have supposed had you seen Joe
retailing his wares that he had been used to the
business all his life.
They had been fortnnate in their choice of the
situation of the shop, for the place, although
inhabited by a very poor class, was very populous,
and as the stock was composed only of the cheap-
est and most needed articles of daily consump-
tion, there was no lack of customers up to dinner
time.
“What's the price of these herrings, young
man?” an old woman would ask—“they seem
very small for the time o' year.”
“Small, mum, small, they were the biggest in
the market or I should not have bought them.”
“How do you sell them?”
“Sell them, I don't sell them, mum, I almost
give them away; now look,” taking up a fish,
“at this one's back, isn't it plump, don't it make
your mouth water, isn't it a prince of a herring?
ah, here's another one to match, and you shall
have the two for three halfpence, I won't he
hard on you.”
“Three halfpence—a penny you mean.”
“A penny, no, mum, they cost me more than
that in the market.”
“If you please,” said a little girl with a big
baby in her arms, “mother wants to know when
you're going to send the fourteen pounds o'
coal I hordered ever so long ago.”
“What,” says Joe, “haint they been sent?
Here, Tommy, go with this little girl and take
the coals; tell your mother, my dear, we are
very sorry, but we have been so busy.”
That was not true of Joe; but he thought it
looked well to appear overburdened with busi-
ne88.
“Now, mum,” said Joe, “what do you say,
have them or leave them; I know you will not
match them in all London at the price.”
“Look here, young man, I will give you tup-
pence for three.”
“Very well, I don't like to lose a customer;
but upon my word I shan't turn my money in
again; here, Bill, clean these turbots for a lady,
and wrap them up nicely in a cabbage leaf.”
“How much are the cabbages?”—to a pale
but pretty young girl who came up at this moment
—“well, they are awfully dear in the market
just now, but you shall have one for a penny.”
The young girl held open the basket she
carried, and as Joe placed the cabbage inside he
saw the forefinger and thumb of her left hand
were worn by the constant use of the needle.
“Thank you,” she said, tendering Joe a six-
penny piece; if you give me a penny that will
be right, for I want you to send us over a quarter
of a hundred of coals.”
“Yes, miss, where to?”
“No. 2-just round the corner.
twice.”
“All right, miss. Book the order, Bill
quarter of coals at No. 2.”
“If you could send them soon,” the pale young
girl timidly said, “we should be much obliged.”
“I will bring them myself,” Joe said, “if you
want them at once.”
“Thank you”—turning to leave, but pausing
as she caught sight of a pile of rosy-cheeked
apples—“what lovely apples.”
“Yes,” Joe said, “they are stunners; only a
penny a pound.”
The girl looked at the apples, then at the
penny-piece she held between her fingers. The
temptation was strong, but she resisted; for,
poor child, there were a dozen ways for every
penny her little fingers earned.
“Not to-day,” she'said with a sigh; “per-
haps the next time I come.”
Joe had a feeling heart. He understood the
cause of the young girl's hesitation, and, with-
out a second's thought, he went to the heap of
tempting fruit, selected three of the largest, and,
running after his customer, said—
“Here, miss, take 'em. I ain't rich, but I can
afiord to give you these.”
Knock


102
CHARITY JOE; oR,
Who can picture the feelings of the lordly
John James? “To have to escort her leddyship
was bad enough, to carry a bundle of tracks,” as
he said to the housemaid, when he rushed home,
was “badder,” “but, Susan Ann,” here he struck
an attitude, “to be set upon by a low common
dog was worser.”
“And, Susan Ann,” he said in conclusion, “if
me and her ieddyship will leave our carriage to
go down the streets, all I has to say is that her
leddyship must find some other gentleman, for I
won't come in contack with the wulgar and
common “pussons as her leddyship does; it may
suit her, Susan Ann, but her feelings isn't near
so refined as mine. Draw me a glass of beer,
Susan Ann, before I expire at the recollection of
the insults I have to put up with, all through
chiverality in escorting her leddyship!”
“That's a fine lady!” remarked the old woman,
who was cheapening Joe's herrings; “she has her
name down as something or the other to some
institution, and comes round a-giving us tracts.”
“Good things in their way,” said Joe; “but
to my mind a four-pound loaf would be better.”
