Part 47 (2/2)
”Sca'sely, sir, seein' the doctors say that man is about three parts--or four, is it?--made up o' water; I would be apt to grow mummified without drink, wouldn't I, sir?”
”Come, Zook--you know that I mean _strong_ drink--alcohol in all its forms.”
”Oh, I see. Well, sir, as to that, I've bin in the 'abit of doin'
without it so much of late from needcessity, that I don't think I'd find much difficulty in knocking it off altogether, if I was to bring principle to bear.”
”Well, then,” continued Charlie, ”(have some more ham?) I have just conceived a plan. I have a friend in America who is a reformed drunkard. His father in this country is also, I hope, a reformed drunkard. There is a good man out there, I understand, who has had a great deal to do with reformed drunkards, and he has got up a large body of friends and sympathisers who have determined to go away into the far west and there organise a total abstinence community, and found a village or town where nothing in the shape of alcohol shall be admitted except as physic.
”Now, I have a lot of friends in England who, I think, would go in for such an expedition if--”
”Are _they_ all reformed drunkards, sir?” asked Zook in surprise, arresting a ma.s.s of sausage in its course as he asked the question.
”By no means,” returned Charlie with a laugh, ”but they are earnest souls, and I'm sure will go if I try to persuade them.”
”You're sure to succeed, sir,” said Zook, ”if your persuasions is accompanied wi' sa.s.sengers, 'am, an' b.u.t.tered toast,” remarked the little man softly, as he came to a pause for a few seconds.
”I'll bring to bear on them all the arguments that are available, you may be sure. Meanwhile I shall count you my first recruit.”
”Number 1 it is, sir, w'ich is more than I can say of this here slice,”
said Zook, helping himself to more toast.
While the poor but happy man was thus pleasantly engaged, his entertainer opened his writing portfolio and began to scribble off note after note, with such rapidity that the amazed pauper at his elbow fairly lost his appet.i.te, and, after a vain attempt to recover it, suggested that it might be as well for him to retire to one of the palatial fourpence-a-night residences in Dean and Flower Street.
”Not to-night. You've done me a good turn that I shall never forget”
said Charlie, rising and ringing the bell with needless vigour.
”Be kind enough, Mrs b.u.t.t, to show Mr Zook to his bedroom.”
”My heye!” murmured the pauper, marching off with two full inches added to his stature. ”Not in there, I suppose, missis,” he said facetiously, as he pa.s.sed the coal-hole.
”Oh, lawks! no--this way,” replied the good woman, who was becoming almost imbecile under the eccentricities of her lodger. ”This is your bedroom, and I only 'ope it won't turn into a band-box before morning, for of all the transformations an' pantimimes as 'as took place in this 'ouse since Mr Brooke entered it, I--”
She hesitated, and, not seeing her way quite clearly to the fitting end of the sentence, asked if Mr Zook would 'ave 'ot water in the morning.
”No, thank you, Missis,” replied the little man with dignity, while he felt the stubble on his chin; ”'avin left my razors at 'ome, I prefers the water cold.”
Leaving Zook to his meditations, Mrs b.u.t.t retired to bed, remarking, as she extinguished the candle, that Mr Brooke was still ”a-writin' like a 'ouse a fire!”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
SWEEt.w.a.tER BLUFF.
We must now leap over a considerable s.p.a.ce, not only of distance, but of time, in order to appreciate fully the result of Charlie Brooke's furious letter-writing and amazing powers of persuasion.
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