A Hero of Romance

  Chapter XII

  A "DOSS" HOUSE

  When he woke it was dark. He did not know where he was. He opened hiseyes, which were curiously heavy, and thought he was in a dream. Heshut them again, and vainly wondered if he were back at MecklemburgHouse or in his home at Upton. He half expected to hear familiarvoices. Suddenly there was a crash of instruments; he started up,supporting himself upon his arm, and listened listlessly, still notquite sure he was not dreaming. It was the crash of the circus band;they were playing "God Save the Queen."

  Something like consciousness returned. He began to understand hiswhereabouts. A cool breeze was blowing across his face; he was in theopen air; behind him there was a canvas flapping. It was a tent.Around him were discords of every kind. It was night; the fair was inall its glory. He was lying in the fair field.

  "Hallo, chappie! coming round again?"

  Some one spoke. Looking up, peering through his heavy eyes, heperceived that a lean, ragged figure was leaning over him.Sufficiently roused to dislike further companionship with the OriginalBadger and his friends, he dragged himself to a sitting posture. Thestranger was a lad, not much, if any, older than himself, someragamuffin of the streets.

  "Who are you?" asked Bertie.

  "Never mind who I am. I've had my eyes on you this ever so long. Ain'tyou been a-going it neither. I thought that you was dead. Was it----?"

  He gave a suggestive gesture with his hand, as though he emptied aglass into his mouth. Bertie struggled to his feet.

  "I--I don't feel quite well."

  "You don't look it neither. Whatever have you been doing of?"

  Bertie tried to think. He would like to have left his newacquaintance. The Original Badger and his friends had been quiteenough for him, but his legs refused their office, and he was perforcecompelled to content himself with standing still. He did not feelquite such a hero as he had done before.

  "Have you lost anything?"

  The chance question brought Bertie back to recollection. He put hishand into his trousers pockets--they were empty. Bewildered, he feltin the pockets of his waistcoat and of his jacket--they were empty,too! Some one had relieved him of everything he possessed, down to hisclasp knife and pocket handkerchief. Willie Seymour's one andfivepence, and Mr. Bankes' five pounds, both alike were gone!

  "I've been robbed," he said.

  "I shouldn't be surprised but what you had. What do you think is goingto happen to you if you lies for ever so many hours in the middle ofthe fair field as if you was dead? How much have you lost?"

  "Five pounds."

  "Five pounds!--crikey, if you ain't a pretty cove! Are you a-gammoningme?"

  Bertie looked at the lad. A thought struck him. He put out his handand took him by the shoulder.

  "You've robbed me," he said.

  "You leave me alone! who are you touching of? If you don't leave mealone, I'll make you smart."

  "You try it on," said Bertie.

  The other tried it on, and with such remarkable celerity, that beforehe had realized what had happened, Bertie Bailey lay down flat. Thestranger showed such science that, in his present half comatosecondition, Bailey went down like a log.

  "You wouldn't have done that if I'd been all right; and I do believeyou've robbed me."

  "Believe away! I ain't, so there! I ain't so much as seen the colourof your money, and I don't know nothing at all about it. The first Isee of you was about five o'clock. You was a-lying just where you arenow, and I've come and had a look at you a dozen times since. Why, itmust be ten o'clock, for the circus is out, and you ain't woke up onlyjust this minute. How came you to be lying there?"

  "I don't know. I've been robbed, and that's quite enough for me,--myhead is aching fit to split."

  "Haven't you got any money left?"

  "No, I haven't."

  "Where's your home?"

  "What's that to you?"

  "Well, it ain't much to me, but I should think it's a good deal toyou. If I was you I'd go home."

  "Well, you're not me, so I won't."

  "All right, matey, it ain't no odds to me. If you likes lying theretill the perlice come and walks you off, it's all the same to me sofar as I'm concerned."

  "I've got no money; I've been robbed."

  "I tell you what I'll do, I ain't a rich chap, not by no manner ofmeans, and I never had five pounds to lose, but I've had a stroke ofluck in my small way, and if you really haven't got no home, nor yetno coin, I don't mind standing in for a bed so far as four pencegoes."

  "I don't know what you mean; leave me alone. I've got no money; I'vebeen robbed."

  "So you have, chummy, and that's a fact; so you pick yourself up andtoddle along with me; there ain't no fear of your being robbed againif you've nothing to lose."

  Bertie half resisted the stranger's endeavour to assist him in findinghis feet, but the other managed so dexterously that Bertie foundhimself accompanying his new friend with a fair amount of willingness.The fair was still at its height; the swings were fuller; theroundabout was driving a roaring trade; the sportsmen in the shootinggallery were popping away; but all these glories had lost their charmfor Bertie. It seemed to him that it was all a hideous nightmare, fromwhich he vainly struggled to shake himself free.