“You are right, young man—quite right, and
so I says to Mrs. Jones; and she says, “ Mum, she
says, “them's my sentiments to a T, and— what
did you say, young man?”
“How many herrings did you choose?”
“Three; here's the money.”
And the old lady went homeward, repeating to
herself her opinions of tracts and tract distri-
butors in general.
“Bill,” said Joe, “that was Lady Elthorne.”
“Yes.”
“I will find out where she lives.”
“What for, Joe?”
“I want to see the old gent the flunkey called
the general, and see him I must, and—”
“Ah, Joe, my dear boy, how do you do?”
Joe looked up and beheld Mr. Sivins—Mr.
James Sivins—standing with outstretched hand
and a smiling face.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE READER IS LET INTO THE SECRET OF JOE's
BIRTH AND PARENTAGE, AND WHY MR SIWINS
MAKES SUCH A GUSHING PROPOSAL TO JOE.
MR. JAMES SIVINS could, with truth, have added
to his greeting—
“Joe, my boy, I am glad to see you.” For
he was very glad; he had been months trying to
ferret out Joe's whereabouts, and chance had
realised that which he had expended time and
money to obtain.
Mr. Sivins had visited the second floor at No.
2 mund the corner for the purpose of ascertain-
ing from the poor widow why she had not kept
her loan paid up.
He had been told the reason, Kitty had been
ill and unable to work, but now all would be
right again, and the fines would be paid up
within a week.
“Mind they are,” said Mr. Sivins, sternly,
“or I shall put the brokers in.”
Ah, Mr. Sivins, when you made that speech,
you were blissfully ignorant that the poor widow
and Kitty had a friend in Charity Joe.
Now to disclose the secret, if the reader has
not already found it out. If not, he will be
much interested in the following account of the
manner in which Mr. James Sivins found out all
about it.
When Joe so unceremoniously quitted the
hospitable establishment known as Baream Hall,
Mr. Dothem wrote to his friend, Mr. Sivins, and
told him of Joe's ungrateful behaviour.
. So Mr. Sivins came down to the Hall, and, as
Gentleman Bob said, there was a row between the
two rascals about the disappearance of our friend
Joe.
Mr. James Sivins returned to London rather
perturbed in spirit, for the old gentleman,
known to the reader as the General, had allowed
Mr. Sivins eighty pounds per annum for Joe's
maintenance, but he gave the General's agent to
understand that if anything happened to the
youth the money would cease.
Being a very prudent man, Mr. Sivins looked
upon the loss of the eighty pounds per annum
as a misfortune hard to be borne, but in the
midst of his despair there came a gleam of hope.
He would find out the cause of the General's
patronage, he would discover what the stern old
officer had to do with the “workhouse.” But
how 2
There was the General's gentleman—an old
soldier, who had been with his master many
years—he would possibly know the connection
that existed between them.
The old soldier and Mr. Sivins were pretty
good friends, for the servant had been in the
habit of bringing the quarterly allowance to the
house, situate in that narrow street leading from
St. George's-road, S.; and upon these occasions
the men had celebrated their meetings by sun-
dry glasses at the adjacent pub., where Mr.
Sivins took the chair, and presided over the con-
vivial meetings of the “Sons of Melody.”
So the next time the servant came with the
cheque, Mr. Sivins was most polite. He asked
his visitor to take a seat, then he brought forth
a bottle of whisky, two glasses, a lemon, and
some sugar, and mixed two glasses-one much
stiffer than the other.


104
CHARITY JOE; or,
“Not by the governor; ro, he was given to
some person to take care of; and I’ve heard since
that they put the poor little chap in the house
and stuck to the allowance the governor made
'em.”
“That was not right.”
“No, not exactly. Well, soon after he comes
to England, the General gets acquainted with
Sir Charles Elthorne, and he takes a fancy to
my mistress: and I don’t wonder at it, for she
was uncommon pretty, and as she held her tongue
about her husband that was killed at Ghuznee,
they were married, and a grand catch it was for
her, I can tell you.”
“After this, I suppose, she did not trouble
about the boy?”
“Not much. She seemed to get colder and
prouder than she was before she became Lady
Elthorne; but for all that she made a bargain
with the General, that if ever she found out that
her boy had not been well looked after, she
would up and tell her husband all about the
Indian marriage; and she would keep her word,
too.”
