Part 7

“‘He’s been made away with, that’s my opinion,’ ses Ginger. ‘We shall never see ’im agin, any more than we shall see that monkey-faced chap that gave us the slip yesterday.’

“They went downstairs to go out and get some brekfuss, and the very fust thing they saw was the young feller, leaning up agin the wall, smoking a fag.

“‘’Ullo!’ he ses. ‘Did you find the spider?’

“Ginger couldn’t answer ’im for a minute. He stood there staring at him as if he was a ghost.

“‘Wot did you run off for?’ he ses, at last, growling at ’im.

“‘Me?’ ses the other. ‘I didn’t run off. But I thought that if pore old Sam ’ad to wait till you found that spider he’d never get ’is money.’

“‘Is he alive?’ ses Peter.

“‘_Alive?_’ ses the young feller. ‘I on’y ’ope I shall be ’arf as lively at ’is age as wot he is. I’ve got another letter for you.’

“He fished it out of ’is pocket and handed it to Ginger, and then stood sucking his teeth and looking at the winder opposite while Ginger read it.

“It was a longer letter than the other. One thing was Sam called ’imself a silly fool two or three times over ’cos he ’ad gambled away the five pounds. He wanted Ginger to send ’im the other three, and said as ’ow he had ’ad awful bad luck, and never wanted to see a card agin as long as ’e lived. He told Ginger to give the other three pounds to ’is friend Sid, wot took the five pounds, and said if they followed ’im again he would never forgive ’im.

“‘Fair old cough-drop, ain’t he?’ ses the young feller.

“‘He’s fell into bad ’ands,’ ses Ginger, glaring at ’im.

“‘That’s right,’ ses Sid, ‘and we’ve got to get ’im out. You find the ready, and I’ll do the rest.’

“Ginger read the letter agin, arter Peter ’ad done with it, and then ’e told the chap to wait while he went indoors for the money. Wot ’e really went indoors for was to tell the land-lady’s gal, a smart little kid of eleven, as ’ad two bilious attacks a week reg’lar to stay at ’ome and ’elp ’er mother, to foller Mr. Sid ’ome.

“‘Here’s the three quid,’ ’e ses, coming out. ‘Take it and go.’

“‘And let’s ’ope he won’t lose that,’ ses Sid. ‘Are you coming to see me as far as the--I mean, as far as you can?’

“‘I am not,’ ses Ginger.

“‘Ah, well, I don’t blame you,’ ses Sid. ‘It’s a waste of your time and mine too, ain’t it? The last chap that tried to foller me ’ome seemed to think I lived in the canal. I never see a chap make ’imself so wet.’

“He gave Peter a playful little tap in the stummick, and, arter asking Ginger for a lock of ’is ’air to frighten the gals with, went off whistling. And he had ’ardly turned the corner afore the little gal was arter ’im.

“By the time Peter and Ginger was back from their brekfuss she was ’ome agin, ’aving follered the young man to his ’ouse, and seen ’im go inside. He didn’t seem to ’ave any idea that ’e was being follered; and Ginger was so pleased with ’imself and ’is cleverness that Peter ’ad to remind ’im of all sorts of things he didn’t want to be reminded of.

“They waited in for some time to see if Sam came ’ome, but there was no sign of ’im, and Ginger began to wonder whether he ’ad lost the three quid as well as the five.

“‘We’ll give ’im till eight o’clock,’ he ses. ‘And if he ain’t ’ome by then we’ll go round and fetch ’im.’

“‘It’s my belief they won’t let ’im go,’ ses Peter.

“‘Or p’r’aps he’s lost ’is trowsis agin,’ ses Ginger. ‘We’ll take his other pair with us in case. And we’ll get one or two to come with us to see fair play.’

“They picked up a couple o’ firemen they knew, that arternoon. Stiff-built chaps they was, and always ready for a bit of trouble, ’aving both ’ad Irish mothers. They ’ad a few drinks to steady themselves, and then one of ’em, Bob Mills by name, got so upset because Ginger said he thought it ’ud be better not to burn the ’ouse down, that it took three men and the landlord to get ’im outside.

