Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure, - [sight word readers .txt] 📗

was no such place as England in the world,” quietly remarked Molly, with a curl of her pretty lip.

“Ah! Molly, dear, you are unjust. It is true I go to Scotland for an illustration, but didn’t I come to England for a wife? Now, don’t go frowning at that hole as if it couldn’t be bridged over.”

“It is the worst hole you ever made,” said the despairing wife, holding it up to view.

“You make a worsted hole of it then, Moll, and it’ll be all right. Besides, you don’t speak truth, for I once made a worse hole in your heart.”

“You never did, sir. Go on with your stupid illustrations,” said Molly.

“Well, then, let me see—where was I?”

“In Scotland, of course!”

“Ah, yes. The population of all Scotland is under four millions, and that of London—that is, of the area embraced in the Metropolitan Police District, is estimated at above four million seven hundred thousand—in round numbers. Of course I give it you all in round numbers.”

“I don’t mind how round the numbers are, Giles, so long as they’re all square,” remarked the little wife with much simplicity.

“Well, just think of that number for our army to watch over; and that population—not all of it, you know, but part of it—succeeds—in spite of us in committing, during one year, no fewer than 25,000 ‘Principal’ offences such as murders, burglaries, robberies, thefts, and such-like. What they would accomplish if we were not ever on the watch I leave you to guess.

“Last year, for instance, 470 burglaries, as we style house-breaking by night, were committed in London. The wonder is that there are not more, when you consider the fact that the number of doors and windows found open by us at night during the twelve months was nearly 26,000. The total loss of property by theft during the year is estimated at about 100,000 pounds. Besides endeavouring to check crime of such magnitude, we had to search after above 15,000 persons who were reported lost and missing during the year, about 12,000 of whom were children.”

“Oh! the poor darlings,” said Molly, twisting her sympathetic eyebrows.

“Ay, and we found 7523 of these darlings,” continued the practical Giles, “and 720 of the adults. Of the rest some returned home or were found by their friends, but 154 adults and 23 children have been lost altogether. Then, we found within the twelve months 54 dead bodies which we had to take care of and have photographed for identification. During the same period, (and remember that the record of every twelve months is much the same), we seized over 17,000 stray dogs and returned them to their owners or sent them to the Dogs’ Home. We arrested over 18,000 persons for being drunk and disorderly. We inspected all the public vehicles and horses in London. We attended to 3527 accidents which occurred in the streets, 127 of which were fatal. We looked after more than 17,000 articles varying in value from 0 pence to 1500 pounds which were lost by a heedless public during the year, about 10,000 of which articles were restored to the owners. We had to regulate the street traffic; inspect common lodging-houses; attend the police and other courts to give evidence, and many other things which it would take me much too long to enumerate, and puzzle your pretty little head to take in.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Molly, looking up with a bright expression; “I have a wonderful head for figures—especially for handsome manly figures! Go on, Giles.”

“Then, look at what is expected of us,” continued Number 666, not noticing the last remark. “We are told to exercise the greatest civility and affability towards every one—high and low, rich and poor. We are expected to show the utmost forbearance under all circumstances; to take as much abuse and as many blows as we can stand, without inflicting any in return; to be capable of answering almost every question that an ignorant—not to say arrogant—public may choose to put to us; to be ready, single-handed and armed only with our truncheons and the majesty of the law, to encounter burglars furnished with knives and revolvers; to plunge into the midst of drunken maddened crowds and make arrests in the teeth of tremendous odds; to keep an eye upon strangers whose presence may seem to be less desirable than their absence; to stand any amount of unjust and ungenerous criticism without a word of reply; to submit quietly to the abhorrence and chaff of boys, labourers, cabmen, omnibus drivers, tramps, and fast young men; to have a fair knowledge of the ‘three Rs’ and a smattering of law, so as to conduct ourselves with propriety at fires, fairs, fights, and races, besides acting wisely as to mad dogs, German bands, (which are apt to produce mad men), organ-grinders, furious drivers, and all other nuisances. In addition to all which we must be men of good character, good standing—as to inches—good proportions, physically, and good sense. In short, we are expected to be—and blamed if we are not—as near to a state of perfection as it is possible for mortal man to attain on this side the grave, and all for the modest sum which you are but too well aware is the extent of our income.”

“Is one of the things expected of you,” asked Molly, “to have an exceedingly high estimate of yourselves?”

