A Hero of Romance Part 30

"Yes, in Sackville Street, my bonny boy. Never heard tell of Sackville Street before, I suppose? So I should think by the look of you. Wasn't it you I pitched the old girl's purse to?"

A light was dawning upon Bertie's mind.

"Was it you who stole the purse?"

The other gave a quick look round, as though the question took him by surprise--if anything so self-possessed could be said to be taken by surprise.

"Stow your cackle! Do you want to have me put away? Where do you live when you're at home? You must be a sharp one, though you do look so jolly green! I thought you'd be buckled to a certainty! I never expected to see you walking about as large as life. It gave me quite a start when I saw you hugging that pillar as though you loved it. How did you make tracks?"

Bertie was trying to collect his thoughts. This boy before him was a thief, a miserable hound who tried to escape the consequences of his own misdeeds by putting the odium of his crimes upon the innocent. But Bertie was alone; alone in the great city, hungry, thirsty, tired, wet, and cold. Human companions.h.i.+p was human companions.h.i.+p after all.

And this boy looked so much more prosperous than he himself was.

Yesterday he would have done great things; to-day he would have welcomed a crust of bread coming even from this thief.

"The policeman wanted to lock me up."

"No! did he though? Funny ones those policemen are! they're always wanting to go locking people up. And did he cop the purse?"

"He took the purse away from me."

"And how come you to be making love to that there pillar, instead of enjoying yourself in a nice warm cell? I suppose you didn't give the policeman one in the nose and knock him down?"

"We met some people in the street, and they made him let me go."

"Did they though? that was kind of them! When policemen was making free with me I wish I was always meeting people in the streets who would make them interfering bobbies let me go. And now, who are you when you're at home? We're having quite a nice little conversation, ain't we, you and I? Glad I met you, quite a treat!" He raised his hat to express his sense of the satisfaction which he felt. "You don't look as though you were raised in these 'ere parts."

Bertie hung his head; he was ashamed: ashamed of many things, but most of all just then of the company he was in. And yet, if he turned this thief adrift, where else should he find a friend? And he was so tired, so hungry, so conscious of his own helplessness.

"You very nearly got me locked up this morning," was his answer.

"Well, my n.o.ble marquis, wasn't it better for you to be locked up than me? It'll have to come, you know--if not to-morrow the day after."

To Bertie this view of the matter had not occurred before. It had not entered into his calculations that a journey to the Land of Golden Dreams would necessitate the process of locking-up.

"Are you on the cross, or only mouching around?"

This inquiry was Greek to Bertie, and his questioner perceived that he failed to understand.

"You're a fly bloke, that you are! What's your little game? You haven't got a fortune in your pocket, or a marquis for a pa? What do you do to live? I suppose you ain't reckoning to die just yet awhile."

"I wish I could do something, but I can't."

"Oh, you wish you could do something, do you, but unfortunately you can't! Well, you are a trial for the nerves! Have you got any money?"

Bertie hung his head still lower. To be despised by a thief! Was this the result of all his dreams?

"No!"

"Got any friends?"

"I've run away from them."

And here the boy broke down. Turning, and leaning against a pillar, he burst into a pa.s.sion of tears. The other eyed him for a few moments, whistling beneath his breath.

"That's the time of day, is it? I thought you were something of that kind from the first, I did. What did you run away for?"

Bertie could not have told him to save his life. To have told this thief that he had started on a journey to the Land of Golden Dreams; that he had resolved to emulate the doings of his heroes, d.i.c.k Turpin, Crusoe, Jack the Giant-Killer, and Robin Hood! Oh, ye G.o.ds! and now to be crying against a post!

"Father living?"

No answer.

"Mother?"

No answer.

How well he knew that he loved his parents now! The mere mention of the word "mother" made him hysterical with woe. To have come within reach of his mother's loving arms, to have been folded to her breast!

If he could only come within reach of her again!

The other stood observing him with critical eyes, whistling all the time.

"You seem to have had a considerable lot of water locked up tight. I should think you would have bust if you hadn't had a chance to let it go. What are you a-howling at? Crying for your mammy?"

For answer Bertie turned with a sudden ferocity and struck at him savagely. But the blow was struck at random, and the other had no difficulty in avoiding it by stepping aside.

"Hollo! don't you come that game again, or I'll show you how to use a bunch of fives."

But Bertie showed no further signs of fight. It had only been an almost childish display of pa.s.sionate spite at the other's coa.r.s.e allusion to his "mammy"--the mother whom he was now so sure he loved so well. Even the pa.s.sion of his tears died away into a whimper. He had not strength enough to continue in a pa.s.sion long.

"Are you hungry?" asked the other.

"I'm starving!"

"Ah, I've been hungry, and more than once, and it isn't nice. I shouldn't be surprised if you found it rather nasty, especially if you aren't used to it. Now, look here; let's have a look at you."

He went close up to Bertie and looked him straight in the face with his keen, restless eyes. Bertie returned the look as well as he could with his tear-stained orbs.

"You look a game 'un, somehow; and you look grit. I suppose it's feeling peckish you don't like. There's a lot of talk about courage what's always the same, but I don't believe there ever was a chap who kept up his pluck upon an empty belly. I've been hungry more than once. Now, look here; if I take you to a crib I know of, and set you up in vittles and a shake-down, will you keep your mouth shut fast?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, yes, you do; you're not so soft as that. If I act square with you, will you act square with me?"

"I always do act square," said Bertie.

"Very well, then, come along; if you do, then you're the sort for me.

I did you a bad turn this morning, now I'll do you a good one to make up."