“They went ’ome fust to see whether Sam ’ad turned up, and then, arter waking Bob, who ’ad gorn to sleep in Peter’s bed, they set off to find ’im. It was a tall, dirty house, just off the ’Ighway, and Ginger began to think that if they got Sam out in one piece they’d be lucky. The front-door was open and a lot o’ dirty-looking kids was playing on the steps.

“‘It’s like a bee-hive,’ ses Peter. ‘He’ll take some finding.’

“‘I’ll find ’im,’ ses Bob, spitting on ’is hands. ‘Come along.’

He led them up the steps and opened the fust door ’e come to as bold as brass, and popped his ’ead in.

“‘Where’s old Sam?’ he ses, to a woman wot left off washing ’er baby to stare at ’im. ‘Wot ’ave you done with ’im?’

“‘_Wot?_’ ses the woman.

“‘We want Mr. Sam Small,’ ses Ginger, putting ’is head over Bob’s shoulders.

“‘Wot ’ave you done with ’im?’ ses Bob agin.

“‘Me?’ ses the woman. ‘Wot are you talking about? ’Ow dare you come shoving your ugly mug into a lady’s room and try and take away ’er character? Wot d’ye mean by it?’

“She put the baby down on the floor very careful and took up the basin o’ water. It was a small basin, but the water showed that the baby ’adn’t been washed afore it wanted it, and Bob Mills was out o’ that room afore you could say ‘knife.’

“‘He ain’t there,’ he ses, as the door banged be’ind ’im. ‘It’s a funny thing a woman can never answer a civil question without losing ’er temper. If I ’adn’t kept my eye on ’er I should have ’ad that water over me.’

“‘They don’t use their reason,’ ses Ginger, shaking his ’ead, and stopping at the next door to let ’im go in fust.

“There was nobody in that room except a little gal of ten putting ’er little brothers to bed, and the way she carried on when Bob looked in would ha’ done credit to a woman of seventy. He came out gasping for breath.

“‘I’ll find ’im though,’ he ses to Ginger. ‘I’ll find ’im, if I ’ave to take all the boards up. Now wot about trying upstairs?’

“There was two families in the fust room they went in, and they was both worse than each other. People came out of their rooms to listen, and the way they carried on when Ginger and ’is pals paid _them_ a visit won’t bear repeating. By the time they ’ad got to the second floor the whole ’ouse was roused and standing behind and offering to fight ’em.

“Bob and ’is pal went into the fust room on that floor alone, ’cos Ginger and Peter ’ad to stay outside on the landing to keep the crowd back. ’Ard work it was, too; one young woman trying to bore holes in Peter with a broom-’andle, while a dirty hand with a wedding-ring on it kept coming out of the crowd and pinching pore Ginger black and blue.

“In the middle of it there was a hullabaloo in that room that made ’em all leave off to listen. Deafening it was. People shouting and struggling and things toppling about all over the place. Then Bob and ’is mate came out carrying something that looked like a mad lion wrapped up in a blanket.

“‘He was in bed, asleep,’ ses Bob, panting, as a couple o’ naked legs shot out and kicked anything they could find. ‘Pull your end o’ the blanket down, Joe.’

“‘Wot’s he done?’ ses a woman, gaping at them.

“‘Wot ’ave you done, you mean,’ ses Bob, struggling. ‘He’s been kidnapped.’

“‘And robbed,’ ses Ginger, shouting with pain, as ’e got another pinch.

“‘It’s all right, Sam, old man,’ ses Peter, pulling back the blanket to give ’im a little air. ‘Now--Lor’ lumme _this ain’t Sam_!’

“They all started, and Bob was so surprised that he let go of ’is end. It was the ’ead end and the langwidge the old man it belonged to used was awful. Then ’e got up very slow, and, arter feeling his ’ead and using some more langwidge about a bump ’e found there, knocked Bob down.

