Volume One – Chapter Twenty Four.
“D. Wragg, Nat’ralist.”
“Sarvant, gentlemen,” said the new-comer, who must now be fully introduced. He made four steps forward into the room, each step being accomplished by the planting of a heavy boot with a club-sole, some six inches thick, a couple of feet forward, when, with a bow and a jerk, the other leg was brought to the front, and the man stood upright, took another step, bowed, and again jerked himself into the perpendicular – each effort of locomotion being accompanied by an automaton flourish of one arm, similar to that of a farming man sowing turnips broadcast.
He was a wiry-looking little fellow, with sharp ferrety eyes, and short bristly hair standing up at the sides of his head, giving him the look of a fierce Scotch terrier – the resemblance being heightened by an occasional twitch of the facial muscles, which might have been taken for displays of annoyance at the workings of troublous insects beyond the reach of teeth or paws.
“Sarvant, gentlemen,” he said; “and if so be as it ain’t a liberty – ”
He paused in his utterance, jerked himself back to the door, opened it, peered out as if seeking a rat – if not smelling one – closed the door again, jerked himself back, and laid one finger beside his very small nose, saying —
“I’ll make all snug afore I begin.”
This was evidently in completion of his sentence; and then, while in a half-amused, half-contemptuous manner, Lionel Redgrave watched his actions, the man leaned his body first on one side, then on the other, as if, with ultra caution, he were endeavouring to peer behind the two occupants of the room; peeping beneath the table; and finishing the performance by tip-toeing, and straining his neck to look here and there in the most mysterious way imaginable.
“Confound you! why don’t you look up the chimney while you are about it?” cried Lionel, at last. “What the deuce does the fellow mean?”
“It’s all right, gentlemen,” said the man, taking a handkerchief out of his hat, wiping his face, and then placing the very tall head-covering upon the floor, while out of a shabby old dress-coat pocket he dragged a copy of a newspaper.
“Which of you gents is L.R.?” he continued, when, after much jerking and fumbling, he had contrived to open and refold the paper to his taste, and with one extremely dirty finger to fix, as it were, the advertisement.
“Never you mind about that,” said Lionel, gruffly. “Have you brought the dog?”
“Brought the dorg, gentlemen? Now, is it likely?” was the answer, in tones of remonstrance. “Not likely! How could I bring the dorg when I hadn’t got it? It was only through seeing that ad. in the paper, that I says, says I, ‘Why that there’s just like the dorg as I see Mr Barkles with’ – a dorg as he said follered him ’ome lars night’s a week.”
Lionel growled, and the visitor jerked himself a step forward.
“So I says to our Janet, I says, ‘Jest drop a line,’ I says, ‘to that pore gent as has lost his dorg,’ I says; ‘and I’ll see if I can’t be the ’appy mejum of gettin’ on it back for him.’”
“Look here, my man,” said Harry, regardless of his pupil’s frowns; “bring the dog back, and my friend will pay the offered reward.”
“Bring the dorg back here, sir! Well no, that ain’t likely. How do I know what might happen? Don’t you make no mistake about me, sir. I’m a respectable tradesman, and that’s my card, ‘D. Wragg, Nat’ralist, Dealer in Br’ish and Furren Birds, and setrer, 12 Brownjohn Street, Decadia.’”
As he spoke he held out a dirty, glazed, worn-edged card to the last speaker, who motioned to him to place it upon the table, which was done with a great deal of jerking and twitching, Mr D. Wragg pushing the piece of pasteboard well into view, and then, apparently not satisfied, standing it up on edge against a book before continuing —
“I’m good for what you like, gents, from a dorg down to a pegging finch. Do you want a ’arf dozen o’ rats to try a terrier? send to me. Is it a good blackish ferret? I’m ready for you. It were only last week I had a badger. I’ve squirrels as’ll crack nuts, fit to give to any lady in the land. Do you want a few score o’ blue rocks for ’Ornsey or Battersea? I’ve got ’em; – ’arf a ’undred o’ sparrers – a hedge ’og – a toy tarrier – or a poll-parrot as wouldn’t say swear to save its life, and I’m your man. That’s my card, ‘D. Wragg, Nat’ralist, Dealer in Br’ish and Furren Birds, and setrer, 12 Brownjohn Street, Decadia.’ And what’s more, make it a tenner, and I’ll undertake to say as I’ll wurk the gent as your dorg follered, so as you can come on to my place to-morrer, put down the stiff, and bring your dorg ’ome again.”
