• Art In The Blood
• MARTIN HEWITT
• ARTHUR MORRISON
• TALES OF MEAN STREETS

ARTHUR MORRISON

A Child of the Jago 
by Arthur Morrison


It was past the mid of a summer night 
in the old Jago. The narrow street was 
all the blacker for the lurid sky ; for there 
was a fire in a further part of Shoreditch, 
and the welkin was an infernal coppery glare. 
Below, the hot heavy air lay, a rank op- 
pression, on the contorted forms of those 
who made for sleep on the pavement : and 
in it, and through it all, there rose from 
foul earth and grimed walls a close, ming- 
led stink the odour of the Jago. 
.
From where, off Shoreditch High Street, 
a narrow passage, set across with posts, gave 
menacing entrance on one end of Old 
Jago Street, to where the other end lost 
itself in the black beyond Jago Row ; from 
where Jago Row began south at Meakin 
Street, to where it ended north at Honey 
Lane ; there the Jago, for one hundred 
years the blackest pit in London, lay and 
festered ; and half way along Old Jago 
Street a narrow archway gave upon Jago 
Court, the blackest hole in all that pit. 
.
A square of two hundred and fifty yards 
or less that was all there was of the 
Jago. But in that square the human pop- 
ulation swarmed in thousands. Old Jago 
Street, New Jago Street, Half Jago street 
lay parallel, east and west ; Jago Row at 
one end and Edge Lane at the other lay 
parallel also, stretching north and south : 
foul ways all. What was too vile for 
Kate Street, Seven Dials, and Ratcliff 
Highway in its worst day, what was too 
useless, incapable and corrupt all that 
teemed in the Old Jago. 
.
Old Jago Street lay black and close 
under the quivering red sky ; and slinking 
forms, as of great rats, followed one ano- 
ther quickly between the posts in the gut 
by the High Street, and scattered over the 
Jago. For the crowd about the fire was 
now small, the police was there in force, 
and every safe pocket had been tried. Soon 
the incursion ceased, and the sky, flicker- 
ing and brightening no longer, settled to a 
sullen flush. On the pavement some 
writhed wearily, longing for sleep; others, 
despairing of it, sat and lolled, and a few 
talked. They were not there for lack of 
shelter, but because in this weather repose 
was less unlikely in the street than within 
doors; and the lodgings of the few who 
nevertheless abode at home were marked, 
here and there, by the lights visible from 
the windows. For in this place none ever 
slept without a light, because of three sorts 
of vermin that light in some sort keeps at 
bay : vermin which added to existence 
here a terror not to be guessed by the un- 
afflicted, who object to being told of it. 
.
For on them that lay writhen and gasping 
on the pavement ; on them that sat among 
them ; on them that rolled and blasphemed 
in the lighted rooms ; on every moving 
creature in this, the Old Jago, day and 
night, sleeping and waking, the third plague 
of Egypt, and more, lay unceasing. 
.
The stifling air took a further oppression 
from the red sky. By the dark entrance 
to Jago Court a man arose, flinging out an 
oath, and sat with his head bowed in his 
hands. 
.
Ah-h-h-h-," he said. "I wish I 
was dead : an' kep' a cawfy shop." He 
looked aside from his hands to his neigh- 
bours, but Kiddo Cook's idea of heaven 
was no new thing, and the sole answer was 
a snort from a dozing man a yard away. 
.
Kiddo Cook felt in his pocket and pro- 
duced a pipe and a screw of paper. " This 
is a bleed'n' unsocial sort o' evenin' party, 
this is," he said. " An' 'ere 's the on'y 
real toff in the mob with 'ardly 'arf a pipe-full left, 
an' no lights. D' y' 'ear, me lord" leaning toward 
the dozing neighbour "got a match ?" 

"Got' 'ell!" 

" O, wot 'orrid langwidge ! It 's shock- 
in', blimy. Arter that y' ought to find me 
a match. Come on.'* 

"Go fell!" 

