Part 20 (2/2)

I looked round, and there was Jack Burridge at my elbow.

”I saw you looking about, sir,” he said, ”but I could not make you hear.

You was looking the wrong side of the tent.”

It was pleasant to find that his honest face had not belied him.

”It is very good of you,” I said; ”I had given up all hopes of seeing you. Or,” I added with a smile, ”my seven pounds.”

”Seven pun' ten,” he corrected me; ”you're forgetting your own thin 'un.”

He handed me the money and went back to his stand.

On my way into the town I came across him again. A small crowd was collected, thoughtfully watching a tramp knocking about a miserable-looking woman.

Jack, pus.h.i.+ng to the front, took in the scene and took off his coat in the same instant.

”Now then, my fine old English gentleman,” he sang out, ”come and have a try at me for a change.”

The tramp was a burly ruffian, and I have seen better boxers than Jack.

He got himself a black eye, and a nasty cut over the lip, before he hardly knew where he was. But in spite of that--and a good deal more--he stuck to his man and finished him.

At the end, as he helped his adversary up, I heard him say to the fellow in a kindly whisper:--

”You're too good a sort, you know, to whollop a woman. Why, you very near give me a licking. You must have forgot yourself, matey.”

The fellow interested me. I waited and walked on with him. He told me about his home in London, at Mile End--about his old father and mother, his little brothers and sisters--and what he was saving up to do for them. Kindliness oozed from every pore in his skin.

Many that we met knew him, and all, when they saw his round, red face, smiled unconsciously. At the corner of the High Street a pale-faced little drudge of a girl pa.s.sed us, saying as she slipped by ”Good-evening, Mr. Burridge.”

He made a dart and caught her by the shoulder.

”And how is father?” he asked.

”Oh, if you please, Mr. Burridge, he is out again. All the mills is closed,” answered the child.

”And mother?”

”She don't get no better, sir.”

”And who's keeping you all?”

”Oh, if you please, sir, Jimmy's earning something now,” replied the mite.

He took a couple of sovereigns from his waistcoat pocket, and closed the child's hand upon them.

”That's all right, my la.s.s, that's all right,” he said, stopping her stammering thanks. ”You write to me if things don't get better. You know where to find Jack Burridge.”

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