“In two twos they was all at it; the men fighting and the women screaming. Men Ginger hadn’t seen afore seemed to turn up from nowhere to punch ’im. The four of ’em kept together as well as they could, and even when Ginger got to the bottom of the stairs ’e found the other three on top of ’im. They got outside at last, helped be’ind by the people in the ’ouse, and didn’t stop for breath till they was two streets away. Bob Mills found ’is fust, and pretty near got run in for it.

“‘I ought to take you by rights,’ ses the policeman. ‘Wot ’ave you been doing to your face? Treading on it?’

“Bob was going to answer ’im, but Ginger got ’is ’and over ’is mouth just in time.

“‘It’s all right, sir, he ses, very perlite, ‘he’s on’y a little bit excited. Come on, Bob.’

“They managed to get ’im round the corner, and then ’e shook ’em off and said he never wanted to see ’em agin. He went off with ’is mate, and Peter and Ginger, arter being refused at three pubs because of their looks, sent a young feller in for a bottle o’ whisky to take ’ome with them.

“They ’ad a drop or two when they got indoors, and then they got a bit o’ rag and some cold water and began to see wot they could do for their faces.

“‘And this is all through Sam,’ ses Ginger, starting to grind ’is teeth and then finding they was too loose to grind.

“‘It’s a mystery,’ ses Peter, who was sitting on Sam’s bed ’olding a wet rag to his eye. ‘I believe you was right, Ginger. Something seems to tell me we shall never see ’im agin.’

“Ginger said he didn’t want to. His mouth was so sore ’e couldn’t smoke, and arter another drop or two o’ whisky, ’e said ’e was going to bed.

“He undressed ’imself very slow, grunting and groaning all the time, and was just getting into bed when Peter ’eld up ’is ’and.

“‘Somebody’s coming upstairs,’ he ses.

“‘Let ’em come,’ ses Ginger, very grumpy.

“‘It--it can’t be Sam!’ ses Peter.

“‘Sounds like ’im,’ ses Ginger, staring. It is ’im,’ he ses, as they both ’eard a noise that Sam used to make when ’e thought ’e was singing.

“They stood staring at the door as it opened and Sam came into the room, looking very bright and pleased with ’imself.

“‘’Ullo, mates!’ he ses. ‘Why--wot the--Wot ’ave you been doing to yourselves?’

“He shook his ’ead, and screwed up ’is lips at ’em.

“‘It’s a funny thing I can’t go away for a day or two without you getting into trouble,’ he ses. ‘’Tain’t respectable.’

“‘Ho!’ ses Ginger, finding ’is voice. ‘Ho, indeed. This is all the thanks we get for trying to ’elp you, is it? I s’pose you think it’s more respectable to lose your trowsis at cards and play in your shirt.’

“‘And a tater-sack,’ ses Peter.

“‘Trowsis!’ ses Sam, staring at ’em, ‘tater-sack! ’Ave you been drinking? or wot?’

“Ginger looked at Peter and then ’e looked very ’ard at Sam.

“‘Where--’ave--you--been?’ he ses, very slow and distinct.

“‘Been staying with a chap at Stratford,’ ses Sam, ’elping ’imself to a drink. ‘My friend Sid told me as he’d ’eard the police was arter me for gambling, so I’ve been staying with a pal of ’is for a few days to let it blow over.’

“‘And--and didn’t you write to us?’ ses Ginger, as soon as he could speak.

“‘Why, wot should I want to write to you for?’ ses Sam, putting down ’is glass.

“‘Money,’ ses Ginger, looking ’im straight in the eye.

“Sam shook his ’ead, ‘I ’ad enough on me,’ he ses, ‘but it was just as well I left that eight quid with you, Ginger. It might ’ave gorn if I ’adn’t. Wot was it you was saying about trowsis and tater-sacks, Peter?’

“‘It’s a joke of your friend, Sid’s,’ ses Ginger. ‘Ask him to tell it to you; you seem to tell _’im_ everything.’