A lank, elderly man, who sat with his 
back to the wall, pushed up a battered tall 
hat from his eyes, and, producing a box of 
matches, exclaimed " Hell ? And how 
far 's that ? You 're in it ! " He flung 
abroad a bony hand, and glanced upward. 
Over his forehead a greasy black curl dan- 
gled and shook, as he shuddered back 
against the wall. " My God, there can be 
no hell after this ! " 

"Ah," Kiddo Cook remarked, as he 
lit his pipe in the hollow of his hands, 
" that 's a comfort, Mr. Beveridge, any 
'ow." He returned the matches, and the 
old man, tilting his hat forward, was silent. 
A woman, gripping a shawl about her 
shoulders, came furtively along from the 
posts, with a man walking in her tracks 
a little unsteadily. He was not of the 
Jago, but a decent young workman, by his 
dress. The sight took Kiddo Cook's idle 
eye, and when the couple had passed, he 
said meditatively: "There's Billy Leary 
in luck agin ; 'is missis do pick 'em up 
s' 'elp me. I 'd carry the cosh meself if 
I 'd got a woman like 'er." 

Cosh-carrying was near to being the 
major industry of the Jago. The cosh 
was a foot length of iron rod, with a knob 
at one end and a hook (or a ring) at the 
other. The craftsman, carrying it in his 
coat sleeve, waited about dark staircase 
corners till his wife (married or not) brought 
in a well-drunken stranger; when, with a 
sudden blow behind the head, the stranger 
was happily coshed, and whatever was 
found on him, as he lay insensible, was the 
profit on the transaction. In the hands of
capable practitioners this industry yielded 
a comfortable subsistence for no great 
exertion. Most, of course, depended on 
the woman : whose duty it was to keep 
the other artist going in subjects. There 
were legends of surprising ingatherings 
achieved by wives of especial diligence : 
one of a woman who had brought to the 
cosh some six-and-twenty on a night of 
public rejoicing. This was, however, a 
story years old, and may have been no 
more than an exemplary fiction designed, 
like a Sunday School book, to convey a 
counsel of perfection to the dutiful ma- 
trons of the Old Jago. 

The man and woman vanished in a 
doorway near the Jago Row end, where, 
for some reason, dozers were fewer than 
about the portal of Jago Court. There 
conversation flagged, and a broken snore 
was heard. It was a quiet night, as quiet- 
ness was counted in the Jago; for it was 
too hot for most to fight in that stifling 
 air too hot to do more than turn on the 
stones and swear. Still, the last hoarse 
yelps of a combat of women came intermit- 
tently from Half Jago Street, in the further 
confines. 

In a little while something large and 
dark was pushed forth from the door- 
opening near Jago Row, which Billy 
Leary's spouse had entered. The thing 
rolled over and lay tumbled on the pave- 
ment, for a time unnoticed. It might have 
been yet another would-be sleeper, but for 
its stillness. Just such a thing it seemed, 
belike, to two that lifted their heads and 
peered from a few yards off, till they rose 
on hands and knees and crept to where it 
lay Jago rats, both. A man it was ; 
with a thick smear across his face, and 
about his head the source of the dark trickle 
that sought the gutter deviously over the 
broken flags. The drab stuff of his pockets 
peeped out here and there in a crumpled 
bunch, and his waistcoat gaped where the 
 watch-guard had been. Clearly, here was 
an uncommonly remunerative cosh a 
cosh so good that the boots had been neg- 
lected, and remained on the man's feet. 
These the kneeling two unlaced deftly, 
and, rising, prize in hand, vanished in the 
deeper shadow of Jago Row. 

A small boy, whom they met full tilt at 
the corner, staggered out to the gutter and 
flung a veteran curse after them. He was 
a slight child, by whose size you might 
have judged his age at five. But his face 
was of serious and troubled age. One 
who knew the children of the Jago, and 
could tell, might have held him eight, or 
from that to nine. 

He replaced his hands in his trousers 
pockets and trudged up the street. As he 
brushed by the coshed man he glanced again 
toward Jago Row, and, jerking his thumb 
that way, " Done 'im for 'is boots," he 
piped. But nobody marked him till he 
reached Jago Court, when old Beveridge, 
pushing back his hat once more, called 
sweetly and silkily, " Dicky Perrott ! " and 
beckoned with his finger. 

The boy approached, and as he did so 
the man's skeleton hand suddenly shot out 
and gripped him by the collar. u It-never- 
does-to-see-too-much ! " Beveridge said, in 
a series of shouts, close to the boy's ear. 
u Now go home," he added in a more or- 
dinary tone, with a push to make his 
meaning plain: and straightway relapsed 
against the wall. 

