Part 24 (1/2)

”Pickles,” said the red-haired boy, giving his head a bob. ”Pickles, at yer sarvice.”

”Well, then, Pickles,” continued Sue, ”if I go and hide, what 'ull become o' Giles?”

”And what 'ull come o' him ef yer go ter prison--yer goose? Now, jest yer listen to the words o' wisdom. You mustn't go back to Giles, fur as sure as you do the perleece 'ull have you. That would break that little tender brother's heart. No, no, leave Giles ter me; you must hide, Sue.”

”But where, and fur how long?” asked Sue.

”Ah! now ye're comin' sensible, and axin' refres.h.i.+n' questions. Where?

Leave the where to me. How long? Leave the how long ter me.”

”Oh Pickles! ye're real good,” sobbed Sue; ”and ef yer'll only promise as Giles won't die, and that he won't break his heart wid frettin', why, I'll leave it ter you--I'll leave it all ter you.”

”And yer couldn't--search the world over--leave it to a safer person,”

said Pickles. ”So now that's a bargain--I'll take care on Giles.”

CHAPTER XVII.

CINDERELLA.

”The first thing to be considered, Sue,” said Pickles, as he seated himself on the floor by her side, ”is the disguise. The disguise must be wot I consider deep.”

”Wot hever does yer mean now?” asked Sue.

”Why, yer Silly, yer don't s'pose as yer can go hout and about as you are now? Why, the perleece 'ud have yer. Don't yer s'pose as yer'll be advertised?”

”I dunno heven wot that his,” said Sue.

”Oh! my heyes, ain't yer green! Well, it 'ull be, say, like this.

There'll be by hall the perleece-stations placards hup, all writ hout in big print: 'Gel missing--plain gel, rayther stout, rayther short, wid round moon-shaped face, heyes small, mouth big, hair----”

”There! you needn't go on,” said Sue, who, though by no means vain, scarcely relished this description. ”I know wot yer mean, and I don't want ter be twitted with not being beautiful. I'd rayther be beautiful by a long way. I s'pose, as the disguise is ter change me, will it make me beautiful? I'd like that.”

Pickles roared. ”Well, I never!” he said. ”We'll try. Let me see; I must study yer fur a bit. Hair wot's called sandy now--changed ter black.

Heyebrows; no heyebrows in 'ticlar--mark 'em hout strong. Mouth: couldn't sew hup the mouth in the corners. No, Sue, I'm feared as I never can't make no pictur' of yer. But now to be serious. We must set to work, and we has no time ter spare, fur hold Fryin-pan 'ull come home, and there'll be the mischief to pay ef he finds us yere.”

”Who's he?” asked Sue.

”Who? Why, the owner of this yer shop. I'm in his employ. I'm wot's called his steady right-hand man. See, Sue, yere's a pair o' scissors; get yer hair down and clip away, and I'll get ready the dye.”

Pickles now set to work in earnest, and proved himself by no means an unskilled workman. In a wonderfully short s.p.a.ce of time Sue's long, neutral-tinted hair was changed to a very short crop of the darkest hue.

Her eyebrows were also touched up, and as her eyelashes happened to be dark, the effect was not quite so inharmonious as might have been feared. Pickles was in ecstasies, and declared that ”Not a policeman in London 'ud know her.” He then dived into an inner room in the funny little shop, and returned with an old blue petticoat and a faded red jersey. These Sue had to exchange for her own neat but sober frock.

”Ye're perfect,” said Pickles, dancing round her. ”Yer looks hangelic.

Now fur the name.”