Part 26 (1/2)
”Well, now, I don't know that it's actooally against the rules of the GPO,” replied the stoker, with a meditative frown, ”but it seems to me a raither unconst.i.tootional proceedin'. It's out o' the way of our usual line of business, but--”
”That's right,” said the policeman, as the stoker, who was an obliging man, took up a great shovel and flung open the furnace-door.
A terrific glare of intense heat and light shot out, appearing as if desirous of licking the stoker and policeman into its dreadful embrace.
”I don't half like it,” said the stoker, glancing in; ”the Postmaster-General might object, you know.”
”Not a bit of it, he's too much of a gentleman to object--come,” said the policeman encouragingly.
The stoker held up the shovel. The body of Floppart was put thereon, after the removal of its collar. There was one good swing of the shovel, followed by a heave, and the little dog fell into the heart of the fiery furnace. The stoker shut the great iron door with a clang, and looked at the policeman solemnly. The policeman returned the look, thanked him, and retired. In less probably than three minutes Floppart's body was reduced to its gaseous elements, vomited forth from the furnace chimney, and finally dissipated by the winds of heaven.
Thus did this, the first recorded and authentic case of cremation in the United Kingdom, emanate--as many a new, advantageous, and national measure has emanated before--from the prolific womb of the General Post-Office.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
TOTTIE AND MRS. BONES IN DIFFICULTY.
The descent of George Aspel became very rapid in course of time. As he lost self-respect he became reckless and, as a natural consequence, more dissipated. Remonstrances from his friend Mr Blurt, which were repelled at first with haughty disdain, came to be received with sullen indifference. He had nothing to say for himself in reply, because, in point of fact, there was nothing in his case to justify his taking so gloomy and despairing a view of life. Many men, he knew, were at his age out of employment, and many more had been crossed in love. He was too proud to condescend to false reasoning with his lips, though he encouraged it in his heart. He knew quite well that drink and bad companions.h.i.+p were ruining him, and off-hand, open-hearted fellow though he was said to be, he was mean enough, as we have already said, to growlingly charge his condition and his sins on Fate.
At last he resolved to give up the business that was so distasteful to him. Unable to give a satisfactory reason for so doing, or to say what he meant to attempt next, and unwilling or ashamed to incur the remonstrances and rebut the arguments of his patron, the bold descendant of the sea-kings adopted that cowardly method of departure called taking French leave. Like some little schoolboy, he ran away! In other words, he disappeared, and left no trace behind him.
Deep was Mr Enoch Blurt's regret, for he loved the youth sincerely, and made many fruitless efforts to find him--for lost in London means lost indeed! He even employed a detective, but the grave man in grey--who looked like no cla.s.s of man in particular, and seemed to have no particular business in hand, and who talked with Mr Blurt, at their first meeting, in a quiet, sensible, easy way, as though he had been one of his oldest friends--could find no clue to him, for the good reason that Mr Bones had taken special care to entice Aspel into a distant locality, under pretence of putting him in the way of finding semi-nautical employment about the docks. Moreover, he managed to make Aspel drunk, and arranged with boon companions to strip him, while in that condition, of his garments, and re-clothe him in the seedy garb peculiar to those gentlemen who live by their wits.
”Very strange,” muttered Aspel, on recovering sufficiently to be led by his friend towards Archangel Court,--”very strange that I did not feel the scoundrels robbing me. I must have slept very soundly.”
”Yes, you slep' wery sound, and they're a bad lot, and uncommon sharp in that neighbourhood. It's quite celebrated. I tried to get you away, but you was as obstinate as a mule, an' kep' on singing about some sort o' coves o' the old times that must have bin bigger blackguards than we 'ave about us now-a-days, though the song calls 'em glorious.”
”Well, well,” said Aspel, shrinking under the public gaze as he pa.s.sed through the streets, ”don't talk about that. Couldn't you get into some by-lanes, where there are not so many people? I don't like to be seen, even by strangers, in this disreputable guise. I wish the sun didn't s.h.i.+ne so brightly. Come, push on, man.”
”W'y, sir,” said Bones, becoming a little more respectful in spite of himself, ”you've no need to be ashamed of your appearance. There's not 'alf a dozen people in a mile walk in London as would look twice at you whatever appearance you cut--so long as it was only disreputable.”
”Never mind--push on,” said Aspel sternly; ”I _am_ ashamed whether I have need to be or not. I'm a fool. I'm more--I'm a brute. I tell you what it is, Bones, I'm determined to turn over a new leaf. I'll write to Mr Blurt and tell him where I am, for, of course, I can't return to him in such clothes as these, and--and--I'll give up drink.”
Bones met this remark with an unexpected and bitter laugh.
”What d'you mean?” demanded Aspel, turning fiercely upon him.
”I mean,” replied Bones, returning his stare with the utmost coolness, ”that you _can't_ give up drink, if you was to try ever so much. You're too far gone in it. I've tried it myself, many a time, and failed, though I've about as strong a will as your own--maybe stronger.”
”We shall see,” returned Aspel, as they moved on again and turned into the lane which led to the wretched abode of Bones.
”Bring me pen, ink, and paper!” he exclaimed, on entering the room, with a grand air--for a pint of ale, recently taken, had begun to operate.
Bones, falling in with his friend's humour, rummaged about until he found the stump of a quill, a penny inkbottle, and a dirty sheet of paper. These he placed on a rickety table, and Aspel wrote a scrawly note, in which he gave himself very bad names, and begged Mr Blurt to come and see him, as he had got into a sc.r.a.pe, and could by no means see his way out of it. Having folded the note very badly, he rose with the intention of going out to post it, but his friend offered to post it for him.
Accepting the offer, he handed him the note and flung himself down in a heap on the straw mattress in the dark corner, where he had first become acquainted with Bones. In a few seconds he was in a deep lethargic slumber.
”What a wretched spectacle!” exclaimed Bones, touching him with his toe, and, in bitter mockery, quoting the words that Aspel had once used regarding himself.
He turned to leave the room, and was met by Mrs Bones.