The boy scowled and backed off the 
pavement. His ragged jacket was coarsely 
made from one much larger, and he hitched 
the collar over his shoulder as he slunk 
toward a doorway some few yards on. 
Front doors were used merely as firewood 
in the Old Jago, and most had been burnt 
there many years ago. If, perchance, one 
could have been found still on its hinges it 
stood ever open, and probably would not 
shut. Thus at night the Jago doorways 
were a row of black holes, foul and for- 
bidding. 

Dicky Perrott entered his hole with 
caution, for anywhere, in the passage and 
on the stairs, somebody might be lying 
drunk, against whom it would be unsafe 
to stumble. He found nobody, however, 
and climbed and reckoned his way up the 
first stair-flight with the necessary regard 
for the treads that one might step through 
and the rails that had gone from the side. 
Then he pushed open the door of the first- 
floor back and was at home. 

A little heap of guttering grease, not 
long ago a candle end, stood and spread on 
the mantel-piece, and gave irregular light 
from its drooping wick. A thin-railed 
iron bedstead, bent and staggering, stood 
against a wall, and on its murky coverings 
a half-dressed woman sat and neglected a 
baby that lay by her grieving and wheezing. 
The woman had a long dolorous face, 
empty of expression and weak of mouth, 

II



 

"Where 'a' you bin, Dicky?" she 
asked, rather complaining than asking. 
" It 's sich low hours for a boy." 

Dicky glanced about the room. " Got 
anythink to eat?" he asked. 

u I dunno," she answered listlessly. 
" PYaps there 's a bit o' bread in the cup- 
board. I do n't want nothin', it 's so 'ot. 
An' father ain't been 'ome since tea-time." 

The boy rummaged and found a crust. 
Gnawing at this he crossed to where the 
baby lay. " 'Ullo, Looey," he said, bend- 
ing and patting the muddy cheek. " 'Ullo!" 

The baby turned feebly on its back, 
and set up a thin wail. Its eyes were 
large and bright, its tiny face was pite- 
ously flea-bitten and strangely old. " Wy, 
she's 'ungry, mother," said Dicky Per- 
rott, and took the little thing up. 

He sat on a small box and rocked the 
baby on his knees, feeding it with morsels 
of chewed bread. The mother, dolefully 
inert, looked on and said : " She's that 
backward I 'm quite wore out ; more 'n 
ten months old an' don't even crawl yut. 
It 's a never-endin' trouble, is children." 

She sighed, and presently stretched her- 
self on the bed. The boy rose, and car- 
rying his little sister with care, for she was 
dozing, essayed to look through the grimy 
window. The dull flush still spread over- 
head, but Jago Court lay darkling below, 
with scarce a sign of the ruinous back yards 
that edged it on this and the opposite sides, 
and nothing but blackness between. 

The boy returned to his box, and sat. 
Then he said, " I do n't s'pose father 's 
'avin' a sleep outside, eh ?" 

The woman sat up with some show of 
energy. "Wot?" she said sharply. "Sleep 
out in the street like them low Ranns an' 
Learys ? I should 'ope not. It 's bad 
enough livin' 'ere at all an' me being used 
to different things once, an' all. You 
ain't seen 'im outside,'ave ye ?" 

" No, I ain't seen 'im ; I jist looked in 
the court." Then after a pause, " I 'ope 
'e's done a click," the boy said. 

His mother winced. " I dunno wot you 
mean, Dicky," she said, but falteringly. 
" You you 're gittin' that low an' " 

" Wy, copped somethink, o' course. 
Nicked somethink. You know." 

" If you say sich things as that I'll tell 
'im wot you say, an' 'e ' pay you. We 
ain't that sort o' people, Dicky, you ought 
to know. I was alwis kep' respectable 
an* straight all my life, I 'm sure, an* " 

" I know. You said so before, to father 
 'card : wen 'e brought 'ome that 
there yuller prop the necktie pin. Wy, 
where did 'e git that? 'E ain't 'ad a job for 
munse an' munse ; where 's the yan- 
nups come from wot 's bin for to pay 
the rent, an' git the toke, an' milk for 
Looey ? Think I dunno ? I ain't a kid ; 
I know." 

" Dicky, Dicky ! you must n't say 
sich things ! " was all the mother could 
find to say, with tears in her slack eyes. 
" It 's wicked an' an' low. An* you 
must alwis be respectable an' straight, 
Dicky, an' you'll get on then." 

" Straight people 's fools, /reckon. Kiddo 
Cook says that, an* 'e 's as wide as Broad 
Street. Wen I grow up I'm goin* to git 
toff's close an' be in the 'igh mob. They 
does big clicks." 

