My Doggie and I, Robert Michael Ballantyne [books for 5 year olds to read themselves .txt] 📗

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"Hallo, Buttons!" was the Slogger's exclamation.

"Hallo, Slogger!" was that of Robin.

"Well, now, this _is_ a pleasure! who'd a thought it?" said the conductor, reaching up his hand.

"Is that for your fare or a shake, Slogger?" demanded Robin.

"A shake, of course, old feller," replied the other, as Robin grasped the proffered hand;--"but I say," he added in a lower key, "there's no Slogger now in this 'ere world; he's dead an' buried long ago. My name is Villum Bowls--no connection wotever with Slogger. Oh no! we never mention 'im;--but, I say, w'en did you go into the genteel line? eh, Slidder?"

"Robin--Robin is my name _now_, Villum Bowls. I've changed it since we met last, though I hain't cut old friends like you. Robin an' Slidder 'ave been united, an' a pretty pair they make, don't they?"

"Middlin'. 'Old on till I get that ancient stout party shoved in. Looks like as if he was a goin' in the opposite direction, but it don't matter so long as we can get 'im in.--Now, then, sir, mind the step. All right? I say, Slid--Robin, I mean--"

"Vell, Slog--Villum, I mean; why don't you say wot you mean, eh?"

"'Ow d'you like grey tights an' buttons?" said the Slogger, with a bland smile.

"So--so," replied Robin, with a careless air; "the grey is sober enough--quite suitable to my character--an' I confess I'm fond o' the buttons."

"There's enough of 'em to form a goodish overcoat a'most," said the Slogger with a critical grin, "but I should 'ave thought 'em not sufficiently waterproof in wet weather."

"Vell, they ain't much use for that, Slog--eh, Villum; but you should see the dazzling display they makes in sunshine. W'y, you can see me half a mile off w'en I chance to be walking in Regent Street or drivin' in the Park. But I value them chiefly because of the frequent and pleasant talks they get me with the ladies."

"You don't mean for to say, Robin, that the ladies ever holds you by the button-'oles?"

"No, I don't; but I holds _them_ wi' the buttons. This is the way of it. W'en I chance to see a wery pretty lady--not one o' your beauties, you know; I don't care a dump for them stuck-up creatures! but one o' your sweet, amiable sort, with souls above buttons, an' faces one likes to look at and to kiss w'en you've a right to; vell, w'en I sees one o' these I brushes up again' 'er, an' 'ooks on with my buttons to some of 'er togs.

"If she takes it ill, looks cross, and 'alf inclined to use strong language, I makes a 'umble apology, an' gets undone as fast as possible, but if she larfs, and says, `Stoopid boy; w'y don't you look before you?' or suthin o' that sort, I just 'ooks on another tag to another button w'en we're a fumblin' at the first one, and so goes on till we get to be quite sociable over it--I might almost say confidential. Once or twice I've been the victim of misjudgment, and got a heavy slap on the face from angelic hands that ought to 'ave known better, but on the 'ole I'm willin' to take my chance."

"Not a bad notion," remarked the Slogger; "especially for a pretty little chap like you, Robin."

"Right you are," replied the other, "but you needn't try on the dodge yourself, for it would never pay with a big ugly grampus like you, Villum."

Having thus run into a pleasant little chat, the two waifs proceeded to compare notes, in the course of which comparison the Slogger gave an outline of his recent history. He had been engaged in several successful burglaries, but had been caught in the act of pocket-picking, for which offence he had spent some weeks in prison. While there a visitor had spoken to him very earnestly, and advised him to try an honest life, as being, to say the least of it, easier work than thieving. He had made the attempt. Through the influence of the same prison-visitor he had obtained a situation, from which he had been advanced to the responsible position which he then held.

"And, d'you know, Robin," said the Slogger, "I find that honesty pays pretty well, and I means to stick to it."

"An' I suppose," said Robin, "if it didn't pay pretty well you'd cut it?"

"Of course I would," returned the Slogger, with a look of surprise; "wot's the use o' stickin' to a thing that don't pay?"

"Vell, if them's your principles you ain't got much to 'old on by, my tulip," said Robin.

"An' wot principles may _you_ 'old on by, my turnip?" asked the Slogger.

"It would puzzle me, rather, to tell that," returned Robin, "'specially talkin' down to the level of my own toes on the top of a 'bus; but I'll tell you what, Villum, if you'll come to Number 6 Grovelly Street, Shadwell Square, just back of Hoboy Crescent, w'ere my master lives, on Sunday next at seven in the evenin', you'll hear an' see somethin' as'll open your eyes."

"Ah! a meetin'-'ouse'?" said the Slogger, with a slight smile of contempt.

"Music-'alls and publics is meetin'-'ouses, ain't they?"

"Ah, but they ain't prayer-meetin' 'ouses," rejoined the Slogger.

