James Greenwood - The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

“ Me pull you? What should I pull yer for, Jimmy? How is it worth my while to pull yer? Next time I does you a good turn you’ll know it, young feller.”

“How’s it a good turn, Jerry?”

“How! Why, there they are all a-cryin’ arter you up the alley.”

“Who’s cryin’?”

“Who? Why, yer father and yer mother and young Poll, and all the whole bilin’. I couldn’t stand it no longer. Ses I to myself, ‘Here they are a-breakin’ their ’arts arter him, and won’t get their suppers without he comes home, though it’s a stunnin’ meat puddin’ with hot taters, and all the while p’r’aps he’s hangin’ about afeard to wenture home, and expectin’ a whackin’. Jim knows me,’ I ses to myself; ‘I won’t say nothink to nobody, but I’ll slip out and let him know as it’s all right.’ And I does do it, and here you are, chucking of yourself on the stones, and as good as callin’ me a liar.”

There was a gas-lamp near, and as Jerry spoke it was easy to see that he meant every word he had spoken, and that my suspicions as to his fidelity had wounded his feelings very deeply. I couldn’t help believing him, and yet what he told me was altogether astounding. Everybody crying for me, and a meat pudding getting cold on my account! Remorse filled me to the brim, and, sympathizing with my weeping friends, my eyes filled with tears.

“Are you quite sure, Jerry?” I asked, getting on my legs, and squeezing his friendly hand in gratitude. “You are quite sure you hain’t made no mistake? ’cos it will go very hard against me, you know, Jerry, if you should. It ain’t at all unbeknown to you, Jerry, how she punches me about and pulls my hair.”

“Mistake about what?” asked the traitor, evasively.

“About the cryin’ and that.”

“That’s right enough, I tell you. They’re all a-cryin’ arter you like a house a-fire.”

“My father too, Jerry?”

“Harder ’un the whole lot put together,” replied Master Pape, emphatically. “Don’t take my word on it; come up to the alley and arks anybody. You can hear him a owlin’ as high up as Winkship’s. He’ll do hisself a hinjury, that’ll be the end on it.”

“And little Polly, is she, too, all right Jerry?” “Right as ninepence; never seed her look better.”

“She didn’t break any of her bones when I dropped her down the steps this morning? She didn’t make her nose bleed, or get another bump on her head, Jerry?”

“Oh, that’s what you’re afeard on?” said Jerry, lightly. “Lor’, bless yer, when they picked her up she was a larfin fit to kill herself.

When they took her to the doctor’s”—

“What! took her to the doctor’s? Oh! what for, Jerry? I thought you said she wasn’t hurt at all, but laughing?”

“Did I say anythink about the doctor’s? I’ve no recollections of it,” replied Jerry Pape, turning his head away to hide his embarrassment.

“You did; you did, Jerry. You said they took her to the doctor’s”

“Well, did I tell you what they took her for?” asked Jerry, turning about again with the tarnish of perplexity quite cleared off from his brazen countenance.

“No. Do tell me, please, Jerry.”

“Didn’t I tell you that when they picked her up she was larfin werry hearty?”

“Yes, so you did, but”—

“Werry well, then; it was wus than that. Since you must know, she was a-larfin’ so that they thought she’d go into conwulsions. That’s what they took her to the doctor’s for.”

Completely reassured and comforted by this plausible explanation, I turned towards Fryingpan Alley at a brisk trot, Jerry keeping well up with me and chatting in the cheerfullest manner. It was not until we had arrived within a stone’s-cast of the alley that my eyes were opened to his cruel perfidy.

As we were passing Rose Alley, a boy—an acquaintance of mine, and about as big as Jerry Pape—suddenly pounced out and seized me in much the same manner as Jerry had done in the first instance.

“Got him, Jerry? Halves, don’t you know?” exclaimed the boy, eagerly.

“Halves, be jiggered,” roared Jerry, seizing my other arm. “What’s halves for? Ain’t I been a huntin’ arter him ever since his father come home? Wasn’t I the first to ketch him?”

“Halves, I tell yer,” said the first boy, making surer his grip on my arm, and giving me a jerk. “Hain’t I been arkeepin’ my eye on yer ever since you first come acrost him? You’d never got him home if it hadn’t a been for me. No more jaw, Jerry Pape. Bring him along.”

“Shan’t. What did Jim Ballisat say? Didn’t he say the first as ketches him and brings him home, I’ll give a shillin’ to? He didn’t say nothink about the second that ketches him I”

“No more jaw, I tell you,” said the first boy, who was stronger than Jerry Pape. “Come on home,” (this to me, with a lug that made my shoulder-joints crack.) “I shouldn’t like to go you halves, my tulip. I ’spect you ’ll be werry nigh killed when yer father does get hold on yer.”

Once more overcome by terror, I wriggled down between my captors and lay on the pavement, crying aloud that I’d sooner die than go another step. Having no shoes on, I couldn’t kick very hard, but as well as I was able I let fly at both of them whenever they approached close enough.

The two boys were in despair. Jerry Pape, the treacherous thief, making so sure of my blood-money, and finding himself in a fair way of being baulked of it, was white with rage. Animated by a sudden spurt of courage, (he was known to be a shameful coward,) he unexpectedly turned on his rival, and struck him a heavy blow in the face with his fist.

“Take that,” said Jerry, “if it hadn’t been for you poking your nose in it, I should have got him home by this time.”

This was a rash move on Jerry’s part. The boy did take it as desired, but, unluckily for Master Pape, he was one of those mahogany-headed boys on whom a blow is lost, unless it downright dents them. For an instant only the mahogany-headed one comforted his assaulted nose with the cuff of his jacket, glaring at Jerry the while. Then he was at him like a terrier with a rat. With tempestuous force he bore him to the earth, and there he pummelled the villain in a way that did my heart good to see. I enjoyed it so much that I stayed dangerously long to witness it. Swift as light the thought came into my head, “Now is my time to be off!”

And with speed swift almost as the thought that suggested it, I sprang up, and away, leaving the baffled combatants struggling in the mud.

Now it’s my time to be off

I ran back in the direction I had come, and speedily found myself in Smithfield again, and in that very part of it in which I had spent such a considerable part of the day. Nobody followed me, and the market was darker and even stiller than when I had left it half-an-hour since.

My errand had been attended by no little peril, and the results it had yielded were by no means satisfactory. It had effectually settled one point, however: it would be little short of insanity—aiding and abetting my own manslaughter—to return home. How could I doubt, after listening to the conversation that had taken place between the perfidious Jerry Pape and his companion, that my father, to say nothing of Mrs. Burke, was furiously incensed against me? My father, indeed, was not able even to contain his wrath until I happened to come home; he was burning and brimming over with it, and so longed to vent it on me, that he had offered the large sum of a shilling for my apprehension. It was a large sum for him to offer. It was as much as he could earn, carrying loads fit for a horse to draw, in a quarter of a day. A shilling would buy him three pots of beer.