James Greenwood - The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

That is, he so beguiled his evenings when business did not engage him. After about six weeks in his service, I found that the “night jobs in the country,” previously mentioned, happened on an average about twice a week. Sam wished they happened more frequently, because, before starting on these country jobs, Mr. Belcher always had something very nice and hot for supper, and Sam always came in for a share, as well as for a drop of rum to keep the cold out. They generally started about eleven o’clock—the brown horse being harnessed in the cart. They—Mr. Belcher and Mr. Perks that is—never went “dressed,” but in their working clothes, and with black faces and hands, conveying with them the sweeping machine, (the brush end of it resting over the back of the cart and plainly to be seen;) besides the machine they took (so Sam informed ns) a long sack with certain tools within it, of the nature of which, further than that they “clinked” when the sack was lifted, Sam was ignorant. They likewise took with them a lantern, (not the stable lantern, but one with a round glass with a slide, like a policeman’s lantern,) and something good in a bottle.

Their time of returning was uncertain. Sometimes it was as early as two o’clock, and sometimes not before four. Sometimes—according to Sam—Mr. Belcher, after going many miles to a sweeping job, found that it couldn’t be done, or by a mistake somebody else had done the job, or the fires were unexpectedly wanted that night, and the job must be put off till another time. It was not to be wondered at that at such times Mr. Belcher was out of temper all the next day. How would any man like to be kept out of his bed half the night, driving his horse four or five and twenty miles, so that when it came home and stood still in the yard you could not see it for the smoke that reeked from its wet hide? It was a great shame, and enough to make milder men than Mr. Belcher, or his man Perks, swear. “I alwis knows when they’ve had a disappintment before they gets up to the cart,” said Sam, “’cos of ’em carrying only one sack—that one with the tools in. When they’ve got two sacks, the little un with the tools in it, which the guv’nor carries, and the long un with the soot in it, wot Ned Perks carries—a puty heavy load it is gen’lly—then I knows that it’s all right, and there’s a drink out of the bottle for me, and not afore it’s wanted, standing shivering out in the cold for nigh on an hour sometimes.”

In one respect, however, Mr. Belcher showed himself considerate of Sam’s tender age, and of the impropriety of keeping him out of his bed a moment longer than was necessary after one of these midnight journeys. Soon as ever the brown horse entered the yard, Sam was dismissed.

“You go to bed, my lad; me and Mr. Perks will look after the traps, and the nag,” he would say. And so they would, finding so much to do that—as we could plainly hear through the thin partition that parted the stable from the kitchen—they were occupied sometimes for an hour or more. There was nothing strange in this, however. Mr. Belcher’s horse was a valuable one, and it was only natural that he should spend a little extra time in rubbing it down, and making it comfortable before he left it. The strangest part of the business was—what became of the soot that was brought home from these country jobs?

After the conversation I had with Spider, as already narrated, no more was said between us on the subject. He was not a communicative young fellow, as a rule, and seldom opened his mouth for speech except as related to his affliction. Certainly I did not take the matter very much to heart, but now and then in idle moments I had broached the subject, and was invariably cut short by being advised to mind my own business, and not poke my nose where p’r’aps it might be snapped off before I was aware of it. Nevertheless, the mysterious fact remained. According to Sam, who could have had no interest in making a false statement, the soot from the country jobs was put into the cart by Ned Perks, was driven home to the yard, was carried into the stable—and that was the last that was ever seen of it. True, Ned Perks did not live at Belcher’s, but had a house of his own in the New Kent Road, and that being a good step from Camberwell, it was a common thing for him, when they returned from these late jobs, to put the pony to the light cart and drive home in it, bringing it back in the morning; but of course it was absurd to suppose that Ned, who did no sweeping on his own account, carried away the soot: why should he?

Connected with this part of the business, too, was a circumstance of so singular a character, that looking back on it I cannot help feeling surprised that it excited so little of our attention. Ned Perks did not invariably ride home on the above-mentioned occasions, but stayed at Mr. Belcher’s; and when such was the case, although being very sleepy, the noise of harnessing and getting out the pony may have escaped us, we were always made aware of it by Spider’s dog Pinch. Whether it was the peculiar odour of that uncommon soot in the stable that disturbed the dog’s repose, or whether, having a deep dislike for Mr. Perks, his delicate organ of scent made him aware of his enemy somewhere about the premises, and consequently caused him uneasiness, was not clear; anyhow, the little dirty-white dog was uneasy whenever, having returned from a country night job, Mr. Perks, instead of taking himself off in the pony cart to the New Kent Road, stayed the remainder of the night at Belcher’s; moreover, his mode of expressing his uneasiness was peculiar. The whining noises he uttered were only prevented from becoming downright howls by his master grasping his muzzle in his hand, and on three several occasions we were all awoke by frightful noises, Pinch having escaped when his master dropped to sleep, and being discovered scratching up the earth close to the stable partition with a ferocity altogether foreign to his weak nature.

“He smells a rat,” said Sam; “good dawg! fetch it out. There is rats in the stable, don’t you know, Spider; that’s what he’s arter.”

Spider crawled off his sacks, and securing Pinch brought him back to bed, and after much threatening and coaxing got him to lie still.

“It ain’t rats; rats don’t come now and then, they comes regler when they comes at all,” observed Spider, in a frightened whisper. “Lord send I could get away from here, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

Presently Spider spoke again.

“Did you hear Perks go, Jim?”

“He ain’t gone yet; leastways, I didn’t hear the pony being put to.”

“I knowed it,” whispered Spider, “that’s wot it is, Perks ain’t gone, and what’s more, he ain’t goin’ to-night. It’s awful to lay here and know that—that Perks ain’t gone home, ain’t it, Jim?”

“It’s on’y awful ’cos it makes your dawg kick up such a jolly row; that’s all the awful I can see about it.”

“He’s a-tremblin’, Jim, jist as though he’d caught my ager and his jints was goin’. Poor Pinch! I got yer, Pinch. Jim, do you know anything about dawgs?”

“’Bout the breed on ’em?”

“No, ’bout the natur’ on ’em, Jim?”

“Well, that’s the breed on ’em; ain’t it?”

“No, the breed means all about their coats and their markin’s, Jim; don’t yer know, the natur’ on ’em is summat what’s inside ’em and makes ’em knowin’, don’t yer understand?”

I was sleepy and Spider was growing profound, so I simply answered, “Ah.”

“They’re knowin’er than we thinks, dawgs are, Jim.”

“I’ve known one or two knowin’ uns,” I answered, gaping.

“Have yer now. What’s the knowin’est thing you ever knew on ’em, Jim?”