" They git put in a dark prison for 
years an' years, Dicky, an' an' if 
you 're sich a wicked low boy, father ' 
give you the strap 'ard," the mother 
returned, with what earnestness she might. 
u Gimme the baby an' you go to bed ; go 
on, 'fore father comes." 

Dicky handed over the baby, whose 
wizen face was now relaxed in sleep, and 
slowly disencumbered himself of the un- 
gainly jacket, staring at the wall in a brown 
study. " It 's the mugs wot git took," he 
said, absently. " An' quoddin ain't so 
bad." Then,after a pause, he turned and 
added suddenly : " S'pose father ' be 
smugged some day, eh, mother ? " 

His mother made no reply, but bent 
languidly over the baby with an indefinite 
pretence of settling it in a place on the' 
bed. Soon Dicky himself, in the short 
and ragged shirt he had worn under the 
jacket, burrowed head first among the 
dingy coverings at the foot, and protruding 
his head at the further side took his ac- 
customed place crosswise at the extreme 
end. 

The filthy ceiling lit and darkened by fits 
as the candle-wick fell and guttered to its 
end. He heard his mother rise and find 
another fragment of candle to light by its 
expiring flame, but he lay still wakeful. 
After a time he asked : " Mother, why 
do n't you come to bed ? " 

" Waiting for father. Go to sleep." 

He was silent for a little. But brain 
and eyes were wide awake, and soon he 
spoke again. "Them noo 'uns in the 
front room,'* he said. u Ain't the man 
give 'is wife a 'idin'yut ? " 

" No." 

" Nor yut the boy 'umpty - backed 
un?" 

" No." 

" Seems they 're mighty pertickler. 
Fancy theirselves too good for their neigh- 
bours ; I 'card Pigeony Poll say that ; on'y 
Poll said" 

" You must n't never listen to Pigeony 
Poll, Dicky. Ain't you 'card me say so ? 
Go to sleep. 'Ere comes father." 

There was, indeed, a step on the stairs, 
but it passed the landing and went on to 
the top floor. Dicky lay awake, but silent, 
gazing upward and back through the dirty 
window just over his head. It was very 
hot, and he fidgeted uncomfortably, fear- 
ing to turn or toss lest the baby should 
wake and cry. There came a change in the 
hue of the sky, and he watched the patch 
within his view, until the red seemed to 
gather in spots and fade a spot at a time. 
Then at last there was a tread on the stairs 
that stayed at the door, and father had 
come home. Dicky lay still, and listened. 

" Lor, Josh, where ye bin ? " Dicky 
heard his mother say. " I 'm almost wore 
out a-waitin'." 

"Awright, awright" this in a hoarse 
grunt, little above a whisper " Got any 
water up 'ere ? Wash this 'ere stick." 

There was a pause, wherein Dicky 
knew his mother looked about her in 
vacant doubt as to whether or not water 
was in the room. Then a quick, under- 
toned scream, and the stick rattled heavily 
on the floor. " It 's sticky ! " his mother 
said. "O, my Gawd, Josh, look at that 
an' bits o' 'air, too ! " The great shadow 
of an open hand shot up across the ceiling, 
and fell again. " O, Josh! O, my Gawd! 
You ain't, 'ave ye? Not not not 
that?" 
u Not wot ? Gawblimy, not wot ? 
Shutcher mouth. If a man fights you 're 
got to fight back, ain'cher ? Anyone 'ud 
think it was a murder, to look at ye. I 
ain't sich a damn fool as that. 'Ere, pull 
up that board." 

Dicky knew the loose floor-board that 
was lifted with a slight groaning jar. It 
was to the right of the hearth, and he had 
shammed sleep when it had been lifted once 
before. His mother whimpered and cried 
quietly. " You ' git in trouble, Josh," 
she said. " I wish you 'd git a regular job, 
Josh, like wot you used I do I do." 

The board was shut down again. Dicky 
Perrott, through one opened eye, saw the 
sky, a pale grey above, and hoped the click 
had been a good one ; hoped also that it 
might bring bullock's liver for dinner. 

Out in the Jago the pale dawn brought 
a cooler air and a chance of sleep. 
From the paving of Old Jago street sad 
grey faces, open-mouthed, looked upward 
as from the Valley of Dry Bones. Down 
by Jago Row the coshed subject, with the 
blood dry on his face, felt the colder air 
and moved a leg. 