“This is the reason,” Mr. Sivins said, “the
General gave me such particular orders about the
lad.”
“No doubt of it, for although she does not, of
course, wish to see her son, it is but natural she
should wish him to be all right.”
“Precisely so.”
“Do you know,” the confidential servant said,
“I often think the General drove his daughter
into this marriage; but he's awfully afraid of
her; and no wonder, for his money does not go
far, and he could not do as he does unless she
gave him a trifle now and then.”
Mr. Sivins reflected over this intelligence
after his visitor went away, and he came to the
conclusion that he could not do better than
make his own terms with the General.
“I have it,” he thought, “I will tell him I
received my information from a soldier who
belonged to his regiment, but who has since
died. Yes, that's it, the best and safest plan ;
and unless he does the handsome, I shall visit
her ladyship, who will, I daresay, pay me for
holding my tongue.”
Mr. Sivins sought and obtained an interview
with the general, and the old fellow was very
wrath when he heard the cause of the smiling
gentleman's visit.
“Quick march! you rascal. Quick march !
Out of my sight!”
“Very well, general,” said Mr. Sivins. “But
if I march from here, I shall beat up the quarters
of Sir Charles and Lady Elthorne.”
The general paced to and fro the room, and
after indulging in a volley of strong language
against Mr. Sivins's meddling, he faced suddenly
round, and asked the name of the person who
had enlightened his visitor's mind.
“With pleasure, general,” replied the urbane
Mr. Sivins. “My informant formerly served in
India, and thus became acquainted with the—”
“Did he * did he?” exclaimed the old officer,
savagely. “Where is the rascal now 7"
“He died a month since, general.”
“Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. One tongue
stopped, at all events. Now, what do you require
to stop yours?”
“General,” Mr. Sivins said, assuming a vir-
tuous tone, that was extremely refreshing, “I
did not come here to extort money.”
“What, the—”
“One moment, if you please, General. I loved
that boy, but I am a poor man—a very poor man
or I would not have humbled myself to ask you to
assist me in finding him.”
“Finding him?”
“Yes, general. The poor boy has run away
from the school—driven away, I should say, by
the harshness of his master. He is a noble, high-
spirited boy, general.”
“Hum ! so was his father. Well, what do you
require?”
“A little money to help my search for him,
for I cannot rest until 1 have found him; I can-
not, indeed, general.”
Mr. Sivins used his yellow silk handkerchief in
the most effective manner at this avowment.
“If this was all you required,” the general
said, “why did you come here with the whole
story of the boy's birth upon your lips?”
“I don't know, general, unless it was that my
feelings overcame me at the stern manner of my
reception. I—I-I-”
“Go on.”
“And I thought, if you would not assist me,
his mother, her ladyship, would.”
“Harkee,” the old officer said, “her ladyship
does not want to hear anything about the boy,
but I do. I want to know where he is—you
understand—I want to know. Now, how much
do you require?”
Mr. Sivins named a modest sum—he was afraid
to go too far for the first time; and the general
gave him a cheque.
“Now,” thought Mr. Sivins, as he left the
general's house, “the ice is broken, and the game
is mine. The lady has made it a condition of her
marrying this Sir Charles that the boy is well
looked after. I must find him—give him a lift
with the general's money, then go to her lady-
ship, and tell of my goodness. I think that will
work.”


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD MAYOR.
105.
Mr. Sivins sought after Joe for many weeks,
and it was not until he went to visit the poor
widow about the loan that he found him.
“How are you, Joe?” he continued; “so glad
to see yon; hope you have a good situation
here 2”
“Situation!” Joe said, proudly. “I'm a
partner in the business; there's three of us.”
“Ah! Toby too. Come here, Toby, poor
fellow ! give me your paw.”
Toby got behind Joe, and growled at the soft-
speaking gentleman.
“He forgets me, Joe. Don't you think
so 2 *
“No,” Joe said bluntly; “he knows you, Mr.
Sivins, and as he never liked you it isn't likely
he will now.”
“What a funny chap yeu are, Joe. Well,
I'm glad to see you doing so well, and if I can do
anything for you I will.”
