James Greenwood - The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

Mr. Barney took the hint, and whipped off my shirt in a twinkling.

“That’s better,” said he; “here’s a hole that’ll catch this button, and here’s another one that’ll catch this button. There you are! Now, what have you got to find fault with?”

“They come up so jolly high, I shan’t be able to wear a waistcoat with ’em.”

“Of course you won’t; them sort of trousers are made high on purpose to do without ‘waistcoats,’” replied Mr. Ike, smiling pityingly at my ignorance; “why, you don’t suppose they would make ’em so full as that if they didn’t have a meaning for doing it? I only wish that I may be able to find you a jacket that will suit you as well. What’s that one close by your elbow, Barney?”

“This one? oh, this is nearly a new jacket—at least, it can’t have had a month’s wear; a pen’orth of hartshorn would make it look quite like new. We can’t afford to let him have that.”

“Oh, give it to him, poor lad,” said Mr. Barney; “here you are,” and Mr. Barney assisted me on with it.

It wasn’t a bad jacket as regards soundness; the worst of it was, it was all hard and stiff with paint, as though it had last belonged to a paper-staining boy.

“That’s the ticket; that’s warm and comfortable for you,” observed Mr. Barney, as he adjusted the top button of the jacket; “here’s your cap; now go.”

“But I haven’t got any shirt; ain’t you goin’ to give me my shirt, or another one?”

“What! as well as the jacket and fustian trousers? I wonder you’ve got the face to ask such a thing,” replied Mr. Barney.

“And ain’t you goin’ to give me some money? My clothes are worth a jolly sight more’n these.”

“Now, what do you think of that, Ike?” exclaimed Mr. Barney, turning to his companion, as though his feelings were terribly shocked. “I gives him an inch, Ike, and now he wants an ell! There, be off with you, do; I’m quite ashamed of you!”

And wagging their heads, as though my ungrateful behaviour had quite upset them, the two young Jews hustled me out of the room, and down the stairs, and gently thrust me into the street, shutting the door.

The church clocks were chiming midnight as the door of the Jews’ house closed at my back, and I scudded through the soft cold snow towards Holborn.

My mind was in such a state of confusion concerning my late transaction with Messrs. Barney and Ike, that it was some considerable time before I could bring myself to a deliberate consideration of my position. Had the two Jews reason for charging me with greediness and ingratitude? They certainly looked perfectly serious when they accused me, and their manner was exactly that of persons who consider that their good nature has been abused; still I could not forbear thinking that, after all, they had very much the best of the bargain.

How had I come out of the business? At starting I had a pair of warm stockings, and a sound pair of boots to my feet; now I had neither the one nor the other. At starting I had an entire suit of clothes to my back; now I had but half a suit. At starting I had a shirt; now I had none. On the other hand. At starting I had a hungry belly; now that defect was repaired by a tolerably abundant meal of bread. My present suit was not entire, but it covered me completely; and though not so new as the workhouse suit, it was quite as warm, to say nothing of the immense advantage I derived from getting out of a livery that made it impossible for me to appear in public with any degree of safety during daylight. I had no shirt, and, coming out into the cold after being so long used to one, I missed it very considerably; but I should soon get over that trifling inconvenience. Two months out of the five that I kept company with Mouldy and Ripston, I had been without body-linen, and was none the worse for the deprivation. At starting I had not a farthing in the world, and now I had a shilling.

Had I?

Had the pavement immediately before me fallen away, leaving a fathomless gulf, I could not have halted more abruptly. The pockets of the manly fustians were wide and deep, so that I had to stoop my shoulders to reach the bottom of them. I did reach the bottom, and with despairing avidity poked about the corners.

The shilling was not there!

In a terrible fright I plunged my hands into the outer pockets of the jacket

No shilling!

With the speed of lightning came the blissful recollection that I had observed an inner pocket in the jacket, and in my eagerness to search it, I tore off the button that secured it a-top.

Empty, save for some bread crumbs the paper-staining boy had left in it! Oh, Lor! oh, dear! what had become of it?

I had never brought it away from the Jews’ house. When I had taken the bread and the shilling in exchange for my boots and stockings, as I now very distinctly remembered, I had slipped the money into the pocket of my corduroys; and when I had taken them off to fit on the fustians that I then had on, I had forgotten to remove my money! It afforded me tremendous relief to recollect so patly how the mistake had occurred; and without stopping to button my disarranged jacket, I retraced my way to Saffron Hill as fast as my legs would carry me.

It was easy enough to find Saffron Hill—to make my way to that part of it which I had so lately quitted; but there arrived, I was brought to a dismal standstill.

Which was the house?

Every house was numbered, but what was the number of that in which the two Jews lived, I had not noticed—there was no reason why I should notice, or remember a moment afterwards if I had done so. The houses were all of a pattern, painted alike, or rather without paint alike; the doorsteps, the scrapers, were exactly similar. Whether I had passed the right house, or whether it was farther on, it was impossible to say.

I looked sharply about the thresholds of each door, to see if anything could be made out of recent footsteps on and near any one in particular, but the snow was falling so fast that I could find no footmarks but those I had made since my return. I looked up at the windows, and to my great delight found one—the only one with a light shining through it—a second-floor window! By jumping up at the knocker, I managed to reach it and give a loud knock.

I waited at least a minute, and finding that nobody answered, I knocked again—twice this time, and louder than at first. The window with the light in it was opened, and an old man thrust out his head adorned with a night-cap.

“Who’s there?”

“Please, sir, is this the house where the Jews live?”

“Where who live?”

“The Jews, please—Mr. Ike and Mr. Barney, please? I won’t keep ’em a minute; I only want”—

“I wish I was down there,—you. I’d give you what you want.”

And without waiting to listen to another word, he slammed down the window in a manner that convinced me that I had knocked at the wrong house.

Now what was to be done? It would never do to knock at any more doors on the chance of finding the one I wanted. It was nothing less than throwing away a shilling to go away. Without doubt, it was no one’s fault but my own that I had come away without my money. It was a foolish blunder of mine, that might be remedied as soon as I could see my two friends—there could be no doubt of that, or they would not have been so cut up at what they conceived to be my unjust behaviour. They would be glad to give me back my money when I explained to them where I had left it. The best thing to do would be to wait till the morning, and look out for the young gentlemen as they came out to go to business.