Выбрать главу

'You was too late for skilly. Kay. There's skilly now, nights as well as mornins.'

'Don't you tell no bleeding lies,' Kay answered, incredulously.

'Blind me, it's true! Ain't it, Punch?'

'Right you are!' said Punch, and spoons to eat it with, that's more! There used to be spoons at all the houses, one time. Poplar used to have em; but one at a time they was all nicked, don't you know.'

'Well, I don't want no skilly, leastways not to-night,' said Kay. 'I've had some rum. Two glasses of it, and a blow out of puddin'—regler Christmas plum puddin'. You don't know the cove as give it me, but, thinks I this mornin' when I come out, blessed if I don't go and see my old chum. Lordstruth, he was struck! 'Come along,' he ses, 'I saved you some puddin' from Christmas.' 'Whereabouts is it?' I ses. 'In that box under my bed,' he ses, and he forks it out. That's the sort of pal to have! And he stood a quartern, and half a ounce of hard-up—tobacco. That wasn't all, neither; when I come away, ses he, 'How about your breakfus?' 'Oh, I shall do,' ses I. 'You take some of my bread and butter, he ses,' and he cuts me off four chunks buttered thick. I eat two on em comin' along.'

'What's in your cap, Kay?' repeated the devourer of 'toke'.

'Them other two slices,' said Kay; generously adding, There, share em amongst yer, and somebody give us a whiff of 'bacca.'

'Kay showed himself a pleasant companion; what in a higher grade of society is called 'quite an acquisition'. He told stories of thieves and thieving, and of a certain 'silver cup' he had been 'put up to', and that he meant to nick it 'afore the end of the week, if he got seven stretch—seven years for it. The cup was worth ten quid—ten pounds, and he knew where to melt it within ten minutes of nicking it. He made this statement without any moderation of his sweet voice, and the other received it as a serious fact. Nor was there any affectation of secrecy in another gentleman, who announced amid great applause that he had stolen a towel from the bath-room; 'And s'help me! it's as good as new; never been washed more'n once!'

'Tell us a rummy story, Kay,' said somebody; and Kay did. He told stories of so rummy a character that the decent men at the farther end of the room (some of whom had their little boys sleeping with them) must have lain in a sweat of horror as they listened. Indeed, when Kay broke into a rummy song with a roaring chorus, one of the decent men rose in his bed and swore that he would smash Kay's head if he didn't desist. But Kay sang on till he and his admirers were tired of the entertainment. 'Now,' said he, let's have a Swearing Club! You'll all be in it.'

The principle of this game seemed to rest on the impossibility of either of the young gentlemen making half a dozen observations without introducing a blasphemous or obscene word; and either the basis is a very sound one, or for the sake of keeping the 'club' alive the members purposely made slips. The penalty for 'swearing' was a punch on any part of the body, except a few which the club rules protected. The game was highly successful. Warming with the sport, and indifferent to punches, the members vied with each other in audacity, and in a few minutes Bedlam in its prime could scarcely have produced such a spectacle as was to be seen on the beds behind me. One rule of the club was that any word to be found in the Bible might be used with impunity, and if one member 'punched' another for using such a word, the error was to be visited upon him with a double punching all round. This naturally led to much argument, for in vindicating the Bible as his authority, a member became sometimes so much heated as to launch into a flood of 'real swearing', which brought the fists of the club upon his naked carcase as thick as hail.

These and other pastimes beguiled the time until, to my delight, the church chimes audibly tolled 12. After this the noise gradually subsided, and it seemed as though everybody was going to sleep at last. I should have mentioned that during the story-telling and song-singing a few 'casuals' had dropped in, but they were not habitués, and cuddled down with their rugs over their heads without a word to any one.

In a little while all was quiet—save for the flapping of the canvas curtain in the night breeze, the snoring, and the horrible, indescribable sound of impatient hands scratching skins that itched. There was another sound of very frequent occurrence, and that was the clanking of the tin pannikin against the water pail. Whether it is in the nature of workhouse bread or skilly to provoke thirst is more than my limited experience entities me to say, but it may be truthfully asserted that once at least in the course of five minutes might be heard a rustling of straw, a pattering of feet, and then the noise of water-dipping; and then was to be seen at the pail the figure of a man (sometimes stark naked), gulping down the icy water as he stood upon them icy stones.

And here I may remark that I can furnish no solution to this mystery of the shirt. I only know that some of my comrades were provided with a shirt, and that to some the luxury was denied. I may say this, however, that none of the little boys were allowed one.

Nearly one o'clock. Still quiet, and no fresh arrival for an hour or more. Then suddenly a loud noise of hobnailed boots kicking at a wooden gate, and soon after a tramping of feet, and a knocking at Daddy's door, which, it will be remembered, was only separated from our bedroom by an open paved court.

'Hallo!' cried Daddy.

'Here's some more of em for you—ten of em!' answered the porter, whose voice I recognized at once.

'They'll have to find beds, then,' Daddy grumbled, as he opened his door. 'I don't believe there are four beds empty. They must sleep double, or something.'

This was terrible news for me. Bad enough, in all conscience, was it to lie as I was lying; but the prospect of sharing my straw with some dirty scoundrel of the Kay breed was altogether unendurable. Perhaps, however, they were not dirty scoundrels, but peaceable and decent men, like those in the farther corner.

Alas for my hopes! In the space of five minutes in they came at the rent in the canvas—great hulking ruffians, some with rugs and nothing else, and some with shirts and nothing else, and all madly swearing because, coming in after eleven o'clock, there was no 'toke' for them. As soon as these wrathful men had advanced to the middle of the shed they made the discovery that there was an insufficient number of beds—only three, indeed, for ten competitors.

'Where's the beds? D'ye hear, Daddy? You blessed truth-telling old person, where's the beds?'

'You'll find 'em. Some of 'em is lying on two, or got 'em as pillows. You'll find 'em.'

With a sudden rush our new friends plunged amongst the sleepers, trampling over them, cursing their eyes and limbs, dragging away their rugs; and if by chance they found some poor wretch who had been tempted to take two beds, or bags, instead of one, they coolly hauled him out and took possession. There was no denying them, and no use in remonstrating. They evidently knew that they were at liberty to do just as they liked, and they took full advantage of the privilege.

One of them came up to me, and shouting 'I want that, you—,' snatched at my bird'seye nightcap, and carried it off. There was a bed close to mine which contained only one occupant, and into this one of the newcomers slipped without a word of warning, driving its lawful owner against the wall to make room. Then he sat up in the bed for a moment, savagely venting his disappointment as to 'toke', and declaring that never before in his life had he felt the need of it so much. This was opportunity. Slipping my hand under my bed, I withdrew that judiciously hoarded piece of bread and respectfully offered it to him. He snapped at it with thanks.