“What, a loan?”
“Yes, my boy, why not? But it wouldn't be
a loan the same as to other people. No, Joe, I
will lend you £10 to improve your business, and
you can pay me when you like.”
“No, thankee,” Joe said; “I daresay I shall
manage to get on all right.”
“Well, well, I'll drop in again.
Joe, good-bye.”
So Mr. Sivins strolled off, and two days after-
wards John Jeames, the effulgent, came to the
shop and handed Joe a letter.
Could a painter have transferred the expres-
sion of John's face upon canvas, and exhibited
the picture in the Royal Academy under the title
of “The Disgusted Footman,” that painter's for-
tune would have been made.
Not only did John's face express the most
intense disgust and wounded self-respect, but
his waistcoat seemed to blush a deeper colour,
and the very cockade—“smokejack” that vulgar
youth Tommy termed it—bristled with indigna-
tion at the martyrdom of its wearer.
Joe was seated at dinner when the “harristo-
crat” arrived, and Toby was begging for pieces.
Tommy was exercising his lungs, and yelling
out-
“All Ware, four pound tuppence! here's your
fine broccoli sprouts and cabbage plants!
apples a penny a pound!”
Old Bill was busy serving a customer with two
pun of all the Wares.
Such was the scene that met John Jeames's
eyes, such were the sounds that saluted his re-
fired ears when he came to deliver that letter
to the common “pusson.”
“Hallo, Johnny,” Jee said; “is that for
7 ? -
me?"
Good-bye,
__ " -
- T --
John Jeames turned his back on the low
“pusson,” and replied—
“It is for you, and—”
“All Wares,” yelled Tommy, “here's another
guy, pull the string, boys, and—-”
“You shut up,” Joe said, “don’t you see
there's a gentleman in the shop.”
Tommy, thus reproved, was silent.
“Who's it from ?” Joe said to the bearer of
the letter, “speak up, Johnny, don't be afraid.”
The footman majestically waved his hand as
he said—
“Young man, I’ve done wiolence to my feel-
ings and the exalted position I occupy in the
station of life that is between us in bringing you
that epistolatory communication, therefore it is
not in keeping with my dignified character to
answer any questions you may put—I’ve to wait
for an answer, so give it me, for the smell of
these obnox-i-ous vegetables affects my olfactory
system to a degree that is quite offensive.”
No. wonder the smell was offensive, for
Tommy had cut a large onion in two, and as the
majestic John Jeames kept his face averted from
the “pusson,” Tommy rubbed the juice of the
onion upon the ends of the superb being's
swallow-tailed livery coat.”
“Oh, very well,” Joe said, not at all abashed
by John's elocution, “well, as it is addressed
to me, I'll read it.”
This is what Joe read-
“You are requested to follow the bearer.”
“And I?” said Joe. “Well I won't, so you
can take that for an answer, Johnny, and take
yourself off at the same time.”
CHAPTER XXXII.
JOE DONS HIS SUNDAY CLOTHES AND GOES A-COURTING
-HOW KITTY MILLER RECEIVED HIM-AND WHAT
MRS. MILLER TOLD HIM ABOUT THE RESPECTABLE
MR. SIVINS.
JoHN JAMES was only too glad to take himself
off, and while passing up the narrow street, his
majestic person was made the subject of the rude
remarks of a number of ragged boys who were
playing at buttons. -
“Ho, no! Ha, ha, ha! My eye, Joe, here's a
lark '"
And Joe turned and was much surprised to
behold his partner, Tommy, lying on his back in
the middle of the shop nearly black in the face
with laughter.
“What's the matter, young'un?” Joe asked,
“get up, or I'll fetch the fire engine, and—”
“Ha, ha! ho, ho! ha, ha!”
“What's the fool laughing at?”
“The flunkey, Joe—I—I—ho, ho!--smeared
his coat with a raw onion—crikey, won't his
missus hunt him out of the room, that's all!”


*Q8
CHARITY JOE; oR,
At was now Joe's turn to laugh, and old Bill's
to shake his head, and say—
“It is too bad, I'm sure, such a beautiful coat
too."
When the youngerpartnershad laughed to their
heart's content, Joe handed the letter to Tommy,
saying
“Here's a go, Tommy, read that.”
