Part 9 (1/2)
”Half a plug is better than no smoke, boys,” said John Bryant, who had killed his wife, humorously. But he had served fourteen years already and lived in hopes of a pardon some Thanksgiving day for his good behavior.
After exhibiting so clearly their position ”against the government,” Robert's fellow-lodgers began to put inquiries to himself.
”Say, freshy, what's your name?”
Robert was too exasperated, too disgusted, to answer.
”He's tongue-tied.”
”Wants his supper.”
”Look out for a spy, fellers. That ain't true blue.”
”Mum's the word.”
It was evident that Floyd's refusal to make free had branded him at once with the stamp of unpopularity. But the young man had other thoughts to occupy his mind. He was pondering upon his own terrible plight and upon s.h.a.garach's visit. Fully an hour must have pa.s.sed in these reflections, for it was very dark, when they were disturbed by a low remark from his left-hand neighbor.
”Say, chummy, I hain't one of these 'ere bloomin' mutineers.”
It was a wheezy voice and Floyd remembered to have heard at intervals from that quarter one of those racking coughs which distress the listener almost as much as the sufferer. The man seemed to be in the rear of his cell and to have his mouth to the wall. Robert said nothing, but his interest was languidly aroused.
”Say, get into the hospital, Dobbs,” remarked a voice that was beginning to be familiar to Robert.
”I 'ave been in the 'ospital, you unfeelin', bloomin' coves,” replied the asthmatic prisoner.
”Ho, ee's Henglish, ee his,” said some one, whereupon there was a faint storm of laughter. Robert's sympathy was enlisted on the side of the man called Dobbs. His uncle had been an Englishman and the national feeling was strong in the nephew. Speaking as low as possible, so that the others might not hear, he said to Dobbs: ”You are an Englishman? This is bad company you've got into.”
”Lord, me boy, Hi know that--a scurvy job lot o' bloomin' ordinary coves as I'd cut dead if Hi was a gentleman of fortune. But you see Hi hain't. Being only Bill Dobbs, Hi can't afford to preach hinnocence, and choose me hown 'ouse-mates, like a juke.”
The cough choked his utterance for awhile and evoked further remonstrance from the yawning crew around him.
”What is your sentence?” asked Robert.
”Height years for burglary--if they can 'old me,” and Bill Dobbs chuckled knowingly, like one who had tested the fragility of prison walls before. ”W'ich, bein' a slippery fish, is a question Hi 'ave been considerin' seriously.”
”Why did you leave England?” asked Robert.
”The climate is gettin' so warm,” answered the c.o.c.kney. ”W'y, the gulf stream is comin' so near us there it would almost boil a turkey. Hawfully bloomin' 'ot, you know, chummy. I'm a-winkin' at you.”
”Especially about Scotland Yard, I suppose. You're a professional burglar?”
”Not always, young man. Hi 'ad a Henglish mother once, w'ich I shall never forget 'ow she 'eard my prayers. And hevery day Hi dressed myself up in my blue blouse and breeches, and my dinner pail (w'ich wasn't hempty) under my harm, and hevery bloomin' bobby I met says Hi to him, says Hi: 'Hi'm Martin Thimblethorpe, from the west country, and can you tell me w'ere's Regent row?' Blarst me if they wouldn't point their fingers this way and that way and follow my departing footsteps with a look of pride, as much as to say: 'There goes a honest Hinglish workingman; see 'is hindependent hair.”
”But you never worked very hard, I fancy, with your blouse and your dinner-pail?”
”'Ard? Hi fancy Hi did.”
”What did you do?”
”Jeweler's 'elp.”
”That is, you sold your plunder to a fence?”
”Fence? Wot fence? Hi 'ad an accommodatin' friend in the business, who asked no impertinent questions and paid me 'alf price for my contributions--w'ich was bloomin' low figures, considering Hi never accepted hanything cheap. If there's one cla.s.s Hi 'ate, positively 'ate, young man, it's them bloomin' shoddy gaffers wot sport a genteel reputation on plated spoons and paste.”
”You always discriminated against such people?”
”Halways! Ho, it used to do my 'eart good,” continued Dobbs, chuckling at the reminiscence, ”w'en they wrote up one of my nocturnal visits (Hi halways make my collections in the quiet hours of the hevenin') as 'ow the leavin' of the plated ware and the abandonin' of a temptin' case of hartificial diamonds shows the 'and of the solitary cracksman. There's appreciation, Hi used to say! There's fame! You 'it it 'appily, young man. Hi always discriminated.”
”Martin Thimblethorpe, then, was the solitary cracksman, and your real name is Dobbs?”
”Bill Dobbs. Wot's your line, chummy? Fas.h.i.+onable embezzlement? Hi admire that line. It's genteel and the perquisites is liberal accordingly.”
Floyd was getting interested in spite of himself. These first-hand experiences of a professional burglar were life, and in spite of the fellow's utter villainy and vulgarity (he could almost see his cunning leer through the walls) they had a spice of romance that held him. But their colloquy was interrupted just here by a sound of footsteps and the approach of a light, which set the whole ward raving again.
”Shut up your screeching,” came a voice of command, at which the mutinous crew subsided, and Robert heard apologetic remarks.
”It's Gradger.”
”It isn't Longlegs.”
”We thought it was Longlegs.”
Gradger, for some reason, was a favorite with the men. He went straight to Floyd's cell and pointed him out to Emily Barlow.
”Emily!”
”Robert!”
That was all they could say for awhile.
”My darling,” cried Robert, who was the first to recover command of himself. He was indignant to think that she, too, should be forced into these surroundings. ”Why have you come here?”
”Only to be with you for a few moments, Robert. I thought of you all friendless and lonesome.”
”G.o.d bless you, dear. But you must not remain. Go away quickly and do not come here again.”
It was the old, natural instinct to screen the purer half of our race from degrading contact with things we ourselves must meet.
”But why should I not visit you, Robert?”
”Because this is h.e.l.l and you are an angel.”
He drew her to him and kissed her through the bars. Instantly the sound was re-echoed a hundred times, distorted and vulgarized, throughout the ward. In the silence which followed Emily's first words, the sweethearts had forgotten their audience of thieves and cutthroats, to whom every syllable was audible. Hierarchs of sin, virtuosos in infamy, all the demon in their souls seemed roused by this innocent pledge of mutual faith between youth and maiden, and even the stern threats of Gradger could not silence their outbreak of hideous derision.
Emily started back as red as fire.