  Had it not been for occasional assistance, he would more than oncehave lost his footing. Something ailed him, but what, he was at a lossto understand. All the hopes, and vigour, and high spirits of themorning had disappeared, and with them all his dreams had vanishedtoo. He was the most miserable young gentleman in Kingston Fair.

  He kept up an under current of grumbling all the way, now and thenmaking feeble efforts to rid himself of his companion; but thestranger was too wide awake for Bertie to shake him off. Had he beenbetter acquainted with the town, and in a fit state to realize hisknowledge, he would have been aware that his companion was leadinghim, by a series of short cuts, in the direction of the apple-market.He paused before a tumbledown old house, over the door of which a lampwas burning. Bertie shrunk away, with some dim recollection of theestablishment into which he had been enticed by the Original Badgerand his friends. At sight of his unwillingness the other only laughed.

  "What are you afraid of? This ain't a place in which they'd rob you,even if you'd got anything worth robbing, which it seems to me youain't. This is a doss-house, this is."

  So saying he entered the house, the door of which seemed to standpermanently open. The somewhat reluctant Bertie entered with him. Noone appearing to receive them, the stranger lost no time in informingthe inmates of their arrival.

  "Here, Mr. Jenkins, or Mrs. Jenkins, or some one, can I come up?"

  In answer to this appeal, a stout lady appeared at the head of aflight of stairs, which rose almost from the threshold of the door.Hall there was none. She was not a very cleanly-looking lady, nor hadshe the softest of voices.

  "Is that you, Sam Slater? Who's that you've got with you?"

  "A friend of mine, and that's enough for you."

  With this brief response, the stranger, whose name appeared to be SamSlater, led the way up the flight of stairs.

  "Anybody here?" he asked, when he reached the landing.

  "Not at present there ain't; I expect they're all at the fair."

  "All the better," said Sam.

  He followed the lady through a door which faced the landing, pausingfor a moment to see that Bertie followed too. Something in Bertie'sappearance struck the lady's eye.

  "What's the matter with your friend,--ain't he well?" she asked.

  "Well, he's not exactly well," responded Sam, favouring Bertie with acurious glance from the corner of his eye.

  A man who was seated by a roaring fire, although the night was warmand bright, got up and joined the party. He was in his shirt-sleeves,and he also was stout, and he puffed industriously at a short blackclay pipe. He stood in front of Bertie, and inspected him from head tofoot.

  "He don't look exactl
y well, not by any means he don't."

  The stout man grinned. Bertie staggered. The sudden change from thesweet, fresh air to the hot, close room gave him a sudden qualm. Ifthe stout man had not caught him he would have fallen to the floor.

  "Steady! Where do you think you're coming to? You're a nice youngchap, you are! If I was you I'd turn teetotal."

  Sam Slater interfered.

  "You don't know anything at all about it; he's not been drinking; he'sbeen got at, and some one's cleared him of his cash."

  "You leave him to me, Jenkins," said the stout lady.

  For Bertie had swooned. As easily as though he had been a baby,instead of being the great lad that he was, she lifted him and carriedhim to another room. When he opened his eyes again he found that hewas lying on a brilliantly counterpaned bed. Sam was seated on theedge, the lady was standing by the side, and Mr. Jenkins, a steamingtumbler in his hand, was leaning over the rail at his head.

  "Better?" inquired the lady, perceiving that his eyes were open.

  For answer Bertie sat up and looked about him. It was a little room,smaller than the other, and cooler, owing to the absence of a fire.

  "Take a swig of this; that'll do you good."

  Mr. Jenkins held the steaming tumbler towards him. Bertie shrank away.

  "It's only peppermint, made with my own hands, so I can guarantee it'sgood. A barrel of it wouldn't do you harm. Drink up, sonny!"

  Thus urged by the lady, he took the glass and drank. It certainlyrevived him, making him feel less dull and heavy; but a curious senseof excitement came instead. In the state in which he was evenpeppermint had a tendency to fly to his head. Perceiving his alteredlooks the lady went on,--

  "Didn't I tell you it would do you good? Now you feel another man."

  Then she continued, in a tone which Bertie, if he had the senses abouthim, would have called wheedling--

  "Anybody can see that you're a gentleman, and not used to such a placeas this. You are a little gentleman, ain't you now?"

  Bertie took another drink before he replied. The steaming hotpeppermint was restoring him to his former heroic state of mind.

  "I should think I am a gentleman; I should like to see anybody say Iwasn't."

  Either this remark, or the manner of its delivery, made Mr. Jenkinslaugh.

  "Oh lor!" he said, "here's a three-foot-sixer!"

  "Never mind him, my dear," observed the lady, "he knows no better. Iknows a gentleman when I sees one, and directly I set eyes on you Isays, 'he's a gentleman he is.' And did they rob you of your money?"

  "Some one's robbed me of five pounds."