Tommy did so, and asked-
“Why didn't you go?”
“Because,” Joe answered, “I knew who
sent.”
“Do you? Who was it?”
“The lady we often see coming down the street
with a bundle of tracts in her hand.”
“What could she want of you, Joe?”
“I know well enough. She wants to give me
a lecture, because she saw me give a fellow a
domino for trying to sneak some pears off the
board. Besides, Ihaint time to go with the flunkey
if I’d been inclined, to get a bundle of tracts to
wrap up our herrings in.” -
“Haint time? How's that ?”
“Well,” Joe said, trying not to look confused,
* because I'm going out.”
“Are you?”
* Yes.”
“Where are you going, Joe?”
“Not far, so I will go and put on my Sunday
goings, and——”
“Oh !” Tommy exclaimed, “that's it, is it?”
“What?”
“Sticking up. Oh, no wonder some people
likes to take home—”
“Now, look here, Tommy, I don't want any
chaff, so leave off.”
“Who's chaffing?”
“You are.”
“Well, now,” Tommy said, grinning, “I didn't
say you were going out to tea. I didn't say
you were going to dress in your Sunday clothes
to see Kitty. I—”
Exit Tommy, laughing, as Joe made a rush
forward; and old Bill said—
“She is a nice creature, Joe, and if I was only
young again, I-”
Joe made his escape into the back parlour, and
when he again appeared, arrayed in his finest suit,
Master Tommy, seated on the top of the coals,
saluted him with-
“When I'm dressed all in my best,
To walk abroad with Kitty."
Joe shook his fist at his tormentor; but
Tommy only laughed the louder. He knew Joe
would not risk his clothes by scrambling up the
heap of coals.
“I say ” (Tommy's farewell shot), “you ought
to have Toby's tail tied up with pink ribbon.”
Joe was soon out of hearing, but ere he could
turn the corner of the street, an impudent youth
yelled out:—
“Who's your tailor? Should say your togs
was made for you to grow to.”
“Enough room up the back,” remarked
another critic, “to take home a bunch o' greens.”
Joe could not compromise his dignity by
chastising these free-spoken young Britons, so
he gave them a look of supreme disdain, and
they were so overawed thereat, that they put
their thumbs to their noses, and wagged their
fingers at him.
When Joe reached the house, he knocked
twice, and his heart gave two responsive thumps
against his slde; for Joe, in spite of his assumed
bravery, felt very nervous—so much so, that he
walked quickly away before the door could be
opened, and took refuge in a toy shop.
Joe had lost no time in improving his acquain-
tance with the pretty Kitty and her mother, and
the elder lady, when she heard from Kitty the
story of the apples, invited Mr. Joseph to tea.
The reader has seen how Joe's courage failed
when he knocked at the door.
“I’ll buy something for the little boy,” Joe
thought, when he hid himself in the toy shop;
“it will look the thing to be kind to the little
one.”
So Joe invested sixpence in the purchase of a
peculiar looking wooden animal, whose skin, if
the artist who designed the model was worthy
of belief, was covered with bright red spots.
“It might be a zebra,” Joe thought, as he
surveyed the interesting animal; “it might be a
rhinocerus, but a horse it certainly is not; how-
ever, it will do.”
Joe wrapped the spotted quadruped in his
pocket-handkerchief smiling, and with a beating
heart he repeated the double summons at the
door.
Mrs. Miller admitted him, and said-
“Come upstairs, Mr. Joseph, please.”
Joe followed the widow, and so great was hia
trepidation that he forgot the broken stair and
stumbled.
“You are not hurt, Mr. Joseph, are you?”
“No, ma'am.”
Kitty was industriously sewing when Joe
entered the room, and she looked up for a
moment and said-
“How do you do, Mr. Joseph?”
“Nicely, thank you, Miss Kitty; how are
you?”
“Pretty well. Mr. Joseph, thank you. Won't
you sit down?”
There was a chair standing close to Joe, so he
seated himself upon the extreme edge, and, um-


110
CHARITY JOE; or,
and this is Toby, and rare teeth he has too, so
mind you don't feel'em. This way, ladies, please;
watch 'em, Toby, hold on, good dog, if they try
to get past you.”
