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twg_000012583700 | the substantial and luxurious to an amazing extent. Unlimited pork sausages and inexhaustible buttered toast, balanced with muffins or crumpets, was her idea of "tea." The liquid was a secondary point--in one sense--but it was always strong. It was the only strong liquid in fact allowed in the house, for Mr Twitter, Mr... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583701 | members of the Blue Ribbon Army; more or less enthusiastic according to their light and capacity. The young Twitters descended in a graduated scale from Sammy, the eldest, (about sixteen), down through Molly, and Willie, and Fred, and Lucy, to Alice the so-called "baby"--though she was at that time a remarkably robust ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583702 | were aware of her tendencies, and appreciated her hospitality, insomuch that the "few" bade fair to develop by degrees into many. Well, Mrs Twitter had her few friends to tea, and conviviality was at its height. The subject of conversation was poverty. Mrs Loper, a weak-minded but amiable lady, asserted that a large fa... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583703 | poor family. Mrs Loper did not know that Mrs Twitter's income was five hundred, but she suspected it. Mrs Twitter herself carefully avoided giving the slightest hint on the subject. "Of course," continued Mrs Loper, "I don't mean to say that people with five hundred are _very_ poor, you know; indeed it all depends on t... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583704 | like you, now, to feed and clothe and educate, and with everything so dear as it is now, I should say that five hundred was poverty." "Well, I don't quite agree with you, Mrs Loper, on that point. To my mind it does not so much depend on the family, as on the notions, and the capacity to manage, in | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583705 | the head of the family. I remember one family just now, whose head was cut off suddenly, I may say in the prime of life. A hundred and fifty a year or thereabouts was the income the widow had to count on, and she was left with five little ones to rear. She trained them well, gave them good educations, | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583706 | made most of their garments with her own hands when they were little, and sent one of her boys to college, yet was noted for the amount of time she spent in visiting the poor, the sick, and the afflicted, for whom she had always a little to spare out of her limited income. Now, if wealth is to be | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583707 | measured by results, I think we may say that that poor lady was rich. She was deeply mourned by a large circle of poor people when she was taken home to the better land. Her small means, having been judiciously invested by a brother, increased a little towards the close of life, but she never was what the world esteems | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583708 | rich." Mrs Twitter looked at a very tall man with a dark unhandsome countenance, as if to invite his opinion. "I quite agree with you," he said, helping himself to a crumpet, "there are some people with small incomes who seem to be always in funds, just as there are other people with large incomes who are always hard-u... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583709 | former are really rich, the latter really poor." Having delivered himself of these sentiments somewhat sententiously, Mr Crackaby,--that was his name,--proceeded to consume the crumpet. There was a general tendency on the part of the other guests to agree with their hostess, but one black sheep in the flock objected. H... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583710 | liberality with small means was beautiful to behold as well as desirable to possess--the liberality, not the small means--and that, on the other hand, riches with a narrow niggardly spirit was abominable, but then--and the black sheep came, usually, to the strongest part of his argument when he said "but then"--it was ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583711 | to famine prices, and gold was depreciated in value owing to the gold-fields, and silver was nowhere, and coppers were changed into bronze,--exceedingly difficult to practise liberality and at the same time to make the two ends meet. As no one clearly saw the exact bearing of the black sheep's argument, they all replie... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583712 | which Ignorance seeks to conceal herself, and which Politeness substitutes for the more emphatic "pooh," or the inelegant "bosh." Then, applying themselves with renewed zest to the muffins, they put about ship, nautically speaking, and went off on a new tack. "Mr Twitter is rather late to-night, I think?" said Mr Crack... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583713 | in character. "He is, indeed," replied the hostess, "business must have detained him, for he is the very soul of punctuality. That is one of his many good qualities, and it is _such_ a comfort, for I can always depend on him to the minute,--breakfast, dinner, tea; he never keeps us waiting, as too many men do, except, ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583714 | when he is unavoidably detained by business." "Ah, yes, business has much to answer for," remarked Mrs Loper, in a tone which suggested that she held business to be an incorrigibly bad fellow; "whatever mischief happens with one's husband it's sure to be business that did it." "Pardon me, madam," objected the black she... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583715 | Stickler, "business does bring about much of the disaster that often appertains to wedded life, but mischief is sometimes done by other means, such, for instance, as accidents, robberies, murders--" "Oh! Mr Stickler," suddenly interrupted a stout, smiling lady, named Larrabel, who usually did the audience part of Mrs T... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583716 | when Mr Twitter is unusually late?" Mr Stickler protested that he had no intention of alarming the company by disagreeable suggestions, that he had spoken of accident, robbery, and murder in the abstract. "There, you've said it all over again," interrupted Mrs Larrabel, with an unwonted frown. "But then," continued Sti... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583717 | rifled pocket and stunned person, or a cut windpipe, may be applicable to the argument in hand without being applied to Mr Twitter." "Surely," said Mrs Loper, who deemed the reply unanswerable. In this edifying strain the conversation flowed on until the evening grew late and the party began to grow alarmed. "I do hope... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583718 | said Mrs Loper, with a solemnised face. "I think not. I have seen him come home much later than this--though not often," said the hostess, the only one of the party who seemed quite at ease, and who led the conversation back again into shallower channels. As the night advanced, however, the alarm became deeper, and it ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583719 | by Mrs Loper that Crackaby should proceed to Twitter's office--a distance of three miles--to inquire whether and when he had left; while the smiling Mrs Larrabel proposed to send information to the headquarters of the police in Scotland Yard, because the police knew everything, and could find out anything. "You have no... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583720 | are at Scotland Yard. Would you believe it, I left my umbrellar the other day in a cab, and I didn't know the number of the cab, for numbers won't remain in my head, nor the look of the cabman, for I never look at cabmen, they are so rude sometimes. I didn't even remember the place where I got | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583721 | into the cab, for I can't remember places when I've to go to so many, so I gave up my umbrellar for lost and was going away, when a policeman stepped up to me and asked in a very civil tone if I had lost anything. He was so polite and pleasant that I told him of my loss, though | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583722 | I knew it would do me no good, as he had not seen the cab or the cabman. "`I think, madam,' he said, `that if you go down to Scotland Yard to-morrow morning, you may probably find it there.' "`Young man,' said I, `do you take me for a fool!' "`No, madam, I don't,' he replied. "`Or do you take | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583723 | my umbrellar for a fool,' said I, `that it should walk down to Scotland Yard of its own accord and wait there till I called for it?' "`Certainly not, madam,' he answered with such a pleasant smile that I half forgave him. "`Nevertheless if you happen to be in the neighbourhood of Scotland Yard to-morrow,' he added, `it... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583724 | as well to call in and inquire.' "`Thank you,' said I, with a stiff bow as I left him. On the way home, however, I thought there might be something in it, so I did go down to Scotland Yard next day, where I was received with as much civility as if I had been a lady of quality, and | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583725 | was taken to a room as full of umbrellas as an egg's full of meat--almost. "`You'd know the umbrellar if you saw it, madam,' said the polite constable who escorted me. "`Know it, sir!' said I, `yes, I should think I would. Seven and sixpence it cost me--new, and I've only had it a week--brown silk with a plain handle--... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583726 | there it is!' And there it was sure enough, and he gave it to me at once, only requiring me to write my name in a book, which I did with great difficulty because of my gloves, and being so nervous. Now, how did the young policeman that spoke to me the day before know that my umbrellar would go | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583727 | there, and how did it get there? They say the days of miracles are over, but I don't think so, for that was a miracle if ever there was one." "The days of miracles are indeed over, ma'am," said the black sheep, "but then that is no reason why things which are in themselves commonplace should not appear miraculous to | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583728 | the uninstructed mind. When I inform you that our laws compel cabmen under heavy penalties to convey left umbrellas and parcels to the police-office, the miracle may not seem quite so surprising." Most people dislike to have their miracles unmasked. Mrs Larrabel turned from the black sheep to her hostess without replyi... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583729 | Scotland Yard--thus delicately showing that although, possibly, convinced, she was by no means converted. They were interrupted at this point by a hurried knock at the street door. "There he is at last," exclaimed every one. "It is his knock, certainly," said Mrs Twitter, with a perplexed look, "but rather peculiar--no... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583730 | never knew my Sam impatient before in all our wedded life. You'd better open the door, dear," she said, turning to the eldest Twitter, he being the only one of the six who was privileged to sit up late, "Mary seems to have fallen asleep." Before the eldest Twitter could obey, the maligned Mary was heard to open the doo... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583731 | and utter an exclamation of surprise, and her master's step was heard to ascend the stair rather unsteadily. The guests looked at each other anxiously. It might be that to some minds--certainly to that of the black sheep--visions of violated blue-ribbonism occurred. As certainly these visions did _not_ occur to Mrs Twi... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583732 | her husband. Trustfulness formed a prominent part of her character, and her confidence in her Sam was unbounded. Even when her husband came against the drawing-room door with an awkward bang--the passage being dark--opened it with a fling, and stood before the guests with a flushed countenance, blazing eyes, a peculiar... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583733 | arms, she did not doubt him. "Forgive me, my dear," he said, gazing at his wife in a manner that might well have justified the black sheep's thought, "screwed," "I--I-- business kept me in the office very late, and then--" He cast an imbecile glance at the bundle. "What _ever_ have you got there, Sam?" asked his wonder... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583734 | me! it moves!" exclaimed Mrs Loper. "Live poultry!" thought the black sheep, and visions of police cells and penal servitude floated before his depraved mental vision. "Yes, Mrs Loper, it moves. It is alive--though not very much alive, I fear. My dear, I've found--found a baby--picked it up in the street. Not a soul th... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583735 | or been trodden on if I had not taken it up. See here!" He untied the dirty bundle as he spoke, and uncovered the round little pinched face with the great solemn eyes, which gazed, still wonderingly, at the assembled company. It is due to the assembled company to add that it returned the gaze with compound interest. CH... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583736 | TREATS STILL FURTHER OF RICHES, POVERTY, BABIES, AND POLICE. When Mr and Mrs Twitter had dismissed the few friends that night, they sat down at their own fireside, with no one near them but the little foundling, which lay in the youngest Twitter's disused cradle, gazing at them with its usual solemnity, for it did not ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583737 | They opened up their minds to each other thus:-- "Now, Samuel," said Mrs Twitter, "the question is, what are you going to do with it?" "Well, Mariar," returned her spouse, with an assumption of profound gravity, "I suppose we must send it to the workhouse." "You know quite well, Sam, that you don't mean that," said Mrs... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583738 | little forsaken mite! Just look at its solemn eyes. It has been clearly cast upon us, Sam, and it seems to me that we are bound to look after it." "What! with six of our own, Mariar?" "Yes, Sam. Isn't there a song which says something about luck in odd numbers?" "And with only pounds a year?" objected Mr Twitter. | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583739 | "_Only_ five hundred. How can you speak so? We are _rich_ with five hundred. Can we not educate our little ones?" "Yes, my dear." "And entertain our friends?" "Yes, my love,--with crumpets and tea." "Don't forget muffins and bloater paste, and German sausage and occasional legs of mutton, you ungrateful man!" "I don't ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583740 | is powerful; I may even say vivid." "Well," continued the lady, "haven't you been able to lend small sums on several occasions to friends--" "Yes, my dear,--and they are _still_ loans," murmured the husband. "And don't we give a little--I sometimes think too little--regularly to the poor, and to the church, and haven't... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583741 | the Post-office savings-bank?" "All true, Mariar, and all _your_ doing. But for your thrifty ways, and economical tendencies, and rare financial abilities, I should have been bankrupt long ere now." Mr Twitter was nothing more than just in this statement of his wife's character. She was one of those happily constituted... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583742 | everything, and who, while by no means turning her eyes away from the dark sides of things, nevertheless gave people the impression that she saw only their bright sides. Her economy would have degenerated into nearness if it had not been commensurate with her liberality, for while, on the one hand, she was ever anxious... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583743 | the needy and suffering every penny that she could spare, she was, on the other hand, strictly economical in trifles. Indeed Mrs Twitter's vocabulary did not contain the word trifle. One of her favourite texts of Scripture, which was always in her mind, and which she had illuminated in gold and hung on her bedroom wall... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583744 | of God, was, "Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost." Acting on this principle with all her heart, she gathered up the fragments of time, so that she had always a good deal of that commodity to spare, and was never in a hurry. She gathered up bits of twine and made neat little rings of them, which she | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583745 | deposited in a basket--a pretty large basket--which in time became such a repository of wealth in that respect that the six Twitters never failed to find the exact size and quality of cordage wanted by them--and, indeed, even after the eldest, Sammy, came to the years of discretion, if he had suddenly required a cable ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583746 | iron-clad, his mind would, in the first blush of the thing, have reverted to mother's basket! If friends wrote short notes to Mrs Twitter--which they often did, for the sympathetic find plenty of correspondents--the blank leaves were always torn off and consigned to a scrap-paper box, and the pile grew big enough at la... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583747 | stationer in business. And so with everything that came under her influence at home or abroad. She emphatically did what she could to prevent waste, and became a living fulfilment of the well-known proverb, for as she wasted not she wanted not. But to return from this digression-- "Well, then," said Mrs Twitter, "don't... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583748 | used the name in full when anxious to be impressive), "with what Providence has given us, by putting the word `only' to it, for we are _rich_ with five hundred a year." Mr Twitter freely admitted that he was wrong, and said he would be more careful in future of the use to which he put the word "only." "But," | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583749 | said he, "we haven't a hole or corner in the house to put the poor thing in. To be sure, there's the coal-cellar and the scuttle might be rigged up as a cradle, but--" He paused, and looked at his wife. The deceiver did not mean all this to be taken as a real objection. He was himself anxious to | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583750 | retain the infant, and only made this show of opposition to enlist Maria more certainly on his side. "Not a corner!" she exclaimed, "why, is there not the whole parlour? Do you suppose that a baby requires a four-post bed, and a wash-hand-stand, and a five-foot mirror? Couldn't we lift the poor darling in and out in ha... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583751 | Besides, there is our own room. I feel as if there was an uncomfortable want of some sort ever since _our_ baby was transplanted to the nursery. So we will establish the old bassinet and put the mite there." "And what shall we call it, Maria?" "Call it--why, call it--call it--Mite--no name could be more appropriate." "... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583752 | if a name at all, is a man's--that is, it sounds like a masculine name." "Call it Mita, then." And so it was named, and thus that poor little waif came to be adopted by that "rich" family. It seems to be our mission, at this time, to introduce our readers to various homes--the homes of England, so to speak! | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583753 | But let not our readers become impatient, while we lead the way to one more home, and open the door with our secret latch-key. This home is in some respects peculiar. It is not a poor one, for it is comfortable and clean. Neither is it a rich one, for there are few ornaments, and no luxuries about it. Over | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583754 | the fire stoops a comely young woman, as well as one can judge, at least, from the rather faint light that enters through a small window facing a brick wall. The wall is only five feet from the window, and some previous occupant of the rooms had painted on it a rough landscape, with three very green trees and a | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583755 | very blue lake, and a swan in the middle thereof, sitting on an inverted swan which was meant to be his reflection, but somehow seemed rather more real than himself. The picture is better, perhaps, than the bricks were, yet it is not enlivening. The only other objects in the room worth mentioning are, a particularly sm... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583756 | corner; a cuckoo-clock on the mantel-shelf, an engraved portrait of Queen Victoria on the wall opposite in a gilt frame, and a portrait of Sir Robert Peel in a frame of rosewood beside it. On a little table in the centre of the room are the remains of a repast. Under the table is a very small child, probably four | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583757 | years of age. Near the window is another small, but older child--a boy of about six or seven. He is engaged in fitting on his little head a great black cloth helmet with a bronze badge, and a peak behind as well as before. Having nearly extinguished himself with the helmet, the small boy seizes a very large truncheon, ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583758 | makes a desperate effort to flourish it. Close to the comely woman stands a very tall, very handsome, and very powerful man, who is putting in the uppermost buttons of a police-constable's uniform. Behold, reader, the _tableau vivant_ to which we would call your attention! "Where d'you go on duty to-day, Giles," asked ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583759 | to that of her husband. "Oxford Circus," replied the policeman. "It is the first time I've been put on fixed-point duty. That's the reason I'm able to breakfast with you and the children, Molly, instead of being off at half-past five in the morning as usual. I shall be on for a month." "I'm glad of it, Giles, for it | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583760 | gives the children a chance of seeing something of you. I wish you'd let me look at that cut on your shoulder. Do!" "No, no, Molly," returned the man, as he pushed his wife playfully away from him. "Hands off! You know the punishment for assaulting the police is heavy! Now then, Monty," (to the boy), "give up my helmet | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583761 | and truncheon. I must be off." "Not yet, daddy," cried Monty, "I's a pleeceman of the A Division, Number , 'ats me, an' I'm goin' to catch a t'ief. I 'mell 'im." "You smell him, do you? Where is he, d'you think?" "Oh! I know," replied the small policeman--here he came close up to his father, and, getting on tiptoe, | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583762 | said in a very audible whisper, "he's under de table, but don' tell 'im I know. His name's Joe!" "All right, I'll keep quiet, Monty, but look alive and nab him quick, for I must be off." Thus urged the small policeman went on tiptoe to the table, made a sudden dive under it, and collared his little brother. The | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583763 | arrest, however, being far more prompt than had been expected, the "t'ief" refused to be captured. A struggle ensued, in the course of which the helmet rolled off, a corner of the tablecloth was pulled down, and the earthenware teapot fell with a crash to the floor. "It's my duty, I fear," said Giles, "to take you both... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583764 | and lock you up in a cell for breaking the teapot as well as the peace, but I'll be merciful and let you off this time, Monty, if you lend your mother a hand to pick up the pieces." Monty agreed to accept this compromise. The helmet and truncheon were put to their proper uses, and the merciful police-constable went | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583765 | out "on duty." CHAPTER SIX. WEALTH PAYS A VISIT TO POVERTY. It was an interesting sight to watch police-constable Number as he went through the performance of his arduous duties that day at the Regent Circus in Oxford Street. To those who are unacquainted with London, it may be necessary to remark that this circus is o... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583766 | centres of traffic where two main arteries cross and tend to cause so much obstruction, that complete stoppages would become frequent were it not for the admirable management of the several members of the police force who are stationed there to keep order. The "Oxford Circus," as it is sometimes called, is by no means ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583767 | of such crossings, nevertheless the tide of traffic is sufficiently strong and continuous there to require several police-constables on constant duty. When men are detailed for such "Fixed-Point" duty they go on it for a month at a time, and have different hours from the other men, namely, from nine in the morning till... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583768 | said it was interesting to watch our big hero, Number , in the performance of his arduous duties. He occupied the crossing on the city side of the circus. It was a magnificent afternoon, and all the metropolitan butterflies were out. Busses flowed on in a continuous stream, looking like big bullies who incline to use t... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583769 | to crush through all obstruction. The drivers of these were for the most part wise men, and restrained themselves and their steeds. In one or two instances, where the drivers were unwise, a glance from the bright eye of Giles Scott was quite sufficient to keep all right. And Giles could only afford to bestow a fragment... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583770 | time on the refractory, for, almost at one and the same moment he had to check the impetuous, hold up a warning hand to the unruly, rescue a runaway child from innumerable horse-legs, pilot a stout but timid lady from what we may call refuge-island, in the middle of the roadway, to the pavement, answer an imbecile's qu... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583771 | the whereabouts of the Tower or Saint Paul's, order a loitering cabby to move on, and look out for his own toes, as well as give moderate attention to the carriage-poles which perpetually threatened the small of his own back. We should imagine that the premium of insurance on the life of Number was fabulous in amount, ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583772 | Besides his great height, Giles possessed a drooping moustache, which added much to his dignified appearance. He was also imperturbably grave, except when offering aid to a lady or a little child, on which occasions the faintest symptoms of a smile floated for a moment on his visage like an April sunbeam. At all other ... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583773 | of incorruptible justice and awful immobility. No amount of chaff, no quantity of abuse, no kind of flattery, no sort of threat could move him any more than the seething billows of the Mediterranean can move Gibraltar. Costermongers growled at him hopelessly. Irate cabmen saw that their wisdom lay in submission. Crimin... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583774 | was hopeless, just as, conversely, old ladies felt that once under his protection they were in absolute security. Even street-boys felt that references to "bobbies," "coppers," and "slops;" questions as to how 'is 'ead felt up there; who rolled 'im hout so long; whether his mother knew 'e was hout; whether 'e'd sell 'e... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583775 | advice to come down off the ladder, or to go 'ome to bed-- that all these were utterly thrown away and lost upon Giles Scott. The garb of the London policeman is not, as every one knows, founded on the principles of aesthetics. Neither has it been devised on utilitarian principles. Indeed we doubt whether the originato... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583776 | we are happy to profess ignorance of his name), proceeded on any principle whatever, except the gratification of a wild and degraded fancy. The colour, of course, is not objectionable, and the helmet might be worse, but the tunic is such that the idea of grace or elegance may not consist with it. We mention these facts... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583777 | was so well-made that he forced his tunic to look well, and thus added one more to the already numerous "exceptions" which are said to "prove the rule." "Allow me, madam," said Giles, offering his right-hand to an elderly female, who, having screwed up her courage to make a rush, got into sudden danger and became menta... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583778 | midst of a conglomerate of hoofs, poles, horse-heads, and wheels. The female allowed him, and the result was sudden safety, a gasp of relief, and departure of hysteria. "Not yet, please," said Giles, holding up a warning right-hand to the crowd on refuge-island, while with his left waving gently to and fro he gave perm... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583779 | flow. "Now," he added, holding up the left-hand suddenly. The stream was stopped as abruptly as were the waters of Jordan in days of old, and the storm-staid crew on refuge-island made a rush for the mainland. It was a trifling matter to most of them that rush, but of serious moment to the few whose limbs had lost thei... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583780 | elasticity, or whose minds could not shake off the memory of the fact that between and lives are lost in London streets by accidents every year, and that between and are more or less severely injured annually. Before the human stream had got quite across, an impatient hansom made a push. The eagle eye of Number had obs... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583781 | and in a moment his gigantic figure stood calmly in front of the horse, whose head was raised high above his helmet as the driver tightened the reins violently. Just then a small slipshod girl made an anxious dash from refuge-island, lost courage, and turned to run back, changed her mind, got bewildered, stopped sudden... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583782 | by the arm, bore her to the pavement, and turned, just in time to see the hansom dash on in the hope of being overlooked. Vain hope! Number saw the number of the hansom, booked it in his memory while he assisted in raising up an old gentleman who had been overturned, though not injured, in endeavouring to avoid it. | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583783 | During the lull--for there are lulls in the rush of London traffic, as in the storms of nature,--Giles transferred the number of that hansom to his note-book, thereby laying up a little treat for its driver in the shape of a little trial the next day terminating, probably, with a fine. Towards five in the afternoon the... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583784 | this began to tell even on the powerful frame of Giles Scott, but no symptom did he show of fatigue, and so much reserve force did he possess that it is probable he would have exhibited as calm and unwearied a front if he had remained on duty for eighteen hours instead of eight. About that hour, also, there came | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583785 | an unusual glut to the traffic, in the form of a troop of the horse-guards. These magnificent creatures, resplendent in glittering steel, white plumes, and black boots, were passing westward. Giles stood in front of the arrested stream. A number of people stood, as it were, under his shadow. Refuge-island was overflowi... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583786 | some impatience was being manifested by drivers, when a little shriek was heard, and a child's voice exclaimed:-- "Oh! papa, papa--there's _my_ policeman--the one I so nearly killed. He's _not_ dead after all!" Giles forgot his dignity for one moment, and, looking round, met the eager gaze of little Di Brandon. Another... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583787 | that he lost sight of her, but Di took good care not to lose sight of him. "We will wait here, darling," said her father, referring to refuge-island on which he stood, "and when he is disengaged we can speak to him." "Oh! I'm _so_ glad he's not dead," said little Di, "and p'raps he'll be able to show us | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583788 | the way to my boy's home." Di had a method of adopting, in a motherly way, all who, in the remotest manner, came into her life. Thus she not only spoke of our butcher and our baker, which was natural, but referred to "my policeman" and "my boy" ever since the day of the accident. When Giles had set his | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583789 | portion of the traffic in harmonious motion he returned to his island, and was not sorry to receive the dignified greeting of Sir Richard Brandon, while he was delighted as well as amused by the enthusiastic grasp with which Di seized his huge hand in both of her little ones, and the earnest manner in which she inquire... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583790 | health, and if she had hurt him much. "Did they put you to bed and give you hot gruel?" she asked, with touching pathos. "No, miss, they didn't think I was hurt quite enough to require it," answered Giles, his drooping moustache curling slightly as he spoke. "I had hoped to see you at my house," said Sir Richard, "you | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583791 | did not call." "Thank you, sir, I did not think the little service I rendered your daughter worth making so much of. I called, however, the same evening, to inquire for her, but did not wish to intrude on you." "It would have been no intrusion, friend," returned Sir Richard, with grand condescension. "One who has saved... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583792 | has a claim upon my consideration." "A dook 'e must be," said a small street boy in a loud stage whisper to a dray-man--for small street-boys are sown broadcast in London, and turn up at all places on every occasion, "or p'raps," he added on reflection, "'e's on'y a markiss." "Now then," said Giles to the dray-man with... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583793 | of the hand that caused him to move on, while he cast a look on the boy which induced him to move off. "By the way, constable," said Sir Richard, "I am on my way to visit a poor boy whose leg was broken on the day my pony ran away. He was holding the pony at the time. He | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583794 | lives in Whitechapel somewhere. I have the address here in my note-book." "Excuse me, sir, one moment," said Number , going towards a crowd which had gathered round a fallen horse. "I happen to be going to that district myself," he continued on returning, "what is the boy's name?" "Robert--perhaps I should rather say B... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583795 | name is familiar," returned the policeman, "but in London there are so many--what's his address, sir,--Roy's Court, near Commercial Street? Oh! I know it well--one of the worst parts of London. I know the boy too. He is somewhat noted in that neighbourhood for giving the police trouble. Not a bad-hearted fellow, I beli... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583796 | been brought up among thieves from his birth. His father is, or was, a bird-fancier and seller of penny articles on the streets, besides being a professional pugilist. You will be the better for protection there, sir. I would advise you not to go alone. If you can wait for five or ten minutes," added Giles, "I shall be... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583797 | duty and will be happy to accompany you." Sir Richard agreed to wait. Within the time mentioned Giles was relieved, and, entering a cab with his friends, drove towards Whitechapel. They had to pass near our policeman's lodgings on the way. "Would you object, sir, stopping at my house for five minutes?" he asked. "Certa... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583798 | am in no hurry." Number stopped the cab, leaped out and disappeared through a narrow passage. In less than five minutes a very tall gentlemanly man issued from the same passage and approached them. Little Di opened her blue eyes to their very uttermost. It was _her_ policeman in plain clothes! She did not like the chan... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
twg_000012583799 | first, but before the end of the drive got used to him in his new aspect--all the more readily that he seemed to have cast off much of his stiffness and reserve with his blue skin. Near the metropolitan railway station in Whitechapel the cab was dismissed, and Giles led the father and child along the crowded thoroughfa... | 60 | gutenberg | unknown |
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