II 

Three quarters of a mile east of the 
Jago's outermost limit was the East End 
Elevation Mission and Pansophical Insti- 
tute : such was the amazing success where- 
of, that a new wing had been built, and was 
now to be declared open by a Bishop of 
great eminence and industry. 

The triumphs of the East End Eleva- 
tion Mission and Pansophical Institute were 
known and appreciated far from East 
London, by people who knew less of 
that part than of Asia Minor. Indeed, 
they were chiefly appreciated by these. 
There were kept, perpetually on tap for 
the aspiring East Ender, the Higher Life, 
the Greater Thought, and the Wider Hu- 
manity: with other radiant abstractions, 
mostly in the comparative degree; specifics 
all for the manufacture of the Superior 
Person. There were many Lectures given 
on still more subjects. Pictures were bor- 
rowed and shewn, with revelations to the 
Uninformed of the morals ingeniously con- 
cealed by the painters. The Uninformed 
were also encouraged to debate and to pro- 
duce papers on literary and political mat- 
ters, while still unencumbered with the 
smallest knowledge thereof: for the En- 
largement of the Understanding and the 
Embellishment of the Intellect. And 
there were classes, and clubs, and news- 
papers, and games of draughts, and mu- 
sical evenings, and a brass band, whereby 
the life of the Hopeless Poor might be 
coloured, and the Misery of the Sub- 
merged alleviated. The wretches who 
crowded to these benefits were trades- 
men's sons, small shopkeepers and their 
families, and neat clerks, with here and 
there a smart young artisan of one of the 
especially respectable trades. They freely 
patronised the clubs, the musical evenings, 

 



 

the brass band, and the bagatelle board ; 
and those who took themselves seriously 
debated and Mutually -Improved with 
pomp. Others, subject to savage fits of 
wanting-to-know, made short rushes at 
random evening classes, with intervals of 
disgusted apathy. Altogether, a number 
of decently-dressed and mannerly young 
men passed many evenings at the Pan- 
sophical Institute in harmless pleasures, 
and often with an agreeable illusion of in- 
tellectual advance. 

Other young men, more fortunately cir- 
cumstanced, with the educational varnish 
fresh and raw upon them, came from afar, 
equipped with a foreign mode of thought 
and a proper ignorance of the world and 
the proportions of things, as Missionaries. 
Not without some anxiety to their parents, 
they plunged into the perilous deeps of the 
East End, to struggle for a fortnight 
with its suffering and its brutishness. So 
they went among the tradesmen's sons 
and the shopmen, who endured them as 
they endured the nominal subscription; 
and they came away with a certain relief, 
and with some misgiving as to what im- 
pression they had made, and what they had 
done to make it. But it was with knowl- 
edge and authority that they went back 
among those who had doubted their per- 
sonal safety in the dark region. The East 
End, they reported, was nothing like what 
it was said to be. You could see much 
worse places up West. The people were 
quite a decent sort, in their way : shocking 
Bounders, of course, but quite clean and 
quiet, and very comfortably dressed, with 
ties and collars and watches. 

But the Missionaries were few, and the 
subscribers to the Elevation Mission were 
many. Most had been convinced, by 
what they had been told, by what they 
had read in charity appeals, and perhaps 
by what they had seen in police-court and 
inquest reports, that the whole East End 
was a wilderness of slums; slums packed 
with starving human organisms, without 
minds and without morals, preying on each 
other alive. These subscribers visited the 
Institute by twos and threes, on occasions 
of particular festivity among the neat clerks, 
and were astonished at the wonderful effects 
of Pansophic Elevation on the degraded 
classes, their aspect and their habits. Per- 
haps it was a concert where nobody was 
drunk; perhaps a little dance, where no- 
body howled a chorus, nor wore his hat, 
nor punched his partner in the eye. It was 
a great marvel, whereunto the observers 
testified : so that more subscriptions came, 
and the new wing was built. 