Joe was certainly master of the situation, for
as Mrs. Miller, Kitty, and little Bob retired,
Toby, in obedience to a gesture from his master,
stood before the open door and showed his fangs
in such an unmistakable manner that he of the
respectable exterior kept out of the way.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked;
*how dare you—”
“Hold your tongue,” said Joe: “you ought
to be ashamed of yourself to speak so cross when
two gentlemen asks youto lunch with them.”
The broker and his man were mystified.
“I have business to attend to,” the former
said: “so I can't stay; my man, I dare say—”
“Well, you can go, then.”
The party in black cloth made a step towards
the door, but he went back two when Toby stood
up and gave a low angry growl,
“Call your dog away. What do you mean?
I'll give you in charge if–”
“Call the dog away yourself,” was Joe's
savage answer; “you want to know what Imean.
I will tell you; it's just this—the ladies have
been kind enough to lend us this room for a
short time; for Tommy and me are wegetarians,
and we are going to have a roast cabbage for
lunch, and for fear anybody should come in,
Toby minds the door 11
“I’ll fetch a policeman–”
“You'll have to get past Toby first. Then
again, if you did, the peeler couldn't touch us.
We are going to have our lunch, if you don't
like it, why you've no business here.”
During this interchange of civilities, Tommy
had suspended a large cabbage in front of the
fire, and as the leaves became scorched there
arose such a stifling effluvium that the respect-
able one was compelled to plug his nostrlis, and
his seedy assistant retreated to the farthest
corner from the fire, muttering-
“I'm blest if I can stand this. Sooner turn
up the job than stay here.”
“Stir up the fire, Tommy, let's have it well
done.”
Volumes of smoke followed these words, and
soon the room became so unbearable that Joe
and his assistsnt were compelled to thrust their
heads up the chimney to escape the fumes.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
TOMMY NIMBLEJAWS FINDS A MOTHER-IN-LAW-
JOE PAYS A VISIT TO THE GENERAL-SEES HIS
MOTHER, AND TELLS HER A LITTLE OF HIS
MIND.
*I DoN'T believe a word of it,” roared the angry
Mr. S., “it’s a pack of lies; so beware, for I
shall seek Sir Charles-will go straight from this
door to-”
“Pray do, you will find one of her ladyship's
cards in the hall, and there's a cab rank at the
end of the street. Good day, Mr. Sivins, I wish
you a pleasant journey.”
The General rang the bell, and Mr. Sivins,
considerably crestfallen, was shown out. -
He did not take a cab and proceed to Sir
Charles's; there was too much truth in the old
officer's manner to admit of the least doubt about
his statement.
Certainly, if ever a man encountered a galling .
and most unexpected turn in a career of rascality.
that man was Mr. James Sivins, general agent
and money lender.
“Here you are,” shouted Tommy one morn-
ing, “there's potatoes, fine young greens, and
Brussels' sprouts, and lots of kolliflowers, a
penny each.”
A stout lady, who was passing at the time,
turned suddenly, and gazing at Tommy, ex-
claimed-
“My dear Tommy!”
And before that youth had any idea of the
good lady's presence, he was enfolded in her
arms, and a large market basket which she
carried nearly drove the breath out of his body.
“Hallo!” Tommy exclaimed...: “Here's ago.
Don't choke a chap, missus.”
“Missus!” said the lady indignantly, releasing
Tom, and boxing his ears. “Don’t you know
who I am?”
“That clout,” answered Tommy, rubbing the
tingling part, “and that voice, tells me you are
my sainted mother-in-law.”
“Yes, Tommy, I am. Where have you been
all this time?”
“Just looking round the world a bit, mother.”
“Bad boy,” she said, “to leave school and
not let us know where you went to, for we've
been inquiring everywhere for you, and Mr.
Brown has spent I don't know how much money
in advertising for you.”
“You took a deal of trouble,” said Tommy,
“to find me out just to give me a whopping.”
“No, Tommy, my dear, said the lady, “we
don't want to whop you; oh no, Tommy, you
will never be whopped again—no, notif you were
to come home now.”
“No ! What not with the broom handle?"
“Not with nothing, Tommy.”
“Whew "whistled the hopeful, “what's up?"
“You remember your uncle, Tommy, don't
you, that dear, kind, good, old uncle that
emigrated?”


