Part 48 (2/2)
”Ah!” said Ned, gravely, ”there are sad principles afloat now. They want to do away with all distinctions in ranks,--to make a duke no better than his valet, and a gentleman highwayman cla.s.s with a filcher of fogles.' But, damme, if I don't think misfortune levels us all quite enough; and misfortune brings me here, little Dummie.”
”Ah! you vants to keep out of the vay of the bulkies!”
”Right. Since poor Lovett was laid by the heels, which I must say was the fault of his own deuced gentlemanlike behaviour to me and Augustus (you've heard of Guz, you say), the knot of us seems quite broken.
One's own friends look inclined to play one false; and really, the queer cuffins hover so sharply upon us that I thought it safe to duck for a time. So I have taken a lodging in a cellar, and I intend for the next three months to board at the Mug. I have heard that I may be sure of lying snug here. Dummie, your health! Give us the baccy.”
”I say, Meester Pepper,” said Dummie, clearing his throat, when he had obeyed the request, ”can you tell I, if so be you 'as met in your travels our little Paul? Poor chap! You knows as 'ow and vy he was sent to quod by Justice Burnflat. Vel, ven he got out, he vent to the devil, or summut like it, and ve have not 'card a vord of him since. You 'members the lad,--a 'nation fine cull, tall and straight as a harrow!”
”Why, you fool,” said Ned, ”don't you know”--then checking himself suddenly, ”Ah! by the by, that rigmarole oath! I was not to tell; though now it's past caring for, I fear! It is no use looking after the seal when the letter's burned.”
”Blow me,” cried Dunnaker, with unaffected vehemence, ”I sees as how you know vot's come of he! Many's the good turn I'll do you, if you vill but tell I.”
”Why, does he owe you a dozen bobs; or what, Dummie?” said Ned.
”Not he,--not he,” cried Dummie.
”What then, you want to do him a mischief of some sort?”
”Do little Paul a mischief!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dummie; ”vy, I've known the cull ever since he was that high! No, but I vants to do him a great sarvice, Meester Pepper, and myself too,--and you to boot, for aught that I know, Meester Pepper.”
”Humph!” said Ned,--”humph! what do you mean? I do, it is true, know where Paul is; but you must tell me first why you wish to know, otherwise you may ask your grandfather for me.”
A long, sharp, wistful survey did Mr. Dummie Dunnaker cast around him before he rejoined. All seemed safe and convenient for confidential communication. The supine features of Mrs. Lobkins were hushed in a drowsy stupor; even the gray cat that lay by the fire was curled in the embrace of Morpheus. Nevertheless, it was in a close whisper that Dummie spoke.
”I dares be bound, Meester Pepper, that you 'members vell ven Harry Cook, the great highvayman,--poor fellow! he's gone vhere ve must all go,--brought you, then quite a gossoon,' for the first time to the little back parlour at the c.o.c.k and Hen, Dewereux Court?”
Ned nodded a.s.sent.
”And you 'members as how I met Harry and you there, and I vas all afeard at you,--'cause vy? I had never seen you afore, and ve vas a going to crack a swell's crib. And Harry spoke up for you, and said as 'ow though you had just gone on the town, you was already prime up to gammon. You 'members, eh?”
”Ay, I remember all,” said Ned; ”it was the first and only house I ever had a hand in breaking into. Harry was a fellow of low habits; so I dropped his acquaintance, and took solely to the road, or a chance ingenuity now and then. I have no idea of a gentleman turning cracksman.”
”Vel, so you vent vith us, and ve slipped you through a pane in the kitchen-vindow. You vas the least of us, big as you be now; and you vent round and opened the door for us; and ven you had opened the door, you saw a voman had joined us, and you were a funked then, and stayed vithout the crib, to keep vatch vhile ve vent in.”
”Well, well,” cried Ned, ”what the devil has all this rigmarole got to do with Paul?”
”Now don't be glimflashy, but let me go on smack right about. Vell, ven ve came out, you minds as 'ow the voman had a bundle in her arms, and you spake to her; and she answered you roughly, and left us all, and vent straight home; and ve vent and fenced the swag' that wery night and afterwards napped the regulars. And sure you made us laugh 'artily, Meester Pepper, when you said, says you, 'That 'ere voman is a rum blo”
en.' So she vas, Meester Pepper!”
[The reader has probably observed the use made by Dummie and Mrs.
Lobkins of Irish phraseology or p.r.o.nunciation, This is a remarkable trait in the dialect of the lowest orders in London, owing, we suppose, to their constant a.s.sociation with emigrants from ”the first flower of the earth.” Perhaps it is a modish affectation among the gentry of St. Giles's, just as we eke out our mother- tongue with French at Mayfair.]
”Oh, spare me,” said Ned, affectedly, ”and make haste; you keep me all in the dark. By the way, I remember that you joked me about the bundle; and when I asked what the woman had wrapped in it, you swore it was a child. Rather more likely that the girl, whoever she was, would have left a child behind her than carried one off!” The face of Dummie waxed big with conscious importance.
”Vell, now, you would not believe us; but it vas all true. That 'ere bundle vas the voman's child,--I s'pose an unnatural von by the gemman; she let us into the 'ouse on condition we helped her off vith it. And, blow me tight, but ve paid ourselves vel for our trouble. That 'ere voman vas a strange cretur; they say she had been a lord's blowen; but howsomever, she was as 'ot-'eaded and hodd as if she had been. There vas old Nick's hown row made on the matter, and the revard for our [de]tection vas so great, that as you vas not much tried yet, Harry thought it best for to take you vith 'im down to the country, and told you as 'ow it vas all a flam about the child in the bundle!”
”Faith,” said Ned, ”I believed him readily enough; and poor Harry was twisted shortly after, and I went into Ireland for safety, where I stayed two years,--and deuced good claret I got there!”
”So, vhiles you vas there,” continued Dummie, ”poor Judy, the voman, died,--she died in this very 'ouse, and left the horphan to the [af]fection of Piggy Lob, who was 'nation fond of it surely! Oh! but I 'members vot a night it vas ven poor Judy died; the vind vistled like mad, and the rain tumbled about as if it had got a holiday; and there the poor creature lay raving just over 'ed of this room we sits in!
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