told ‘im in a whisper that he thought he was better at it than Kumbo. “Not that I should mind ‘er knowing much,” he ses, “seeing that she’s took such a fancy to you.”
“Ah, I was going to speak to you about that,” ses Rupert. “Forwardness is no name for it; if she don’t keep ‘erself to ‘erself, I shall chuck the whole thing up.”
The manager coughed behind his ‘and. “And go back to the Army?” he ses. “Well, I should be sorry to lose you, but I won’t stand in your way.”
Mrs. Alfredi, wot was standing by, stuffed her pocket-’ankercher in ‘er mouth, and Rupert began to feel a bit uneasy in his mind.
“If I did,” he ses, “you’d get into trouble for ‘elping me to desert.”
“Desert!” ses Mr. Alfredi. “I don’t know anything about your deserting.”
“Ho!” ses Rupert. “And wot about my uniform?”
“Uniform?” ses Mr. Alfredi. “Wot uniform? I ain’t seen no uniform. Where is it?”
Rupert didn’t answer ‘im, but arter they ‘ad gone ‘ome he told George that he ‘ad ‘ad enough of acting and he should go.
“Where to?” ses George.
“I’ll find somewhere,” ses Rupert. “I sha’n’t starve.”
“You might ketch your death o’ cold, though,” ses George.
Rupert said he didn’t mind, and then he shut ‘is eyes and pretended to be asleep. His idea was to wait till George was asleep and then pinch ‘is clothes; consequently ‘is feelings when ‘e opened one eye and saw George getting into bed with ‘is clothes on won’t bear thinking about. He laid awake for hours, and three times that night George, who was a very heavy sleeper, woke up and found Rupert busy tucking him in.
By the end of the week Rupert was getting desperate. He hated being black for one thing, and the more he washed the better color he looked. He didn’t mind the black for out o’ doors, in case the Army was looking for ‘im, but ‘aving no clothes he couldn’t get out o’ doors; and when he said he wouldn’t perform unless he got some, Mr. Alfredi dropped ‘ints about having ‘im took up for a deserter.
“I’ve ‘ad my suspicions of it for some days,” he ses, with a wink, “though you did come to me in a nice serge suit and tell me you was an actor. Now, you be a good boy for another week and I’ll advance you a couple o’ pounds to get some clothes with.”
Rupert asked him to let ‘im have it then, but ‘e wouldn’t, and for another week he ‘ad to pretend ‘e was a Zulu of an evening, and try and persuade Kumbo that he was an English gentleman of a daytime.
He got the money at the end of the week and ‘ad to sign a paper to give a month’s notice any time he wanted to leave, but he didn’t mind that at all, being determined the fust time he got outside the place to run away and ship as a nigger cook if ‘e couldn’t get the black off.
He made a list o’ things out for George to get for ‘im, but there seemed to be such a lot for two pounds that Mr. Alfredi shook his ‘ead over it; and arter calling ‘imself a soft-’arted fool, and saying he’d finish up in the workhouse, he made it three pounds and told George to look sharp.
“He’s a very good marketer,” he ses, arter George ‘ad gone; “he don’t mind wot trouble he takes. He’ll very likely haggle for hours to get sixpence knocked off the trousers or twopence off the shirt.”
It was twelve o’clock in the morning when George went, and at ha’-past four Rupert turned nasty, and said ‘e was afraid he was trying to get them for nothing. At five o’clock he said George was a fool, and at ha’-past he said ‘e was something I won’t repeat.
It was just eleven o’clock, and they ‘ad shut up for the night, when the front door opened, and George stood there smiling at ‘em and shaking his ‘ead.
“Sush a lark,” he ses, catching ‘old of Mr. Alfredi’s arm to steady ‘imself. “I gave ‘im shlip.”
“Wot d’ye mean?” ses the manager, shaking him off. “Gave who the slip? Where’s them clothes?”
“Boy’s got ‘em,” ses George, smiling agin and catching hold of Kumbo’s arm. “Sush a lark; he’s been car-carrying ‘em all day—all day. Now I’ve given ‘im the—the shlip, ‘stead o’—‘stead o’ giving ‘im fourpence. Take care o’ the pensh, an’ pouns—”
He let go o’ Kumbo’s arm, turned round twice, and then sat down ‘eavy and fell fast asleep. The manager rushed to the door and looked out, but there was no signs of the boy, and he came back shaking his ‘ead, and said that George ‘ad been drinking agin.
“Well, wot about my clothes?” ses Rupert, hardly able to speak.
“P’r’aps he didn’t buy ‘em arter all,” ses the manager. “Let’s try ‘is pockets.”
He tried fust, and found some strawberries that George ‘ad spoilt by sitting on. Then he told Rupert to have a try, and Rupert found some bits of string, a few buttons, two penny stamps, and twopence ha’penny in coppers.
“Never mind,” ses Mr. Alfredi; “I’ll go round to the police-station in the morning; p’r’aps the boy ‘as taken them there. I’m disapp’inted in George. I shall tell ‘im so, too.”
He bid Rupert good-night and went off with Mrs. Alfredi; and Rupert, wishful to make the best o’ things, decided that he would undress George and go off in ‘is clothes. He waited till Kumbo ‘ad gone off to bed, and then he started to take George’s coat off. He got the two top buttons undone all right, and then George turned over in ‘is sleep. It surprised Rupert, but wot surprised ‘im more when he rolled George over was to find them two buttons done up agin. Arter it had ‘appened three times he see ‘ow it was, and he come to the belief that George was no more drunk than wot he was, and that it was all a put-up thing between ‘im and Mr. Alfredi.
He went to bed then to think it over, and by the morning he ‘ad made up his mind to keep quiet and bide his time, as the saying is. He spoke quite cheerful to Mr. Alfredi, and pretended to believe ‘im when he said that he ‘ad been to the police-station about the clothes.
Two days arterwards he thought of something; he remembered me. He ‘ad found a dirty old envelope on the floor, and with a bit o’ lead pencil he wrote me a letter on the back of one o’ the bills, telling me all his troubles, and asking me to bring some clothes and rescue ‘im. He stuck on one of the stamps he ‘ad found in George’s pocket, and opening the door just afore going to bed threw it out on the pavement.
The world is full of officious, interfering busy-bodies. I should no more think of posting a letter that didn’t belong to me, with an unused stamp on it, than I should think o’ flying; but some meddle-some son of a –a gun posted that letter and I got it.
I was never more surprised in my life. He asked me to be outside the shop next night at ha’-past eleven with any old clothes I could pick up. If I didn’t, he said he should ‘ang ‘imself as the clock struck twelve, and that his ghost would sit on the wharf and keep watch with me every night for the rest o’ my life. He said he expected it ‘ud have a black face, same as in life.
A wharf is a lonely place of a night; especially our wharf, which is full of dark corners, and, being a silly, good-natured fool, I went. I got a pal off of one of the boats to keep watch for me, and, arter getting some old rags off of another sailorman as owed me arf a dollar, I ‘ad a drink and started off for the Mile End Road.
I found the place easy enough. The door was just on the jar, and as I tapped on it with my finger-nails a wild-looking black man, arf naked, opened it and said “H’sh!” and pulled me inside. There was a bit o’ candle on the floor, shaded by a box, and a man fast asleep and snoring up in one corner. Rupert dressed like lightning, and he ‘ad just put on ‘is cap when the door at the back opened and a ‘orrid fat black woman came out and began to chatter.
Rupert