The afternoon was bright, and all was 
promising. A small crowd of idlers hung 
about the main door of the Institute and 
stared at a string of flags. Away to the 
left stood the new wing, a face of fair, 
clean brick; the ornamentation, of approved 
earnestness, in terra-cotta squares at regu- 
lar intervals. Within sat many friends 
and relations of the shopmen and superior 
mechanics, and waited for the Bishop, the 
Eminences of the Elevation Mission sit- 
ting apart on the platform. Without, among 
the idlers, waited Dicky Perrott. His no- 
tions of what was going on were indis- 
tinct; but he had a belief, imbibed through 
rumour and tradition, that all celebrations at 
such large buildings were accompanied by 
the consumption, in the innermost recesses, 
of cake and tea. Even to be near cake 
was something. In Shoreditch High Street 
was a shop where cake stood in the win- 
dow in great slabs, one slab over another, 
to an incalculable value. At this win- 
dow against it, as near as possible, his 
face flattened white Dickey would stand 
till the shop-keeper drove him off; till he 
had but to shut his eyes to see once more, 
in the shifting black, the rich yellow sec- 
tions with their myriad raisins. Once a 
careless errand boy, who had bought a 
slice, took so clumsy a bite as he emerged 
that near a third of the whole piece broke 
and fell; and this Dickey had snatched 
from the paving and bolted with ere 
the owner quite saw his loss. This was 
a superior sort of cake, at a penny. But 
once he had managed to buy himself a 
slice of an inferior sort for a half-penny in 
Meakin Street. 

Dicky Perrott, these blessed menv ries 
in his brain, stood unobtrusively near the 
door, with the big jacket buttoned over as 
decently as might be, full of a desperate 
design : which was to get inside by what- 
soever manner of trick or opportunity he 
might, and so, if it were humanly possible, 
to the cake. 

The tickets were being taken at the 
door by an ardent young Elevator one 
of the Missionaries. Him, and all such 
washed and well-dressed people, Dicky had 
learnt to hold in serene contempt when 
the business in hand was dodging. There 
was no hurry : the Elevator might waste 
his vigilance on the ticket-holders for some 
time yet j and Dicky knew better than to 
betray the smallest sign of a desire for 
entrance while his enemy's attention was 
awake. 

Carriages drew up, and yielded more 
Eminences : toward the end the Bishop 
himself, whom Dicky observed but as a 
pleasant-looking old gentleman in uncom- 
mon clothes  and on whom he bestowed 
no more thought than a passing wonder at 
what might be the accident to his hat 
which had necessitated its repair with 
string. 

But at the spikes of the Bishop's car- 
riage came another, and out of that there 
got three ladies, friends of the ticket re- 
ceiver, on whom they closed, greeting and 
shaking hands ; and in a flash Dicky Per- 
rott was beyond the lobby and moving 
obscurely along the walls of the inner hall, 
behind pillars and in shadow, seeking cake. 
The Choral Society sang their lustiest, 
and there were speeches. Eminences ex- 
pressed their surprise and delight at finding 
the people of the East End gathered in the 
Institute Building, so respectable and clean, 
thanks to persistent, indefatigable, unselfish 
Elevation. 

The good Bishop, amid clapping of 
hands and fluttering of handkerchiefs, piped 
cherubically of everything. He rejoiced 
to see that day, whereon the helping hand 
of the West was so unmistakably made 
apparent in the East. He rejoiced also to 
find himself in the midst of so admirably 
typical an assemblage so representative, 
if he might say so, of that great East End 
of London, thirsting and crying out for 
for Elevation; for that ah Elevation 
which the more fortunately circumstanced 
denizens of of other places, had so munifi- 
cently laid on. The people of the East 
End had been sadly misrepresented in 
popular periodicals and in in other ways. 

The East End, he was convinced, was not 
so black as it was painted (applause). He 
had but to look about him et cetera, ei 
cetera. He questioned whether so well- 
conducted, morally-given and respectable a 
gathering could be brought together in any 
West End parish with which he was ac- 
quainted. It was his most pleasant duty 
on this occasion and so on and so forth. 
Dicky Perrott had found the cake. It 
was in a much smaller room at the back 
of the hall, wherein it was expected that 
the Bishop and certain Eminences of the 
platform would refresh themselves with 
tea after the ceremony. There were 
heavy drooping curtains at the door of 
this room, and deep from the largest folds 
the ratling from the Jago watched. The 
table was guarded by a sour-faced man 
just such a man as drove him from the 
window of the cake-shop in Shoreditch 
High Street. Nobody else was there yet, 
and plainly the sour-faced man must be 
absent or busy ere the cake could be got at. 

There was a burst of applause in the 
hall ; the new wing had been declared open. 
Then there was more singing, and after 
that much shuffling and tramping, for every- 
body was free to survey the new rooms on 
the way out ; and the Importances from the 
platform came to find the tea. 

