as his head inclines quizzically.
‘Am I mistaken?’ he says, loudly enough for all about to hear should they so wish. Saggers addresses himself to the ceiling. ‘Am I under a mishapprehension?’ He peers directly into the dark glass of Hilditch’s spectacles. ‘You is here to enjoy our ’umble entertainment, isn’t you?’
Saggers snatches at Daniel who has remained at his side and pulls him closer. ‘Dan’l! The gent is here to bet, ain’t he?’
Daniel looks about himself, to the door, but interested crowds have stopped up the way of escape. ‘No, he an’t here to bet.’
‘Not here to bet?’ announces Saggers, astounded. And then claps his hand to his forehead. ‘Hang me for a fool! O’course, that’s it, he’s here to buy, then!’
‘No, he don’t want a dog neither.’
‘What, then, Dan’l?’ says Saggers.
‘He said he just wanted to watch.’
Saggers makes his eyes bulge in mock-astonishment but real annoyance prevents further mummery and he booms out, ‘To hob-serve? What’s the good of that? Who is he, Dan’l? Is he a spy, a Customs sneak maybe?’
Eyes swivel to Hilditch like so many great guns. ‘We don’t turn away strangers here, sir,’ Saggers says. ‘We welcomes ’em, takes ’em into our fold. We treats a stranger like our own, so long as they loves the entertainment we provides. And you don’t give the appearance of doing that, sir! P’raps you’ll explain yourself?’
To those across the pit the stranger appears composed but some who stand closer may observe the sheen upon his lip.
‘I’m not a sporting man. I only want to see what goes on here.’
Saggers pauses, weighs up the answer like an Assize judge after a heavy lunch.
‘What kind of cove are you, sir? What doesn’t get involved?’
‘I only want to be a spectator,’ says Hilditch. ‘I get no pleasure from gambling. I wish only to stand here quietly and watch. But, if that is not permissible, then I will go.’
‘No, no, you interest me, sir, and you shall stay,’ Saggers says. ‘I would like to know what kind of a man is it that can keep isself separate from all others though he stands beside ’em and accepts their ’ospitality.’
‘I have no wish to insult you,’ says Hilditch. ‘You will forgive me if I seem impolite.’
‘You’re like the missionaries and the meddlers that come about us, all wanting something for nothing.’ He shakes his head as he scrutinises the novelty before him. ‘What a pale and lifeless thing you are! Do you have no blood in you? Can’t you afford no meat? I can hear you’ve an education. A man can go far with one o’ them, they say. But it seems he can’t get fat!’
William Saggers slaps his own ample haunches, and looks about for the endorsement of the crowd.
‘If you will excuse me, now,’ Hilditch begins, but Saggers holds him back.
‘I think you care for nothing, sir. I think you are a cold creetur that can worm its way in anywhere, observe and go away again.’ He turns again to the silent crowd and receives nods and murmurs of assent before he starts to address Hilditch again. ‘Maybe I’ve seen you at a hanging? We’ve all observed at hangings, ain’t we, mates? But we ain’t like fish watching wi’out blinking as some cove dies. We cheers if he’s a bad ’un or we cries if he’s a pal. But we gets involved, that’s for sartain.’
Hilditch, pale as candlewax, fights to keep control of his trembling voice. ‘I don’t have a lot of money, but I can loan you a shilling, to make your bet,’ he says. ‘If you will only allow me to watch without further molestation.’
‘I shouldn’t like to involve you when you didn’t want to be involved,’ says Saggers, ‘when arter all you had only come here to observe.’
Saggers pushes Daniel before Hilditch, blocking his path. ‘You know my boy Dan’l?’
Hilditch meets the wide eyes of the child and nods. Saggers holds the boy’s arm with one hand and with his other hand he strokes his face.
‘He’s a good boy, ain’t he?’
‘That depends on the purpose for which he guided me here. But I’m persuaded he is.’
‘You got here safe, didn’t you?’
Saggers speaks loudly, so his voice can be heard above the preparations for the next match. Rats scratch against the boards by which Hilditch stands, confronted by Saggers, while in the periphery of his vision they run pell mell about the pit. A small, sharp-eared terrier yaps excitedly in its owner’s arms.
‘Drop the little feller in,’ somebody calls. ‘He looks ready for ’en!’
‘Wait!’ The voice of William Saggers is loud enough to brook further chatter. ‘Hold your dog, Isaac. He can have his turn after the diversion.’
News of this diversion daisy-chains about the pit and Hilditch has every man’s attention as he turns Daniel about and, with a dog’s rope, pinions his arms behind his back. ‘Jes’ so you isn’t tempted to cheat,’ he says.
The boy, with a face that is a mixing of shock and rage, protests loudly. ‘You promised I shouldn’t do this again!’
‘And you promised to bring home your money,’ his father replies, as he helps the boy up upon a pit-side table. ‘Now go on, give the gentlemen their entertainment and there might be something in it for you.’
Daniel stands above the crowd. At first Hilditch thinks the boy’s trembling is caused by his precarious perch – the table rocks upon a shortened leg – but then he sees the dark streak upon the boy’s trousers and the new puddling upon the tabletop. The boy whimpers softly.
‘No good looking at that particular jintleman,’ Saggers says. ‘He’s only a observer! Now, into the pit, Dan’l, or it’ll go the worse for you.’
The boy hesitates. He looks again at Hilditch, as if he might penetrate the opaqueness of his disguise. Saggers moves towards him and raises his stick. ‘’E jest needs a little poke,’ he tells the crowd, but before Saggers can follow through, the boy jumps to the floor of the pit. He lands hard upon the boards but loses his balance and crashes to the floor. His tied hands are trapped beneath him and for some moments he is unable to rise or to prevent the rats swarming over his legs and chest. Daniel struggles but is at last upon his feet, crying petulantly, ‘I ain’t doing this again!’
‘A half dozen rats in five minutes, Daniel – that ain’t asking much, I think, of a dutiful son.’
‘I only done two last time,’ the boy complains.
Saggers’ stick prods the boy towards the largest piling of rats. ‘Every one on ’em, Dan’l, or you’ll bed in the gutter tonight. I’ve had my fill of you.’
Tears of anger and frustration flash in the boy’s eyes as he crosses the pit and swings a ferocious kick at the writhing mound. As the rats disperse, he stamps hard and crushes the head of one and immediately receives a crack across his own skull from his father’s stick. ‘None of that, none of that! You bite ’em, same as the dogs!’
Around the ring, bets are being made by the sanguinary men who cheer noisily as the stick flails and Daniel ducks to avoid another knock on the head. The boy resigns himself to his circumstances and falls to his knees before the rats. Screwing tight his eyes, he darts his head among them in the manner of the dogs before him. The topmost creatures escape his incursion by scrabbling over the boy’s head, matting his hair and scratching his scalp before they run off down his back. Others dart out from between his legs and around his sides. The boy shuffles about, his head bobs up and down and then he straightens his back and turns about. Blood streams from