Mr D. Wragg, the “nat’ralist’s,” countenance had been a study as he delivered himself of this harangue, jerking, twitching, and showing his teeth, as if he were constantly about to make at an obtrusive fly settled upon his nose, but never achieving thereto. But now, stooping, he took his handkerchief from the hat upon the floor, put the newspaper in its place, and then indulged in a good wipe, as his sharp ferrety eyes gazed inquiringly from face to face.
“Now, look here, you, sir,” said Lionel, roughly; “I offered a fiver for the dog, because that’s what he’s worth. I believe him to have been stolen; but never mind about that. I’ll give five pounds to have him back, and there’s an end of it. If you like to earn the money, bring the dog back; if not – cut!”
“Now, just a minute, gentlemen. See here now;” and resting his elbow upon his hip, the visitor stretched out one open palm, and patted it softly with the other; but instead of looking at any one, his restless eyes wandered from the sporting prints to the ballet-dancers upon the wall, and from them again to the cigar-boxes, pipes, and other evidences of the owner’s tastes. “Now look here, gents; don’t you make no mistake. I’m a respectable tradesman, and if it rested with me – there’s your dorg. I don’t want no rewards for doing what’s right. I get my reward in making a good customer. But, don’t you see, it’s a gent as has got the dorg. It follered him, and he’s took a fancy to it. He’s a reg’lar customer of mine, and he says to me, he says – ‘I wouldn’t part with that dorg,’ he says, ‘for ten pound, I wouldn’t. He polished off ten rats in two minutes this very morning,’ he says.”
“That’s the dog and no mistake,” cried Lionel, excitedly.
“Toe be sure it is, gents,” said D. Wragg, with his eyes twinkling; “and that there gent as has got him, sir, is a man as I never knowed to break his word. I says to him, though, I says – ‘Suppose,’ I says, ‘as the real owner of him was to turn up; you’d let him go then?’ I says. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘if he were a real gent, ’praps I might; but sech a noble beast as that ere didn’t ought to be in anybody’s hands.’”
Lionel looked, half-amused, half inquiringly, at Harry, who, however, only turned over the leaves of a book and avoided his gaze.
“What do you say to it all, Hal?” said Lionel at last.
“Ring the bell and send for a policeman,” was the laconic reply.
“Was that there meant for me, sir?” said D. Wragg, with a snap which must have dislodged the fly had it been present, and giving himself a doggy twist that plainly indicated a tormenting flea. “Well, gents, if it’s coming to that, I’m off. There’s my card – that’s me – D. Wragg, Nat’ralist. But don’t you make no mistake; I aint a running away because of the police, which is a body of men as I despises, and well they knows it, too. I aint got your dorg – ’taint likely; and you may search my place if you like with all the police in London; and if you can get your dorg back, why all I can say is, as you’ll be luckier than most gents is; so goodnight to you.”
D. Wragg jerked himself down, picked up his hat, and was about to put it on; but he dropped it the next moment, for with a bound Lionel leaped from his chair, and before Harry Clayton had recovered from his astonishment, D. Wragg was seized by the throat and being forcibly shaken, as the young man hissed between his teeth —
“You scoundrel! What have you done with my dog?”
Harry Clayton leaped up in his turn, and, partly by force, partly by entreaty, made Lionel quit his hold upon the trembling man, who once more picked up his hat and endeavoured to plant it in its proper place; but, what with his shaking hands, and the roughly folded paper inside, the attempt proved a failure.
The danger being removed, the confidence of D. Wragg began to return, and with an amount of jerking and twisting that was almost frightful in the way it threatened dislocation of sundry members, even if it did not break the man’s back, he took the paper from his hat, and contrived to stuff it into one of the tight coat-pockets; then the head-piece was thrust on defiantly, and its owner began to jerk himself towards the door, shaking his fist the while.
