LITMIR.BIZ

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come!”

      Feeling sure that the little dog, unaccustomed, perhaps, to be left alone in a strange place, was merely anxious to be free, I at once went to my room-door and opened it. Dumps bounced out, and danced joyfully round me. Mrs Miff fled in deadly silence to her own bedroom, where she locked and bolted herself in.

      “Dumps,” said I, with a laugh, “I shall have to take you with me at the risk of losing you. Perhaps the memory of the feed I’ve given you, and the hope of another, may keep you by me. Come, we shall see.”

      My doggie behaved much better than I had anticipated. He did indeed stop at several butchers’ shops during our walk, and looked inquiringly in. He also evinced a desire to enter into conversation with one or two other sociable dogs, but the briefest chirp or whistle brought him at once obediently to my heel, just as if he had known and obeyed me all his life.

      When we reached the poorer parts of the city, I observed that the free-and-easy swagger, and the jaunty hopping of each hind-leg alternately, gave place to a sedate walk and a wary turn of the head, which suggested keen suspicious glances of the unseen eyes.

      “Ah!” thought I, “evidently he has suffered hardships and bad treatment in places like this.”

      I stooped and patted his head. He drew closer to me, as if seeking protection.

      Just then a low grumbling of thunder was heard, and soon after the rain came down so heavily that, the umbrella forming an insufficient protection, Dumps and I sought shelter in the mouth of an alley. The plump was short-lived, and the little knots of people who had sought shelter along with us melted quickly away.

      My doggie’s aspect was not improved by this shower. It had caused his hairy coat to cling to his form, producing a drowned-rat aspect which was not becoming; but a short run and some vigorous shakes soon restored his rotundity.

      In a few minutes thereafter we reached a narrow square or court at the end of a very dirty locality, in one corner of which was a low public-house. Through the half-open swing-door could be seen the usual melancholy crowd of unhappy creatures who had either already come under the full influence and curse of strong drink, or were far on the road to ruin. It was a sight with which I had become so familiar that, sad though it was, I scarce gave it a thought in passing. My mind was occupied with the poor old woman I was about to visit, and I would have taken no further notice of the grog-shop in question if the door had not opened violently, and a dirty ragged street-boy, or “waif,” apparently about eight or nine years of age, rushed out with a wild cry that may be described as a compound cheer-and-yell. He came out in such blind haste that he ran his ragged head with great violence against my side, and almost overturned me.

      “Hallo, youngster!” I exclaimed sternly.

      “Hallo, oldster!” he replied, in a tone of the most insolent indignation, “wot ever do you mean by runnin’ agin my ’ead like that? Hain’t you got no genteel boys in the West-end to butt agin, that you come all the way to Vitechapel to butt agin me? I’ve a good mind to ’and you over to the p’leece. Come, you owes me a copper for that.”

      The ineffable insolence of this waif took me quite by surprise. He spoke with extreme volubility, and assumed the commanding air of a man of six-feet-four, though only a boy of four-feet-six. I observed, however, that he kept at a sufficient distance to make sure of escaping in the event of my trying to seize him.

      “Come,” said I, with a smile, “I think you rather owe me a copper for giving me such a punch in the ribs.”

      “Vell, I don’t mind lookin’ at it in that light,” he replied, returning my smile. “I vill give you a copper, on’y I hain’t got change. You wouldn’t mind comin’ into this ’ere grog-shop while I git change, would you? Or if you’ll lend me a sixpence I’ll go in and git it for you.”

      “No,” said I, putting my fingers into my waistcoat pocket; “but here is a sixpence for you, which you may keep, and never mind the change, if you’ll walk along the streets with me a bit.”

      The urchin held out his dirty hand, and I put the coin into it. He smiled, tossed the sixpence, caught it deftly, and transferred it to his right trousers pocket.

      “Vell, you are a rum ’un. But I say, all square? No dodges? Honour bright?”

      “No dodges. Honour bright,” I replied.

      “Come along.”

      At this point my attention was attracted by a sudden change in the behaviour of Dumps. He went cautiously towards the boy, and snuffed as him for a moment.

      “I say, is he wicious?” he asked, backing a little.

      “I think not, but—”

      I was checked in my speech by the little dog uttering a whine of delight and suddenly dancing round the boy, wagging its tail violently, and indeed wriggling its whole shapeless body with joy; as some dogs are wont to do when they meet with an old friend unexpectedly.

      “Why, he seems to know you,” said I, in surprise.

      “Vell, he do seem to ’ave ’ad the honour of my acquaintance some’ow,” returned the boy, whose tone of banter quickly passed away. “What d’ee call ’im?”

      “Dumps,” said I.

      “That won’t do. Has he a vite spot on the bridge of ’is nose?” asked the boy earnestly.

      “I really cannot tell. It is not long—”

      “Here, Punch, come here!” called the boy, interrupting.

      At the name of Punch my doggie became so demonstrative in his affections that he all but leaped into the boy’s arms, whined lovingly, and licked his dirty face all over.

      “The wery dog,” said the boy, after looking at his nose; “only growed so big that his own mother wouldn’t know ’im.—Vy, where ’ave you bin all this long while, Punch?”

      “D’you mean to say that you know the dog, and that his name is Punch?”

      “Vell, you are green. Wouldn’t any cove with half an eye see that the dog knows me, an’ so, in course, I must know him? An’ ven I called ’im Punch didn’t he answer?—hey?”

      I was obliged to admit the truth of these remarks. After the first ebullition of joy at the meeting was over, we went along the street together.

      “Then the dog is yours?” said I as we went along.

      “No, he ain’t mine. He was mine once—ven he was a pup, but I sold ’im to a young lady for—a wery small sum.”

      “For how much?” I asked.

      “For five bob. Yes—on’y five bob! I axed vun pound, but the young lady was so pleasant an’ pritty that I come down to ten bob. Then she said she was poor—and to tell ’ee the plain truth she looked like it—an’ she wanted the pup so bad that I come down to five.”

      “And who was this young lady?”

      “Blow’d if I knows. She went off wi’ my Punch, an’ I never saw’d ’em more.”

      “Then you don’t know what induced her to sell Punch to a low fellow—but of course you know nothing about that,” said I, in a musing tone, as I thought of the strange manner in which this portion of my doggie’s history had come to light, but I was recalled from my reverie by the contemptuous tones of my little companion’s voice, as he said—

      “But I do know something about that.”

      “Oh, indeed! I thought you said you never saw the young lady again.”

      “No more I did. Neither did I ever see Punch again till to-day, but I know for certain that my young lady never sold no dog wotsomedever to no low feller as ever walked in shoe leather or out of it!”

      “Ah, I see,” said I slowly, “you mean—”

      “Yes, out with it, that’s just wot I do mean—that the low feller prigged the pup from her, an’ I on’y vish as

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