Part 6 (1/2)

”P'raps 'ee is,” returned the Bloater, meditatively; ”we'll let 'im alone an' foller 'im up.”

The prolonged season of peace that followed, induced Mr Sparks to believe that his tormentors had left him, he therefore dismissed them from his mind, and gave himself entirely to business. Arrived at Conway street, he found that it was one of those semi-genteel streets in the immediate neighbourhood of Kensington Gardens, wherein dwell thriving tradespeople who know themselves to be rising in the world, and unfortunate members of the ”upper ten,” who know that they have come down in the world, but have not ceased the struggle to keep up appearances. It was a quiet, unfrequented street, in which the hum of the surrounding city sounded like the roar of a distant cataract. Here Mr Sparks checked his pace--stopped--and looked about him with evident caution.

”Ho, ho!” whispered Little Jim.

”We've tracked 'im down,” replied the Bloater with a chuckle.

Mr Sparks soon found Number 6. On the door a bra.s.s plate revealed ”Mrs Middleton.”

”Ha! she _must_ have it, must she, an' _won't_ take no denial,” muttered the man between his teeth.

Mr Sparks observed that one of the lower windows was open, which was not to be wondered at, for the weather was rather warm at the time. He also observed that the curtains of the window were made of white flowered muslin, and that they swayed gently in the wind, not far from a couple of candles which stood on a small table. There was no one in the room at the time.

”Strange,” muttered Mr Sparks, with a grim smile, ”that people _will_ leave lights so near muslin curtains!”

Most ordinary people would have thought the candles in question at a sufficiently safe distance from the curtains, but Mr Sparks apparently thought otherwise. He entertained peculiar views about the danger of fire.

From the position which the two boys occupied they could not see the man while he was thus engaged in examining and commenting on Number 6, Conway Street, but they saw him quite well when he crossed the street, (which had only one side to it, a wall occupying the other), and they saw him still better in the course of a few seconds when a bright light suddenly streamed towards him, and illumined his villainous countenance, and they heard as well as saw him, the next instant, when he shouted ”_fire--fire_!” and rushed frantically away.

”Hallo!” exclaimed the Bloater, and dashed off at full speed. Little Jim echoed the sentiment and followed.

Robert, alias Raw Herring, was a sharp-witted lad. He understood the case, (partly at least), in a moment, and proceeded to appropriate action. Being intimately acquainted with that part of London, he took a short cut, overshot Mr Sparks, and was first to give the alarm at the fire-station. When, therefore, Mr Sparks ran in, panting and shouting ”fire!” great was his surprise to find the men already roused, and the horses being attached to the engine.

”Where away?” inquired one of the firemen, supposing that Sparks, perhaps, brought information of another fire.

”Number 6, Conway Street,” he gasped.

”All right, we've got the noos already. The boys brought it.”

The Bloater, with a mouth extending from ear to ear and all his teeth displayed, uttered the single word ”sold!” as Mr Sparks turned his eyes on him. One glance was enough. The man became very pale, and suddenly left the station amid a shout of laughter from the firemen, as they leaped on the engine and drove away, followed by the two boys whose spirits were already excited to the highest pitch of ecstasy by a fire.

It was early morning before the fire was subdued, and Number 6 left the blackened skeleton of a house. Long before that, the Bloater and Little Jim had sought repose in the cart-shed of a neighbouring stable. Long before that Mr Philip Sparks had retired to rest, growling anathemas on the heads of boys in general, and crossing-sweepers in particular; and not _very_ long before that poor Martha Reading had put in the last st.i.tch of her work, and fallen into a profound sleep in her chair.

Mr Sparks turned out to be a true prophet. Mrs Middleton did _not_ insist on having her dress home that afternoon, and when Martha, true to her promise, conveyed it to Number 6, Conway Street, she found no one there to receive it except a few drenched men of the Red Brigade, and the police.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Mr Philip Sparks, though not naturally fond of society, was, nevertheless, obliged to mingle occasionally with that unpleasant body, for the purpose of recruiting his finances. He would rather have remained at home and enjoyed his pipe and beer in solitude, but that was not possible in the circ.u.mstances. Owing, no doubt, to the selfishness of the age in which he lived, people would _not_ go and pour money into his pockets, entreat him to accept of the same, and then retire without giving him any farther trouble. On the contrary, even when he went out and took a great deal of trouble to obtain money--much more trouble than he would have had to take, had he been an honest working man--people refused to give it to him, but freely gave him a good deal of gratuitous advice instead, and sometimes threatened the donation of other favours which, in many instances, are said to be more numerous than ha'pence.

Things in general being in this untoward condition, Mr Sparks went out one morning and entered into society. Society did not regard him with a favourable eye, but Sparks was not thin-skinned; he persevered, being determined, come what might, to seek his fortune. Poor fellow, like many a man in this world who deems himself a most unlucky fellow, he had yet to learn the lesson that fortunes must be _wrought_ for, not _sought_ for, if they are to be found.

Finding society gruffer than usual that morning, and not happening to meet with his or anybody else's fortune in any of the streets, through which he pa.s.sed, he resolved to visit Martha Reading's abode; did so, and found her ”not at home.” With despairing disgust he then went to visit his sister.

Mrs Cras.h.i.+ngton was obviously at home, for she opened the door to him, and held up her finger.

”Hallo, Mag!” exclaimed Sparks, a little surprised.

”Hus.h.!.+” said Mrs Cras.h.i.+ngton, admitting him, ”speak low.”

Thus admonished, Mr Sparks asked in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, ”what was up?”