* * * * *

“Him and Peter woke up at five o’clock next morning to go and look for fresh lodgings. Sam didn’t wake up till eight, and then, arter reading a couple o’ letters ’e found tucked under ’is chin, he went off without any brekfuss to look for Ginger and Peter, and Sid, and eight quid.”

Handsome Harry

“He’s a bit of all right,” said Mr. Joe Gossett, interrupting his description of the new foreman, with a large wedge of bread and cheese.

His sister sniffed. “Fancy a man being called ‘Handsome Harry’! _Pff!_”

“He can’t ’elp what people call him,” said Mr. Gossett, “and if you was to see him you’d understand it. Five foot eleven, dark-blue eyes, good teeth, and the finest short beard I ever saw in my life. All brown and gold it is. How he’s escaped, I don’t know.”

“Escaped!” repeated his sister, in a shrewish voice.

Mr. Gossett nodded.

“Poor dear!” said Miss Gossett, quivering.

“After him like flies round a treacle-pot,” continued her brother. “I’ve been with ’im and I ought to know.”

“P’r’aps _you_ was the attraction,” said his mother, archly.

Mr. Gossett sniffed, but not so loudly as his sister.

“I don’t hold with handsome men,” said Mrs. Gossett, shaking her head. “Nobody could say that I married your pore father for his good looks. His----”

“Where did I get mine from, then?” interrupted Miss Gossett.

“My side of the family,” replied her mother, modestly. “You was a Smithson and Joe was a Gossett.”

“If the Smithsons hadn’t got more good looks than what Mabel has----” began the indignant Mr. Gossett.

“What a pair we should make,” said Miss Gossett, with a simper, “me and Handsome Harry! Bring him in one evening and let’s have a look at him, Joe. What’s his other name? If it isn’t nice I shan’t have him.”

“His name’s Cook,” said her brother, “and as for you catching him, why, he’d laugh at the idea.”

“Bring him in and let’s have a look at him,” repeated his sister, “then perhaps I’ll ask Florrie Adams in one evening. I’ll tell her you’ll be out.”

“Oh, don’t tease him,” said Mrs. Gossett.

“Tease him?” said the irritated Mr. Gossett, pushing his chair away and rising. “Don’t make me laugh. It’s a pity Mabel ain’t got more sense, that’s all.”

“Pity you ain’t a Smithson,” said Miss Gossett, as he went outside for his hat. “You might have a chance then.”

He closed the street door with a bang that sent a revivifying draught of fresh air through the small house, and, somewhat ruffled in spirit, set off at a smart pace down the road. The subject of Miss Adams was a sore one, the slavish admiration of some months having yielded, so far, nothing but amusement in return. A brotherly desire to give Miss Gossett some idea of the pangs of unrequited affection sent his thoughts again to the fascinations of Handsome Harry.

He turned the matter over in his mind for a day or two, and resolved at last to introduce his friend casually. If Miss Gossett were taken at a disadvantage, so much the better; he was not going to give her the chance of “window-dressing.”

His trouble was wasted. The night he introduced Mr. Cook his sister had just returned from the local cinema accompanied by Miss Adams, and the first impression the visitor received was of fine clothes and languorous perfumes. In the best manner of the highest circles both girls seemed to sit aloof, with little interests of their own. Little intimate jests and giggles testified to their complete absorption.

“Good show?” inquired Mr. Gossett, in an interval.

“Pretty fair,” said his sister, languidly. “Leonard Firebrace was on.”

“He’s a darling,” said Miss Adams, clasping her hands enthusiastically.

Messrs. Gossett and Cook said “_H’m!_” to each other.

“Supposed to be the handsomest man on the films,” said Miss Gossett.

Mr. Cook stroked his short, well-trimmed beard and gave a finer point to the ends of his moustache. “What’s he like?” he inquired, in an indulgent voice.

“Like a Greek god,” replied Miss Gossett, quoting from a story in her favourite periodical.

“Straight nose, well-shaped mouth, and wonderful eyes,” explained Miss Adams.

