My Friend Smith Part 64

"I say, ain't you been and done it? Do you hear? you've broke your arm!"

This piece of news being so remarkably unexpected visibly affected me.

"Yes," said Jack, "and I want you to sit here while I'm away, and see n.o.body breaks it again."

"I'll give the fust bloke that tries it on a topper, so I will," said Billy, fiercely, sitting down on his box and preparing to mount guard.

"I quite believe you," said Jack, laughing. "But mind, Billy, you mustn't make a noise or disturb him when he's resting. And if anything special happens and I'm badly wanted, you must run to my office and fetch me. You know where it is?"

"Yaas, I know," said Billy.

"If Mr Smith comes up, you may let him in and make yourself scarce till he goes away again."

"What Mr Smith?" I asked.

"Oh, my fellow-lodger. Isn't it funny his name's Smith? At least, wouldn't it be funny if every other person weren't called Smith?"

"It is rather a large family," said I, laughing.

Billy having received his full instructions, including the serving of certain provisions out of a cupboard in a corner of the room, made himself comfortable on his perch, and sat eyeing me, after Jack had gone, as if I were a criminal of some sort whom it was his duty to prevent from escaping.

It was a queer situation to be in, certainly. Left alone in a friend's lodging with a broken arm and other contusions, and a small s...o...b..ack to look after me, who had once robbed me of my penknife and a sixpence!

I was rather doubtful whether his new employment was quite as congenial to him as his old. Indeed, I rather pitied him as he sat there silent and motionless like a watch-dog on guard.

"You may stand on your hands if you like, Billy," I said, presently.

He eyed me sharply and doubtfully.

"You're 'avin' a lark with me," he said.

"No, I'm not. You really may do it."

"Ain't a-goin' to do it," replied he, decisively.

"Why not?" I asked.

"T'other bloke ain't said I'm to do it," replied he.

"Well," said I, "if you don't think he'd like it, don't do it. For I'm sure he's very good to you, Billy, isn't he?"

"'Tain't no concern of yourn," responded my genial guardian.

After this there was a long silence, and I was getting drowsy, when Billy said, "That there 'orse was a-goin' it."

"What horse?"

"Why, as if you didn't know! That there 'orse as was drivin' you blokes a' Monday night."

"What, did you see us, then?" I asked.

"In corse I did. I seen you as I was a-comin' back from the racket school. My eye, wasn't you tidy and screwed though! You don't ought to be trusted with 'orses, you don't."

"I wasn't screwed, Billy," said I, "and I wasn't driving."

"No, that you wasn't driving. But I knows the bloke as was."

"Do you know Mr Whipcord?"

"Yaas, I knows the animal," he replied, with a grin. "He gave me a doin' with his stick once, he did."

"But did you see me pitched out?" I asked, not feeling particularly interested in the last reminiscence.

"In corse I did. I seen you. Thought you was dead, and I fetches the bloke to yer, and the bloke sends me for the doctor, and the doctor--"

At this moment the door opened and a stranger entered.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

HOW I SUFFERED A RELAPSE, WHICH DID ME GOOD.

The gentleman who entered the room was a middle-aged man, of striking appearance. In face and person he seemed worn and feeble. He walked with a slight stoop; his cheeks were hollow and slightly flushed, and his brow was furrowed by lines which would have appeared deep even in a much older man. But as soon as he began to talk his face lit up, his eyes sparkled, and there was a ring in his voice which was more like Jack Smith himself than his older and more sedate namesake.

For this stranger, I guessed at once, must be the other Mr Smith with whom Jack lodged.

At sight of him Billy stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence, and, putting his hand up to his forelock, saluted him with his usual familiar grin.

"Ah, William, my worthy friend, you here?" the gentleman said, almost gaily, as he entered. "I heard I should find you on duty. You must introduce me to this sick gentleman, and ask him if I shall disturb him."

Billy grinned in a confused sort of way, not knowing exactly how to do the honours. Then, looking at me and jerking his thumb in the direction of the stranger, he said, "This here's the cove from downstairs!"

The gentleman approached my bedside and said, gently, "Am I disturbing you? I found a note from my fellow-lodger when I got in just now, asking me to call up and see how you were getting on."

"It's very kind of you," said I. "I hope you can stay a bit."

"Certainly; I've nothing to do."

Billy, however, did not apparently favour this suggestion.

"This 'ere cove," said he, pointing to me, "ain't to jaw, mister!"

"Quite right, William," said the gentleman; "I'll see he doesn't. I'll do all the talking and he shall do the listening. You can go down to my room and make my bed ready for me and tidy up."

The boy looked dubiously first at the speaker, then at me, as if he was not quite sure about the propriety of allowing me out of his sight, but finally obeyed.

"There's a trusty youngster for you!" said the gentleman, laughing, as he disappeared. "Young Smith couldn't have found a safer nurse for you anywhere."