“Here! confound you, stop!” roared Lionel, who was hot and excited. “Name your time and I’ll come and fetch the brute. I know that it is a stealing case. I can see that, though you think I’m a flat; but I’m not going to put myself to trouble, so I tell you at once.”
“Don’t you make no mistake,” cried D. Wragg, defiantly; “and don’t you call things by no hard names. I didn’t steal your dorg. I’m a respectable tradesman, I am; and if you want a score – ”
“Confound you! what time?” roared Lionel, angrily, as he once more started to his feet.
“Any time before one, gents – any time in the morning; but don’t you make no mistake about me. And look here, gents, I know that there party well as has got your dorg – leastwise,” he added, with a wink, “if it is the same dorg – and he’s one of them suspicious sorter parties, that, if so be as he thought as there’d be any gammon – ”
“Gammon! what do you mean?” cried Lionel, for the man paused.
“Dodges, gents, dodges; such as suspecting on him of having stolen the dorg, and getting of his name dirty. Why, if there was any of that sorter thing, that there dorg would never be seen again; and as to bringing the police, either uniform or plain clothes, it’s my belief as he’d smell ’m a mile away, sure as my name’s D. Wragg, nat’ralist; so don’t you make no – ”
“There, there! we’ve had enough of that,” growled Lionel; and apparently bearing no malice for his rough treatment, now that there was a prospect of the reward being paid, the little man jerked himself to the door, turned, winked solemnly at Harry, and the next moment he was gone.
“What do you think of that, Harry?” said Lionel, as the heavy step was heard descending the stairs.
“Shall I tell you? You will not be offended?”
“Offended! Not I. Say what you like.”
“Better not,” said Harry, bluntly; “for my thoughts run upon self-government, and the way in which some part with their money.”
Lionel did not seem to understand the allusion, for he only whistled softly as he set light to another cigar; while Harry raised his book, but not to read, for he began to think of the letter received that night, and to compare it with the appearance of D. Wragg, ending by dismissing the matter from his thoughts, with the remark, beneath his breath, that it was very strange, and a hope that it was not a trap.
“Perhaps I can act as friend, as well as tutor,” he said to himself, with a smile; and then his thoughts roved off to Patty Pellet.
Volume One – Chapter Twenty Five.
An Encounter
“Brownjohn Street? First to the left, and secun’ to the right. Better button up your pockets,” said a policeman, setting his neck in his shining stock, and looking hard at the inquirers of the way, who nodded thanks, and then strode leisurely on, the younger making loud remarks to his companion concerning the appearance of those whom he termed “the natives,” and returning in a cool insolent way the unfriendly looks of divers slouching gentlemen engaged in shoulder-polishing the street corners, or hanging about doorsteps to converse with slatternly girls.
Not observing that they were followed by the policeman, the inquirers took the “first to the left, and secun’ to the right.” And then referring to a card which he took from his pocket, the younger man stopped short in front of D. Wragg’s, looked eagerly at the dogs, and afterwards with his companion entered the shop.
“By jove, Harry, where are we?” exclaimed the first, aloud. “Look at that! who would not be a dove?” Then, fixing his glass in one eye, he stared rudely at Patty Pellet, who, taken by surprise, stood motionless for a few moments, with scarlet face, upon a low pair of steps, the dove she had been feeding still resting upon her hand and pecking softly at her lips.
“Allow me!” exclaimed Lionel, advancing as if to assist the astonished girl to descend; but the next instant she had bounded down, to stand with brightened eye at bay in one corner of the shop, her gaze being now directed at Harry, the recognition being mutual, though the latter was so completely taken aback that no word passed his lips.
The next moment Harry had taken all in at a glance – the shop, the trade, Patty evidently quite at home there. His heart beat fast; and in spite of himself, as he thought of his companion, he felt, “What shall I do if she claims acquaintanceship?”
He felt ashamed of himself for harbouring the thought; but Patty made no sign, and the short silence was broken by Lionel.
“Prudish; eh?” he said, coolly, and he took a step forward.
“Recollect yourself,” whispered Harry, sternly, and he laid his hand heavily upon the young man’s shoulder.