“You only see men like that at the Pictures, and in dreams,” said her friend, with a sigh. “Think of his teeth!”

Miss Adams thought of them, and sighed in her turn. Mr. Gossett and Mr. Cook stirred restlessly. The latter even ventured on a cough; a cough more than tinged with criticism. Under the calm, straight gaze of Miss Gossett it repeated itself--with a different note, and subsided.

“I must say,” remarked that lady, turning to her friend, “that I like to see good looks in a fellow. Joe!”

“Hallo!” replied her brother.

“Who is that good-looking man you were talking about the other day? One of your foremen, or something?”

Mr. Gossett gasped, and sent a wireless message with his eyebrows.

“Man you call Pretty Bertie,” continued his sister, ignoring it. “No, that isn’t it.”

“Have you gone dotty?” inquired the embarrassed Mr. Gossett, in a gruff voice.

“Or was it Lovely Charlie?” said his sister, musing. “No, I remember--Handsome Harry. That’s the name. Why don’t you bring him in one day and let’s have a look at him?”

“Do,” urged Miss Adams.

“If he’s only half as good-looking as what you say he is we might fall in love with him,” said Miss Gossett.

Her brother eyed her helplessly, while Mr. Cook, with an air of pained surprise, sat awaiting the inevitable explanation.

“That’s him,” said Mr. Gossett at last, with a jerk of the head. “Where are your eyes?”

“Him? Who?” inquired his sister.

“Handsome Harry,” replied her brother. “I told you his name was Cook.”

Miss Gossett threw back her head and laughed till the tears came. “Don’t be so silly,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“How can you?” said Miss Adams.

“It’s only one of Joe’s larks,” said Miss Gossett, turning to the goggle-eyed Mr. Cook. “You mustn’t take any notice of him. The idea of him pretending you are Handsome Harry.”

“As if we shouldn’t have noticed it,” murmured Miss Adams.

Mr. Cook turned his troubled gaze upon his friend in a mute appeal for help, but Mr. Gossett’s face was as bewildered as his own.

“It’s a name that some of them have given him,” said Mr. Gossett at last, in a surly voice.

“How rude of them!” said his sister, severely. “I shouldn’t take any notice of them if I were you, Mr. Cook. But I must say I should like to see the real one.”

Mr. Cook gave it up. It struck him that the explanation might lie in defective eyesight, and he recalled the story of a man who took to spectacles, and ran away from his wife a week afterwards.

A feeling of regret that so pretty a girl might have to take to glasses imparted a tenderness to his glance that was by no means wasted. Miss Gossett, lowering her eyes at first under the onslaught, ventured after a time to raise them and meet it. The gentle timidity of her glance did much to restore Mr. Cook’s self-esteem. In the language of the eyes long practice had made him almost perfect, and his gaze became so ardent and so confident that Miss Gossett was moved to speech.

“What’s the matter?” she demanded.

“Matter?” repeated Mr. Cook, in surprise.

“You seemed to be staring in a funny sort of way,” said the girl. “You don’t have fits, do you?”

“No,” said Mr. Cook shortly.

“Funny look he had,” said Miss Gossett, turning to the others. “I didn’t like it at all. I suppose you haven’t got anything in your eye, Mr. Cook? I’m a dab at taking things out.”

Mr. Cook hesitated, and was lost. “I did get something in coming along,” he murmured, “but I thought it was out.”

He smiled with content as the ministering angel leaned over him and prised up the lid with her finger. Then he winced and drew back his head.

“Keep still,” said the girl; “I’m not hurting you.”

“Not much,” corrected the victim. “_Ow!_”

“It’s funny men can’t bear a little bit of pain,” observed Miss Gossett, continuing her explorations. “There! I nearly had it then.”

“Perhaps it’ll work itself out,” suggested Mr. Cook, wincing again.

“I’ll have it out if you’ll only keep still,” said Miss Gossett. “Anybody would think I was hurting you.”

Mr. Cook drew his head back with a sudden exclamation of pain. “What have you got?” he inquired, hoarsely; “a scrubbing brush?”