FROM STREET BOY TO LORD.MAYOR.
11E,
will break this when I explain everything to
you.”
“I shall not, sir, if I pledge my word.”
“Very well, listen to this; now you must, in
the first place, cut all your acquaintances, and
remove from your present abode; that done, you
must go to school, and work; study hard to
become a gentleman; then when you have done
this come to me and I will tell you all you want
to know. Will you give me your sacred promise
to do all this if I supply you with money?”
Joe reflected for some minutes before he
spoke.
“From what you have said, sir,” he made
answer, “it appears to me that I am too igno-
rant, too vulgar, to be claimed by some person
or persons to whom I am related.”
“That's it exactly, my man.”
“And this person or persons have had no
more affection for me—no more feeling, than to
put me in the hands of those wretches in the
workhouse—”
“My man
“Do not interrupt me, sir, if you please;
then to transfer me to a drunken shoemaker,
and from him to a cunning rascal who placed me
in worse hands than even the werkhouse people.
Now,” continued Joe, fiercely, as he rose to his
feet, “because I am old enough to wish to learn
something of myself, 1 am told to shake off my
low associates; call them so if you like, but they
have been kinder to me than my high relations;
I am to set my face against them, and learn to
be a gentleman before I know to whom I belong.”
“Egad! my man,” said the General, “you
have the power of speech pretty strongly.”
“And you think I will do this for the sake of
hearing who my relations are, do you?”
“Egad! I know I should if I were like you.”
“Perhaps you would, but I shall not, I do not
wish to know aow who they are if you are a
specimen of them—”
“I have told you, sir,” the General angrily
said, “that I cannot enter upon this matter until
you become more presentable to good society
than you are at present.”
“Good society and you may be jiggered !”
Here we must stop, for Joe distributed such a
shower of the flowers of eloqmence he had picked
up during his sojourn near St. George's Market,
that the old General, and he could do a little in
that way, was quite appalled.
Joe came to a dead halt when he saw the same
beautifully dressed lady standing near the door-
way he had seen at Elthorne Hall.
She was very pale now, and seemed scarcely
able to stand, even by the aid of the chair, upon
the back of which she leant.
*
Joe felt a little ashamed at first that the lady
should have been a listener to the language he
had used, but the feeling passed away when he
thought of the miseries he had suffered.
“This is the lad,” the General said to his
daughter, “you so much wished to see. I sup-
pose you have heard and seen enough of him
now.”
The lady took no notice of her tather's words.
Her eyes were fixed in a strange, wondering
manner upon Joe's face, then an expression of
sorrow swept across her face as she said—
“Foolish boy, you know not the evil you have
this day brought upon yourself.”
“No,” said Joe, “neither de I care. I sup-
pose you have heard me swear." Well, I don't
care if you have. I daresay it's very bad to your
ears.”
“Boy!” said the General, sternly, “do you
know to whom you are speaking?”
“Yes,” Joe replied, “I know this lady. She
is a sort of missionary. One of those whe creep
about poor people's houses with a scented poeket-
hanikerchief to their nose; one of those who
give starving families a bundle of tracts to feed
their children with—”
The General jumped from his chair, and
snatched up the Malacca cane that lay on the
table.
“Don’t put yourself to any trouble on my
account.” Joe coolly said, “I have said all I
have to say, now I will rid you of my presence.”
So saying, Joe left the room, and a moment
afterwards father and daughter heard him say to
the hall-porter-
“Open the door, pot-belly, and be somethiug
to you.”
“Horrible!” said ... Lady, Elthorne,
ble !”
“What would Sir Charles say to him, my
dear?”
There was a heavy fall, and the General ran
to his daughter, and bent over her prone form,
muttering-
“Confoundit—the devil—she's fainted. What
am I to do?”
“horri-
CHAPTER XXXV.
A SHORT ONE, AND THE LAST.
WHEN Joe returned to the shop, he was wel-
comed by Tommy, whom he found in a high
state of glee.
“It's all right, Joey,” the hopeful said. “I've
squared it for you. Jerusalem I won't we have
some larks when we go to the evening-school to-
gether?”
“What's the matter with you, Tommy?"
“Nothing, only we are both going to turn up


N.
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