“Nay, Molly, don’t you join the ranks of those who are against us. It will be more than criminal if you do. You are aware that I am giving the opinion expressed by men of position who ought to know everything about the force. That we fulfil the conditions required of us not so badly is proved by the fact that last year, out of the whole 12,000 there were 215 officers and 1225 men who obtained rewards for zeal and activity, while only one man was discharged, and four men were fined or imprisoned. I speak not of number one—or, I should say Number 666. For myself I am ready to admit that I am the most insignificant of the force.”

“O Giles! what a barefaced display of mock modesty!”

“Nay, Molly, I can prove it. Everything in this world goes by contrast, doesn’t it? then, is there a man in the whole force except myself, I ask, whose wife is so bright and beautiful and good and sweet that she reduces him to mere insignificance by contrast?”

“There’s something in that, Giles,” replied Molly with gravity, “but go on with your lecture.”

“I’ve nothing more to say about the force,” returned Giles; “if I have not said enough to convince you of our importance, and of the debt of gratitude that you and the public of London owe to us, you are past conviction, and—”

“You are wrong, Giles, as usual; I am never past conviction; you have only to take me before the police court in the morning, and any magistrate will at once convict me of stupidity for having married a Scotchman and a policeman!”

“I think it must be time to go on my beat, for you beat me hollow,” said Number 666, consulting his watch.

“No, no, Giles, please sit still. It is not every day that I have such a chance of a chat with you.”

“Such a chance of pitching into me, you mean,” returned Giles. “However, before I go I would like to tell you just one or two facts regarding this great London itself, which needs so much guarding and such an army of guardians. You know that the Metropolitan District comprises all the parishes any portion of which are within 15 miles of Charing Cross—this area being 688 square miles. The rateable value of it is over twenty-six million eight hundred thousand pounds sterling. See, as you say you’ve a good head for figures, there’s the sum on a bit of paper for you—26,800,000 pounds. During last year 26,170 new houses were built, forming 556 new streets and four new squares—the whole covering a length of 86 miles. The total number of new houses built during the last ten years within this area has been 162,525, extending over 500 miles of streets and squares!”

“Stay, I can’t stand it!” cried Molly, dropping her sock and putting her fingers in her ears.

“Why not, old girl?”

“Because it is too much for me; why, even your figure is a mere nothing to such sums!”

“Then,” returned Giles, “you’ve only got to stick me on to the end of them to make my information ten times more valuable.”

“But are you quite sure that what you tell me is true, Giles?”

“Quite sure, my girl—at least as sure as I am of the veracity of Colonel Henderson, who wrote the last Police Report.”

At this point the chat was interrupted by the juvenile policeman in the crib under Sir Robert Peel. Whether it was the astounding information uttered in his sleepy presence, or the arduous nature of the duty required of him in dreams, we cannot tell, but certain it is that when Number 666 uttered the word “Report” there came a crash like the report of a great gun, and Number 2 of the A Division, having fallen overboard, was seen on the floor pommelling some imaginary criminal who stoutly refused to be captured.

Giles ran forward to the assistance of Number 2, as was his duty, and took him up in his arms. But Number 2 had awakened to the fact that he had hurt himself, and, notwithstanding the blandishments of his father, who swayed him about and put him on his broad shoulders, and raised his curly head to the ceiling, he refused for a long time to be comforted. At last he was subdued, and returned to the crib and the land of dreams.

“Now, Molly, I must really go,” said Giles, putting on his uniform. “I hope Number 2 won’t disturb you again. Good-bye, lass, for a few hours,” he added, buckling his belt. “Here, look, do you see that little spot on the ceiling?”

“Yes,—well?” said Molly, looking up.

Giles took unfair advantage of her, stooped, and kissed the pretty little face, received a resounding slap on the back, and went out, to attend to his professional duties, with the profound gravity of an incapable magistrate.

There was a bright intelligent little street-Arab on the opposite side of the way, who observed Giles with mingled feelings of admiration, envy, and hatred, as he strode sedately along the street like an imperturbable pillar. He knew Number 666 personally; had seen him under many and varied circumstance, and had imagined him under many others—not unfrequently as hanging by the neck from a lamp-post—but never, even in the most daring flights of his juvenile fancy, had he seen him as he has been seen by the reader in the bosom of his poor but happy home.