Tales of the Old London Slum – Complete Series. Morrison Arthur
Gapp.
Mother Gapp would not even take the watch in her hands; her eyes were good enough at that distance. ‘Lor’, Josh Perrott,’ she said, ‘wot ‘a’ ye bin up to now? Want to git me lagged now, do ye? Ain’t satisfied with breakin’ up the ‘ouse an’ ruinin’ a pore widder that way, ain’t ye? You git out, go on. I ‘ad ‘nough o’ you!’
It was very extraordinary. Was there a general reclamation of fences? But there were men at work at the Feathers, putting down boards and restoring partitions; and two of them had been ‘gone over’ ruinously on their way to work, and now they came and went with four policemen. Possibly Mother Gapp feared the observation of carpenters. Be it as it might, there was nothing for it now but Weech’s.
Mr Weech was charmed. ‘Dear me, it’s a wonderful fine watch, Mr Perrott—a wonderful fine watch. An’ a beautiful chain.’ But he was looking narrowly at the big monogram as he said it. ‘It’s reely a wonderful article. ‘Ow they do git ‘em up, to be sure! Cost a lot o’ money too, I’ll be bound. Might you be thinkin’ o’ sellin’ it?’
‘Yus o’ course,’ replied Josh. ‘That’s wot I brought it for.’
‘Ah, it’s a lovely watch, Mr Perrott—a lov-erly watch; an’ the chain matches it. But you mustn’t be too ‘ard on me. Shall we say four pound for the little lot?’
It was more than double Josh’s wildest hopes, but he wanted all he could get. ‘Five,’ he said doggedly.
Weech gazed at him with tender rebuke. ‘Five pound’s a awful lot o’ money, Mr Perrott,’ he said. ‘You’re too ‘ard on me, reely. I ‘ardly know ‘ow I can scrape it up. But it’s a beautiful little lot, an’ I won’t ‘aggle. But I ain’t got all that money in the ‘ouse now. I never keep so much money in the ‘ouse—sich a neighb’r’ood, Mr Perrott! Bring it round to-morrer mornin’ at eleven.’
‘Awright, I’ll come. Five quid, mind.’
‘Ah yus,’ answered Mr Weech, with a reproving smile. ‘It’s reely more than I ought!’
Josh was jubilant, and forgot his sore ankle. He had never handled such a sum as five pounds since his fight with Billy Leary, years ago; when, indeed, he had stooped to folly in the shape of lavish treating, and so had not enjoyed the handling of the full amount.
Mr Weech, also, was pleased. For it was a great stroke of business to oblige so distinguished a person as the Mogul. There was no telling what advantages it might not lead to in the way of trade.
That night the Perrotts had a hot supper, brought from Walker’s cook-shop in paper. And at eleven the next morning Josh, twenty yards from Mr Weech’s door, with the watch and chain in his pocket, was tapped on the arm by a constable in plain clothes, while another came up on the other side. ‘Mornin’, Perrott,’ said the first constable, cheerily. ‘We’ve got a little business with you at the station.’
‘Me? Wot for?’
‘Oh well, come along; p’raps it ain’t anything—unless there’s a gold watch an’ chain on you, from Highbury. It’s just a turnin’ over.’
‘Awright,’ replied Josh, resignedly. ‘It’s a fair cop. I’ll go quiet.’
‘That’s right, Perrott; it ain’t no good playin’ the fool, you know.’ They were moving along; and as they came by Weech’s shop, a whiskered face, with a patch of shining scalp over it, peeped from behind a curtain that hung at the rear of the bloaters and plumcake in the window. As he saw it, Josh ducked suddenly, wrenching his arm free, and dashed over the threshold. Mr Weech, whiskers and apron flying, galloped through the door at the back, and the constables sprang upon Josh instantly and dragged him into the street. ‘Wotcher mean?’ cried the one who knew him, indignantly, and with a significant glance at the other. ‘Call that goin’ quiet?’
Josh’s face was white and staring with rage. ‘Awright,’ he grunted through his shut teeth, after a pause. ‘I’ll go quiet now. I ain’t got nothin’ agin you.’
CHAPTER XXV
DICKY’S morning theft that day had been but a small one—he had run off with a new two-foot rule that a cabinet-maker had carelessly left on an unfinished office table at his shop door in Curtain Road. It was not much, but it might fetch some sort of a dinner at Weech’s, which would be better than going home, and, perhaps, finding nothing. So about noon, all ignorant of his father’s misfortune, he came by way of Holywell Lane and Bethnal Green Road to Meakin Street.
Mr Weech looked at him rather oddly, Dicky fancied, when he came in, but he took the two-foot rule with alacrity, and brought Dicky a rasher of bacon, and a slice of cake afterward. This seemed very generous. More: Mr Weech’s manner was uncommonly amiable, and when the meal was over, of his own motion, he handed over a supplementary penny. Dicky was surprised; but he had no objection, and he thought little more about it.
As soon as he appeared in Luck Row he was told that his father had been ‘smugged.’ Indeed the tidings had filled the Jago within ten minutes. Josh Perrott was walking quietly along Meakin Street,—so went the news,—when up comes Snuffy and another split, and smugs him. Josh had a go for Weech’s door, to cut his lucky out at the back, but was caught. That was a smart notion of Josh’s, the Jago opinion ran, to get through Weech’s and out into the courts behind. But it was no go.
Hannah Perrott sat in her room, inert and lamenting. Dicky could not rouse her, and at last he went off by himself to reconnoitre about Commercial Street Police Station, and pick up what information he might; while a gossip or two came and took Mrs Perrott for consolation to Mother Gapp’s. Little Em, unwashed, tangled and weeping, could well take care of herself and the room, being more than two years old.
Josh Perrott would be brought up to-morrow, Dicky ascertained, at the North London Police Court. So the next morning found Dicky trudging moodily along the two miles of flags to Stoke Newington Road; while his mother and three sympathising friends, who foresaw an opportunity for numerous tiny drops with interesting circumstances to flavour them, took a penny cast on the way in a tramcar.
Dicky, with some doubt as to the disposition of the door-keeping policeman toward ragged boys, waited for the four women, and contrived to pass in unobserved among them. Several Jagos were in the court, interested not only in Josh’s adventure, but in one of Cocko Harnwell’s, who had indulged, the night before, in an animated little scramble with three policemen in Dalston; and they waited with sympathetic interest while the luck was settled of a long string of drunk-and-disorderlies.
At last Josh was brought in, and lurched composedly into the dock, in the manner of one who knew the routine. The police gave evidence of arrest, in consequence of information received, and of finding the watch and chain in Josh’s trousers pocket. The prosecutor, with his head conspicuously bedight with sticking-plaster, puffed and grunted up into the witness-box, kissed the book, and was a ‘retired commission agent.’ He positively identified the watch and chain, and he not less positively identified Josh Perrott, whom he had picked out from a score of men in the police-yard. This would have been a feat indeed for a man who had never seen Josh, and had only once encountered his fist in the dark, had it not been for the dutiful though private aid of Mr Weech: who, in giving his information had described Josh and his one suit of clothes with great fidelity, especially indicating a scar on the right cheek-bone which would mark him among a thousand. The retired commission agent was quite sure of the prisoner. He had met him on the stairs, where there was plenty of light from a lamp, and the prisoner had attacked him savagely, beating him about the head and flinging him downstairs. The policeman called by the prosecutor’s servant deposed to finding the prosecutor bruised and bleeding. There was a ladder against the back of the house; a bedroom window had been opened; there were muddy marks on the sill; and he had found the stick—produced—lying in the bedroom.
Josh