Filling the room and standing about in 
little groups ; chatting, munching and sip- 
ping, while the sour-faced man distractedly 
floundered amid crockery ; not a soul of 
them all perceived an inconsiderable small 
boy, ducking and dodging vaguely among 
legs and 'round skirts, making, from time to 
time, a silent snatch at a plate on the table ; 
and presently he vanished altogether. Then 
the amiable bishop, beaming over the tea- 
cup six inches from his chin, at two cour- 
tiers of the clergy, bethought him of a din- 
ner engagement, and passed his hand down- 
ward over the rotundity of his waistcoat. 

" Dear, dear," said the Bishop, glancing 
down suddenly, u why what 's become of 
my watch ? " 

There hung three inches of black rib- 
bon, with a cut end. The bishop looked 
blankly at the Elevators about him. 

Three streets off, Dicky Perrott, with 
his shut fist deep in his breeches pocket, 
and a gold watch in the fist, ran full drive 
for the Old Jago. 



Ill 

There was nobody in chase ; but Dicky 
Perrott, excited by his novel exploit, ran 
hard ; forgetting the lesson first learnt by 
every child of the Jago, to avoid, as far as 
may be, suspicious flight in open streets. 
He burst into the Old Jago from the Jago 
Row corner, by Meakin Street, and still 
he ran. A small boy a trifle bigger than 
himself made a sharp punch at him as he 
passed, but he took no heed. The hulk- 
ing group at the corner of Old Jago 
Street, ever observant of weaklings with 
plunder, saw him and one tried to catch 
his arm, but he had the wit to dodge. 
Past the Jago Court passage he scudded, 
in at the familiar doorway and up the 
stairs. A pale hunchbacked child, clean 
and wistful, descended and him Dicky 
flung aside and half downstairs with " Git 
out, 'ump!" 

Josh Perrott sat on the bed, eating fried 
fish from an oily paper ; for it was tea- 
time. He was a man of thirty-two, of 
middle height and stoutly built, with a 
hard, leathery face as of one much older. 
The hair about his mouth seemed always 
three days old never much less nor 
much more. He was a plasterer had, at 
least, so described himself at police-courts. 
But it was long since he had plastered, 
though he still walked abroad splashed 
and speckled, as though from an eruption 
of inherent plaster. In moments of pride 
he declared himself the only member of his 
family who had ever learned a trade and 
worked at it. It was a long relinquished 
habit, but while it lasted he had married a 
decent boilermaker's daughter, who had 
known nothing of the Jago till these latter 
days. One other boast Josh Perrott had : 
that nothing but shot or pointed steel could 
hurt him. And this, too, was near being 
a true boast; as he had proved in more 
than one fight in the local arena which 
was Jago Court. Now he sat peaceably 
on the edge of the bed and plucked with 
his fingers at the oily fish, while his wife 
grubbed hopelessly about the cupboard- 
shelves for the screw of paper which was 
the sugar-basin. 

Dicky entered at a burst. " Mother 
father look ! I done a click! I got a 
clock a red 'un !" 

Josh Perrott stopped, jaw and hand, 
with a pinch of fish poised in air. The 
woman turned, and her chin fell. "O 
Dicky, Dicky," she cried, in real distress, 
"you 're a awful low, wicked boy. My 
Gawd, Josh 'e 'e ' grow up bad ; I said 
so." 

Josh Perrott bolted the pinch of fish, 
and sucked his fingers as he sprang to the 
door. After a quick glance down the 
stairs, he shut it and turned to Dicky. 

'Where d' je get that, ye young devel?" 
he asked, and snatched the watch. 

"Claimed it auf a oF bloke w'en 'e was 
drinkin' 'is tea," Dicky replied with 
sparkling eyes. " Let 's 'ave a look at it, 
father." 

" Did 'e run after ye ? " 

" No did n't know nuffin about it. I 
cut 'is bit o' ribbin with my knife." Dicky 
held up a treasured relic of blade and han- 
dle found in a gutter. "Ain 'tcher goin' to 
let 's 'ave a look at it ? " 

Josh Perrott looked doubtfully toward 
his wife; the children were chiefly her 
concern. Of her sentiments there could 
be no mistake. He slipped the watch into 
his own pocket and caught Dicky by the 
collar. 