“Oh! all right,” was the rejoinder, and Lionel laughed, while Harry, still struggling with his feelings, wondered what was to come next. He called himself coward and cur one moment, and the next he rejoiced that Patty totally ignored their former meeting; while, immediately after, strange thoughts assailed him, and he felt a bitter sting as he realised the fact that the bright little flower who had proved so attractive to him at Norwood, should have its habitation amidst such squalor and surroundings of evil. He was a coward, and he knew it, as he mentally exclaimed, “I can’t know her here before him!”
These thoughts passed like a flash; but Harry was not alone, for swift fancies passed through Patty Pellet’s mind, each one leaving a bitter sting, as she felt that what the old people had said was right – there was too much difference between their stations, and that Harry Clayton was ashamed to know her before his friends.
“And I am ashamed to know him as well,” she concluded, defiantly, as Harry in a suppressed voice, exclaimed, “I did not expect – ”
Then he stopped and recovered himself, trying hard to arrange his ideas, his mind wandering from the Norwood drawing-room to Duplex Street, and from there to the strange place they were in.
“Had Lionel noticed the half recognition?” he asked himself, as fresh sordid ideas sprung up. “If he had, how could the present post be retained with comfort to himself? and he could not afford very well to throw it up. He would be lowered in the young fellow’s eyes directly – it was terribly unfortunate.” Love was getting, for the moment, his wings terribly bruised in the encounter.
Then he stepped forward himself, and said, calmly, as if addressing a stranger – “I think this is Mr D. Wragg’s place of business, is it not?”
The words had hardly left his lips before he was burning with rage and bitterness. What I had he been seeking her for months, and now that they had met, was he ashamed to know her before Lionel Redgrave, because he was a patrician, and the poor girl was here, when, scores of times, he had thought of her as his heart’s queen? But why was she here? What did it all mean?
These thoughts passed like lightning through his brain; but before Patty could answer, a response came from the back room.
“All right, sir, all right, I’m D. Wragg – that’s my name,” and the owner thereof began to jerk himself forward, while, with a slight bow, Patty glanced from one to the other, and then disappeared.
“Is this the Decadia, Harry?” said Lionel meaningly, “or are we at court? But what the devil’s that fellow staring at?” he exclaimed, as he turned his glass fiercely upon a lowering face glaring in at the door, as, with his hands in his pockets, an ill-looking ruffian stood watching the two strangers.
“It’s all right, gents, it’s all right,” exclaimed D. Wragg; “that’s only Jack Scruby, and he’s nobody. It’s all right, gents!” and he jerked his arm here and there. “There’s rats, gents, aint they? There’s dorgs, aint they! What do you say to as nice a toy tarrier as was ever give to a lady?”
“Who’s the young lady who was here just now?” said Lionel, coolly.
D. Wragg’s face changed slightly, as looking sharply up into his visitor’s face, he said, bluntly —
“Oh, never mind her; she’s a visitor – girl up-stairs. We was talking about dorgs, wasn’t us?”
Lionel was checked for the moment; but seeing Harry’s eye fixed keenly upon him, he said, roughly —
“There, there! I want no toy tarriers. Where’s Luff?”
“It’s all right, sir; don’t you make no mistake. When I says as I’ll get a gent his dorg, I mean it; and – there now!” he exclaimed, with a voice of the most intense disgust. “I did think as I was dealing with gents as would keep their word. I calls that shabby. But just as you like, though; I’m ready.”
“What do you mean?” said Harry Clayton; for the little man had thrust his hands into his pockets, and leant back against a parrot’s cage, whose occupant immediately buried its beak amongst the wiry hair that ornamented D. Wragg’s scalp.
“What do I mean? Why! didn’t I give you both a hint about the suspiciousness of the gent as had the dorg? Didn’t I tell you what might be the consequences? Didn’t I tell you as they was a body of men as I despises? And yet you both has the meanness to go and bring one along with you. That ere aint the way to get dorgs back as is lost. Don’t you make no mistake, gents. You may depend upon it as the party as that dorg follered home has gone right chock away in disgust long enough ago.”
“Police!” exclaimed Lionel. “Why, the man’s mad!”