“Don’t be silly,” said the girl, as the sufferer clapped a handkerchief to his streaming eyes.

“It’s out,” he said, in a voice which endeavoured in vain to express surprise and gratitude. “It’s out.”

“I knew I could do it,” said Miss Gossett. “I could have done it sooner if you hadn’t flinched so much.”

“My eyes are very tender,” said Mr. Cook.

“That’s what I thought a few minutes ago,” said the girl, “but perhaps you’ll grow out of it. Let’s hope so.”

“It’s never too late to mend,” observed Miss Adams oracularly.

Mr. Cook arose in dignified silence and, with a final dab at his eyes, restored his handkerchief to his pocket and announced that he must be going. At Miss Adams’s suggestion, Mr. Gossett, rising with some unwillingness, offered to accompany him.

“Me and Mabel want to have a little chat,” said Miss Adams, in explanation.

“All by ourselves,” added Miss Gossett.

Agreeable to this strange lack of taste on the part of the ladies the gentlemen withdrew, Mr. Cook, to whom this sort of treatment was absolutely new, walking out of the house like a man in a dream. Memories of countless conquests stirred in his brain but yielded no satisfaction.

“Very off-handish, ain’t she?” he said at last.

“She learns it from Mabel,” said his friend. “They’re as thick as two thieves.”

“I mean your sister,” said Mr. Cook.

“Oh!” replied Mr. Gossett. “Her!”

“She’s very nice-looking,” said Mr. Cook, after a long pause.

“She seems to make people think so,” said the fond brother. “How she does it, I don’t know. I’m as good a judge as most men, but I can’t see it.”

“Well, you can take it from me,” said the other, impressively, “that she is about the best-looking girl I have ever seen. She’s your step-sister, isn’t she?”

“Step-sister?” repeated Mr. Gossett, with surprising vehemence. “No, of course she ain’t. What ever put that into your head?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Cook hurriedly. “I spoke without thinking. Of course there’s a great likeness; anybody could see that.”

The indignant Mr. Gossett received the assurance with a grunt, and listened in amazed silence while his friend explained to him in enraptured terms the manifold perfections of his sister.

“But you hadn’t seen her till an hour ago!” he protested.

“I shall have to make up for lost time,” said Mr. Cook, earnestly. “What about to-morrow night?”

Mr. Gossett said there was nothing about it, and declined in the most unmistakable terms to have anything to do with the affair.

“She’d only make fun of you,” he said, severely. “You ought to have seen her face when she was messing about with your eye.”

Mr. Cook said he _had_ seen it, and smacked his lips.

“And she’ll do worse than that if you don’t let ’er alone,” continued Mr. Gossett. “Why, there was one silly fellow that used to come after her, and she led ’im such a dance that he went away and joined the Army.”

“Very good place for him,” said Mr. Cook approvingly. “Besides, we must have soldiers.”

“When I took you round I thought you would have learnt ’er a lesson,” said his friend; “instead of that you’re worse than any of ’em. It makes _me_ look such a fool. I expect she’s talking about you now and laughing fit to kill herself.”

“She’s got a pretty laugh,” said the other, with a tender smile. “I could listen to it all day.”

He heard it a night or two later, when, failing his utmost efforts to obtain an invitation from Mr. Gossett, he called without one, apparently for the purpose of telling Miss Gossett that it was a fine evening, but that a little rain would do good. After which effort he sat and watched Miss Gossett gurgling foolishly into her handkerchief.

“Don’t take no notice of her,” said Mrs. Gossett, somewhat disturbed.

“I like it,” replied Mr. Cook, simply.

“Sounds silly to me,” said Mrs. Gossett, shaking her head at her daughter.

“That’s why I like it,” said Mr. Cook, floundering. “I like silly people.”

Miss Gossett’s laughter ended abruptly.

“Did you come to see Joe?” she inquired, with some austerity.

Mr. Cook shook his head.

“What did you come for, then?”