  This was not said in quite such a heroic tone as the former remark.The memory of that five pounds haunted him.

  "Poor, dear, young gentleman, think of that now. And was the moneyyour own, my dear?"

  "Whose do you think it was? Do you think I stole it?"

  Under the influence of the peppermint, or harassed by the memory ofhis loss, Bertie positively scowled at the lady.

  "Dear no, young gentlemen never steals. Five pounds! and all his own;and lost it too! What thieves this world has got! Dear, dear, now."

  The lady paused, possibly overcome by her sympathy with the lad'smisfortune. Behind his back she interchanged a glance with Mr.Jenkins. Mr. Jenkins, apparently wishing to say something, but notbeing able to find the words to say it with, put his hand to his mouthand coughed. Sam Slater stared at Bertie with a look of undisguisedcontempt.

  "You must be a green hand to let 'em turn you inside out like that. IfI had five pounds--which I ain't never likely to have! more's thepity--I'd look 'em up and down just once or twice before I'd let 'emwalk off with it like that. I wonder if your mother knows you're out."

  "My mother doesn't know anything at all about it; I've run away fromschool."

  Under ordinary circumstances Bertie would have confined that factwithin his own bosom; now, with some vague idea of impressing hisdignity upon the contemptuous Sam, he blurted it out. Directly thewords were spoken a significant look passed from each of his hearersto the other.

  "Dear, now," said the lady. "Run away from school, have you now?There's a brave young gentleman; and that there Sam knows nothing atall about it. It's more than he dare do."

  "Never had a school to run away from," murmured Sam.

  "Did they use you very bad, my dear?"

  "It wasn't because of that; I wouldn't have minded how they used me. Iran away because I wanted to find the Land of Golden Dreams."

  Mr. Jenkins put his hand to his mouth as if to choke what sounded verylike a laugh; Sam stared with a look of the most profound amazement onhis face; a faint smile even flitted across the lady's face.

  "The Land of Golden Dreams," said Sam. "Never heard tell of such aplace."

  "You never heard tell of nothing," declared the lady. "You ain't ascholar like this young gentleman. And what's the name of the school,my dear?"

  "Mecklemburg House Collegiate School."

  Bertie informed them of the name and title of Mr. Fletcher'seducational establishment with what he intended to be his grandestair, with a possible intention of impressing them with its splendour.

  "There's a mouthful," commented Sam. "Oh my eye!"

  The lady's reception of Bertie's information was more courteous.

  "There's a beautiful name for a school. And where might it be?"

  "It's not very far from Cobham. But I don't live there."

  "No, my dear. And where do you live, my lovey?"

  The lady became more affectionate in her titles of endearment as shewent on. Mr. Jenkins, leaning over the head of the bed, listened withall his ears; but on his countenance was a delighted grin.

  "I live at Upton."

  "Upton," said the lady, and glanced at Mr. Jenkins behind the bed. Mr.Jenkins winked at her.

  "My father's a doctor; he keeps two horses and a carriage; everybodyknows him there; he's the best doctor in the place."

  "And is your mother alive, my dear?"

  "I should rather think she was, and won't she go it when she knowsI've run away!"

  "Dear now, think of that! I shouldn't be surprised if she was veryfond of you, my dear. And I daresay, now, she'd give a deal of moneyto any one who told her where you were."

  "I should think she would. I daresay she'd give--I daresay she'dgive----" he searched his imagination for the largest sum of which hecould think; he desired to impress his audience with an idea of thefamily importance and wealth. "I daresay she'd give a thousandpounds." His hearers stared. "But she's not likely to know, forthere's no one to tell her."

  This statement seemed to tickle Mr. Jenkins and Sam so much, that withone accord they burst into a roar of laughter. Bertie glowered.

  "Never mind them, my lovey; it's their bad manners, they don't know nobetter. I'll soon send them away. Now, out you go, going on with yourridiculous nonsense, and he such a brave young gentleman; I'm ashamedof you;--get away, the two of you."

  Mr. Jenkins and Sam obediently went, stifling their laughter on theway. But apparently when they were outside they gave free vent totheir sense of humour, for their peals of mirth came through the door.

  "Never mind them, my dear; you undress yourself and get into bed, andhave a nice long sleep, and be sure you have a friend in me. My name'sJenkins, lovey, Eliza Jenkins, and that there silly man's my husband.By the way, you haven't told me what your name is, my dear."

  "My name's Bailey, Bertie Bailey."

  "Dear now, and you're the son of the famous Dr. Bailey of Upton. Thinkof that now."

