Part 35 (2/2)
”I never thought about that.”
”But do it quickly. I need to be on my way.”
The men hesitated.
”A couple of pounds,” one of them murmured. ”Do it.”
Soon De Quincey's wrists were free of the weight of the shackles. He rubbed the irritated, swollen skin, encouraging blood to flow.
”I have another means of paying you,” he told the men.
”Now what's he talkin' about?”
”My clothes.”
”Huh?”
”I need someone my size with whom to change garments.”
”You want to trade your clothes with what we wear?”
”Someone my size,” De Quincey emphasized. ”The clothes I receive need to appear as if they are indeed mine.”
”The only one of us your size is Joey over here. How old are you, Joey? Fifteen?”
A thin boy emerged from the group. His clothes were as ragged as the others, his face scarred by smallpox. ”Think so.”
”Would you like my better clothes?” De Quincey offered.
”They're too nice. How can I beg in 'em? I'll look like I don't need the pence.”
”But you'll be warmer. And I have no doubt that the clothes I give you will become ragged soon enough.”
In truth, De Quincey's pant cuffs were slightly frayed. The elbows on his coat looked thin. But in his constant condition of debt, they were the best he could afford.
”And your hat, please, Joey. You have a full head of hair to keep you warm.”
Five minutes later, Joey was pulling his new coat over his new pants and looking proud. ”I could go to a royal ball.”
”The beggar's ball is more like it,” someone chortled.
Meanwhile, De Quincey pulled on the rags that the boy had given him. He tugged the shapeless hat down over his forehead.
”Where do you expect to go like that?” a man wondered in amazement. ”We're tryin' to get out of rags, and you want to get in 'em.”
”Going somewhere is exactly why I need my next favor, good gentlemen.”
”What? Another favor?”
”Which one of you pretends not to have legs?”
They glanced at each other, self-conscious.
”How'd you know about...”
”I am aware of all the dodges. One of you juggles. One of you does acrobatic tricks, presumably Joey, because he's the youngest and most nimble.”
Joey couldn't resist showing off. He performed several somersaults and a flip before walking on his hands.
The other beggars clapped.
”Bravo,” De Quincey said. ”As for the rest of you, one of you sings. One of you pretends to be blind. One of you sweeps dirt from the street when a gentleman crosses with a lady. One of you pleads that you need the price of a train ticket to go home to see your dying mother. And one of you pretends not to have legs. I have an excellent offer for the man who engages in that trade.”
”What are you offerin'?”
A man limped forward. Years of pinning his legs under him had damaged his knees.
”May I see your platform?” De Quincey asked.
The man looked puzzled for a moment. ”Is that what you call it?”
”Please bring it forward.”
The man limped beyond his companions and returned with a square wooden board that had old carpet attached to the top and rollers on the bottom. The carpet was thick, hollowed in the middle, so that the man could hide his legs under him, creating the appearance that his legs had been cut off at the knees.
”Never seen better,” De Quincey said. ”Dear man, please step down the tunnel with me a short distance. I need to speak confidentially to you.”
While the others watched with suspicion, De Quincey led the man away. The beggar winced with each step he took.
”Good fellow, I need to borrow your platform.”
”How am I goin' to beg without it?”
”Would I be wrong,” De Quincey asked, ”in a.s.suming that on occasion you enjoy a touch of alcohol?”
”It is one of my few pleasures.”
”And would I be wrong in a.s.suming that you also enjoy opium in your alcohol?”
”You're talkin' about laudanum?”
”Exactly, my good man. To soothe one's bones from the chill air. Are you familiar with it?”
”My knees ache all the time without it. The pain keeps me from sleepin' without it.”
”Would you be willing to exchange your excellent platform for a supply of it?”
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