“Looks like it, don’t it,” said D. Wragg, coolly. “Only don’t you make no mistake. I’ve had dealings in dorgs afore now, gents; and I don’t think, as you’ll find, I aint fledged.”
The young men turned as the speaker pointed towards the door, and gave quite a start as, in place of the heavy features just before the occupants of the door-frame, they saw peering in the impassive inquiring countenance of a policeman.
But the next moment the constable had sauntered on, muttering first the word “rats,” and after walking a few steps, “or pigeons.”
Harry directly recognised in him the constable who had directed them, and turning to the dealer, he said, quietly —
“My friend here is a gentleman, Mr Wragg. He gave you to understand distinctly last night that he should not employ the police.”
“Then what was that there Bobby a looking in for, then?” said the dealer, in an injured tone.
“On my honour I don’t know, unless it was from simple curiosity,” replied Harry. “We asked him to direct us in a street a short distance away.”
“Honour bright?” said D. Wragg.
“I gave you my word,” said Harry, with ill-concealed contempt; and there was something so straightforward in the young man’s countenance, that it immediately carried with it conviction, for the dealer brightened up, and directly thrust out a hand in token of amity.
Smiling the while, Harry Clayton took it, Lionel looking on with an amused expression.
“I beg your pardon, sir – I beg your pardon. Don’t you make no mistake. I aint a mean, contemptible cageful of suspicion, I aint. I beg your pardon. That there’s a hand as never did nothing wuss yet than help to get a gent back his dorg, so as to oblige a regular customer. Plenty of gents trust me, and comes to me when they’ve had their dorgs foller other people; and I acks as mejum and commissioner, and does my best for both parties.”
“’Pon my soul, this grows highly amusing,” said Lionel, laughing. “Why, Harry, I’m right; we must have come to court. May I ask if the young lady of the house will again be visible, so as to go through the same performance?”
Harry looked annoyed, and D. Wragg gave Lionel a sharp, searching sidelong glance, which the other missed.
“Let’s settle the business at once, gents,” said D. Wragg. “Let me see, sir,” he continued, jerking himself round the counter. “I’ll trouble you for two fivers.”
“But where’s the dog?” said Lionel.
“Don’t you make no mistake, sir. You hand over the money, and you shall have him in five minutes.”
Lionel hesitated for a moment, and then drew a couple of crisp notes from his pocket-book, and handed them to the dealer.
“I suppose you will give me a receipt?” said Lionel.
“Never put pen to paper in my life, gents, and never means to,” was the reply. “It’s been the ruin of thousands. But you shall have a receipt for buying a dog, if you like. Here,” he said, stumping to the inner door, and speaking to somebody within; “you won’t mind coming to write out a receipt for ten pound for me, will you? If you won’t, I must call Janet down. That’s right, my dear; come and do it while I go and see if that there party’s brought the dorg.”
To Harry Clayton’s great annoyance, Patty came slowly and timidly from the inner room, her face flushed and her eyes wandering from one to the other.
She quickly took pen and paper from a drawer and began to write, while D. Wragg jerked himself out of the door.
“Why, Harry,” said Lionel, staring hard at the fair little writer the while, “depend upon it that old chap has cut with the money, and we shall never see him again. But never mind; he has left us a jolly little hostage, and we can take her instead.”
Harry Clayton bit his lips, for his fingers itched to seize Lionel by the collar, and shake him till he could not speak; but he felt that he could do nothing now but suffer for his want of frankness, as he saw the pretty little head bent down over the paper.
“What a charming handwriting!” continued Lionel, in the bantering tones, for he had seen Harry’s annoyance. “What well-shaped letters! By the way, my dear, what boarding-school were you at?”
Patty’s crimson face was raised to his for an instant, but her eye fell beneath his bold stare, and she went on writing with trembling hand.
“I shall place that receipt amongst my treasures,” said Lionel, “and – ”
“Have the goodness to recollect where you are,” said Harry, angrily. “Your banter is out of place and offensive.”
Lionel stared, laughed, and elevated his eyebrows, as, without bestowing upon him another glance, Patty took the slip of paper she had written, and handed it to Harry, meeting his eyes for the moment fully as she said in a low voice, “Thank you!” and then she passed out of the shop.