  She left him to think of it, for immediately after Mrs. Jenkinsfollowed her husband and Sam. Bertie, left alone, hesitated for amoment or two as to what he should do. He tried to think, but thoughtwas just then an exercise beyond his powers. The events of the lastfew hours were presented in a sort of kaleidoscopic picture to hismind's eye. There was nothing clear. He found a difficulty inrealizing where he was. As he looked round the unfamiliar room, withits scanty furniture
, and that of the poorest and most tawdry class,he found it difficult not to persuade himself that he saw it in adream.

  All the events of the day seemed to have been the incidents of adream. Mecklemburg House seemed to be a house he had seen in a dream.He seemed to have left it in a dream. That walk along the moonlit roadhad been a walk in a dream. He had driven with Mr. George WashingtonBankes in a dream. He had possessed five pounds in a dream; had lostit in a dream; had been to the circus in a dream; the Original Badgerand his friends were the characters seen in a dream--a dream which hadbeen the long nightmare of a day.

  One thing was certain, he was sleepy; on that point he was clear. Hecould hardly keep his eyes open, and his head from sinking on hisbreast. As in a dream he lazily undressed; as in a dream he got intothe bed; and once into the bed he was almost instantly wrapped in asound and dreamless slumber.

  He was awoke by the sound of voices. It seemed to him that he had onlyslept five minutes, but it was broad daylight; the sun was shininginto the room, and, almost immediately after he opened his eyes, theclock of Kingston church struck twelve. It was high noon.

  But he was not yet fully roused. He lay in that delicious state oflanguor which is neither sleep nor waking. The owners of the voiceswere evidently not aware that he was even partially awakened. Theywent on talking with perfect absence of restraint, entirelyunsuspicious of there being any listener near. The speakers were Mr.and Mrs. Jenkins.

  "It's all nonsense about the thousand pounds; a thousand pence will benearer the thing; but even a thousand pence is not very far off afive-pound note, and a five-pound note's worth having."

  Mr. Jenkins ceased, and Mrs. Jenkins took up the strain. Bertie, lyingin his delightful torpor, heard it all; though he was not at firstconscious that he was himself the theme of his host and hostess'sconversation.

  "He says his father keeps two horses and a carriage; he must be tidyoff. If his mother's fond of him, she wouldn't mind paying liberal tohear his whereabouts. If you goes down and tells her how you took himin without a penny in his pockets, not so much as fourpence to pay forhis bed--which it's against our rule to take in anybody who doesn'tpay his money in advance--and how he was ill and all, there's noknowing but what she wouldn't pay you handsome for putting her on histrack and all."

  "It's worth trying anyhow. Dr. Bailey, you say, is the name?"

  "He says his own name is Bertie Bailey, and his father's name is Dr.Bailey."

  Bertie pricked up his ears at the sound of his name, and began towonder.

  "And his home is Upton? There don't seem no railway at this hereUpton. Slough seems the nearest station, because I asked them at thebooking office, and there's a tidy bit to walk."

  "Don't you walk it. You take a cab and drive. Make out as how therewasn't no time to lose, and as how you thought the mother's heart wasa longing for her son. Do the thing in style. If there don't nothingelse come of it they'll have to pay your expenses handsome."

  "I'm not going all that way for my expenses, so I'll let them know!They'll have to make it worth my while before I tell them where to laytheir finger on the kid."

  Bertie wondered more and more. He still lay motionless, but by now hewas wide awake. It dawned upon him what was the meaning of theconversation. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were apparently about to takeadvantage of his incautious frankness to betray him for the sake of areward. He had a dim recollection of having blurted out more than heintended; and, on the strength of the information he had thusobtained, Mr. Jenkins was going to pay a little visit to his home.

  "Don't you be afraid," went on the lady, "I tell you they'll pay uphandsome. You and me, perhaps, wouldn't make much fuss if one of ouryoung 'uns was to cut and run, but gentlefolks is different. It isn'tlikely that a lady can like the thought of a boy of hers knockingabout in the gutter, and trying his luck in the ditch. Just you putyour hat on, and you go straight to this here Upton, and you see if itisn't the best day's work you've ever done. I'll go fast enough, ifyou've not started soon."

  Mr. Jenkins did not seem to like this idea at all; his tone was alittle sulky.

  "You needn't put yourself out, Eliza; I'm a-going."

  "Then why don't you go, instead of standing wool gathering there?"

  "You don't know his address. What am I to ask for when I get to thishere Upton?"

  "Why, ask for Dr. Bailey; it's only a little place. You'll find he'sas well known as the church clock, and perhaps better."

  "And about the boy; what are you going to do when he wakes up?"

  "I'll look after him. Don't you trouble your head about the boy;you'll find him here when you come back as safe as houses."

  "All right, Eliza, I'm off; and by to-night, I shouldn't be surprisedif Master Bertie Bailey, Esquire, was returned to his fond parent'sarms."

  His tone was jocular; but the expression of his countenance was notexactly genial when Master Bertie Bailey sat up in bed, as he did atthis identical moment, and looked his host and hostess in the face.