"Not so sure o' that Villum. There's a deal o' prayer in such places sometimes, an' it's well for the wisitors that their prayers ain't always answered. But _our_ meetin'-'ouse is for more than prayer--a deal more; and there's my young missus--a _real_ angel--comes in, and 'olds forth there every Sunday evening to young fellers like you an' me. You just come an' judge for yourself."

"No thankee," returned the Slogger.

As he spoke a lady with a lap-dog made powerful demonstrations with her umbrella. The 'bus stopped, and the conductor attended to his duties, while Robin, who really felt a strong desire to bring his old comrade under an influence which he knew was working a wonderful change in himself, sat meditating sadly on the obstinacy of human nature.

"I say, Robin," said the Slogger, on resuming his perch, "d'you know I've found traces o' that young gal as you took such a interest in, as runned away from the old 'ooman, an' was robbed by Brassey an' me?"

"You don't mean that!" exclaimed Robin eagerly.

"Yes I do. She's in London, I believe, but I can't exactly say where. I heard of her through Sal--you know Sal, who 'angs out at the vest end o' Potter's Lane. I expect to see Sal in 'alf an hour, so if you're comin' back this way, I'll be at the Black Bull by two o'clock, and tell you all I can pump out of 'er."

"I'll be there sharp," said Robin promptly; "an now pull up, for I must take to my legs here."

"But I say, Robin, if we do find that gal, you won't split on me, eh? You won't tell 'er who I am or where I is? You won't wictimise your old friend?"

"D'you take me for a informer?" demanded Robin, with an offended look.

"Hall right," cried the Slogger, giving the signal to drive on.

Robin sped quickly away, executed his mission, and returned to the Black Bull in a state of considerable excitement and strong hope.

Slidder was doomed to disappointment. He reached the Black Bull at two o'clock precisely.

"Vell, my fair one," he said, addressing a waiting-maid who met him in the passage, "it's good for sore eyes to see the likes o' you in cloudy weather. D'you 'appen to know a young man of the name of Sl--I mean Villum Bowls?"

"Yes I do, Mr Imp'rence," answered the girl.

"You couldn't introdooce me to him, could you, Miss Sunshine?"

"No, I couldn't, because he isn't here, and won't likely be back for two hours."

This reply took all the humour out of Robin's tone and manner. He resolved, however, to wait for half an hour, and went out to saunter in front of the hotel.

Half an hour passed, then another, then another, and the boy was fain to leave the spot in despair.

Poor Slidder's temperament was sanguine. Slight encouragement raised his hopes very high. Failure depressed him proportionally and woefully low, but, to do him justice, he never sorrowed long. In the present instance, he left the Black Bull grinding his teeth. Then he took to clanking his heels as he walked along in a way that drew forth the comments of several street-boys, to whom, in a spirit of liberality, he returned considerably more than he received. Then he began to mutter between his teeth his private opinion as to faithless persons in general, and faithless Villum, _alias_ the Slogger, in particular, whose character he painted to himself in extremely sombre colours. After that, a heavy thunder-shower having fallen and drenched him, he walked recklessly and violently through every puddle in his path. This seemed to relieve his spirit, for when he reached Hoboy Crescent he had recovered much of his wonted equanimity.

The Slogger was not however, so faithless as his old friend imagined. He had been at the Black Bull before two o'clock, but had been sent off by his employer with a note to a house at a considerable distance in such urgent haste that he had not time even to think of leaving a message for his friend.

In these circumstances, he resolved to clear his character by paying a visit on the following Sunday to Number 6 Grovelly Street, Shadwell Square.


CHAPTER TWELVE.


BEGINS WITH LOVE, HOPE, AND JOY, AND ENDS PECULIARLY.

It may not perhaps surprise the reader to learn that after Lilly Blythe's return to town, I did not prosecute my studies with as much enthusiasm as before. In fact I divided my attentions pretty equally between Lilly and chemistry.

Now, I am not prone to become sentimentally talkative about my own affairs, but as courtship, and love, and that sort of thing are undoubted and important elements in the chemistry of human affairs, and as they influenced me and those around me to some extent, I cannot avoid making reference to them, but I promise the reader to do so only as far as appears necessary for the elucidation of my story.

First, then, although I knew that my prospects of success as a partner of Dr McTougall were most encouraging, I felt that it would be foolish to think of marriage until my position was well established and my income adequate. I therefore strove with all my might to check the flow of my thoughts towards Miss Blythe. As well might I have striven to restrain the flow of Niagara. True love cannot be stemmed! In my case, however, the proverb was utterly falsified, for my true love _did_ "run smooth." More than that, it ran fast--very fast indeed, so much so that I was carried, as it were, on the summit of a rushing flood-tide into the placid harbour of Engagement. The anchorage in that harbour is with many people uncertain. With Lilly and me it was not so. The ground-tackle was good; it had caught hold of a rock and held on.

It happened thus. After many weeks of struggling on my part to keep out of Miss