" I ' give you somethink, you damn 
young thief," he exclaimed, slipping off his 
belt. " You 'd like t' 'ave us all in stir 
for a year or two, I s'pose; goin' thievin' 
watches like a growed-up man." And he 
plied the belt savagely, while Dicky, 
amazed, breathless and choking, spun about 
him with piteous squeals, and the baby 
woke and puled in feeble sympathy. 

There was a rip, and the collar began 
to leave the old jacket. Feeling this, Josh 
Perrott released it and with a quick drive 
of the fist in the neck, sent Dicky stag- 
gering across the room. Dicky caught 
at the bed-frame, and limped out to the 
landing, sobbing grievously in the bend of 
his sleeve. 

It was more than his mother had in- 
tended but she knew better than to attempt 
interference. Now that he was gone she 
said, with some hesitation: " 'Ad n't you 
better take it out at once, Josh?" 

"Yes, I 'm goin'," Josh replied, turning 
the watch in his hand. " It 's a good 'un 
a topper." 

"You you won't let Weech 'ave it, 
will ye, Josh ? 'E 'e never gives much." 
 
"No bloomin' fear. I 'm goin' up 'Ox- 
ton wi' this 'ere." 

Dicky sobbed his way down the stairs 
and through the passage to the back. In 
the yard he looked for Tommy Rann to 
sympathise, but Tommy was not; and 
Dicky paused in his grief to reflect 
that perhaps, indeed, in the light of calm 
reason, he would rather cast the story of 
the watch in a more heroic mould for 
Tommy's benefit than was compatible 
with tears and a belted back. So he 
turned and squeezed through a hole in 
the broken fence, sobbing again, in search 
of the friend that shared his inmost sor- 
rows. 

The belting was bad very bad. There 
was broken skin on his shins where the 
strap had curled 'round, and there was a 
little sticky blood under the shirt half way 
up his back: to say nothing of bruises. 
But it was the hopeless injustice of things 
that shook him to the soul. Wholly un- 
aided, he had done, with neatness and 
credit, a click that anybody in the Jago 
would have been proud of. Overjoyed, 
he had hastened to receive the commenda- 
tions of his father and mother, and to place 
the prize in their hands, freely and gener- 
ously, though perhaps with some hope of 
hot supper by way of celebration. And 
his reward was this. Why ? He could 
understand nothing; could but feel the 
wrong that broke his heart. And so, 
sobbing, he crawled through two fences to 
weep on the shaggy neck of Jerry Gullen's 
canary. 

Jerry Gullen's canary was no bird, but 
a donkey ; employed by Jerry Gullen in 
his occasional intervals of sobriety to drag 
a cranky shallow, sometimes stored with 
glass bottles, rags,and hearthstone; some- 
times with firewood manufactured from a 
convenient hoarding, or from the joinery 
of an empty house; sometimes with empty 
sacks covering miscellaneous property sud-
denly acquired and not for general inspec- 
tion. His vacations, many and long, 
Jerry Gullen's canary spent, forgotten and 
unfed, in Jerry Gullen's backyard: gnaw- 
ing desperately at fences and harrowing 
the neighborhood with his brays. Thus 
the nickname, facetiously applied by Kiddo 
Cook in celebration of his piteous song, 
grew into use  and "Canary" would call 
the creature's attention as readily as a 
mouthful of imprecations. 

Jerry Gullen's canary was gnawing, 
gnawing, with a sound as of a crooked 
centre-bit. Everywhere about the foul 
yard, ten or twelve feet square, wood was 
rounded and splintered and bitten white, 
and, as the donkey turned his heavy head, 
a drip of blood from his gums made a disc 
on the stones. A twitch of the ears wel- 
comed Dicky, grief-stricken as he was; 
for it was commonly thus that he bethought 
him of solace in Jerry Gullen's backyard. 



 o 



 

And so Dicky, his arms about the mangy 
neck, told the tale of his wrongs till con- 
solation came in composition of the heroic 
narrative designed for Tommy Rann. 
" O, Canary, it is a blasted shame ! " . 



IV 

When Dicky Perrott came running into 
Jago Row with the Bishop's watch in his 
pocket, another boy punched a fist at him, 
and at the time Dicky was at a loss to 
guess the cause unless it were a simple 
caprice but stayed neither to enquire nor 
to retaliate. The fact was that the Ranns 
and the Learys were coming out, fighting 
was in the air, and the small boy, meeting 
another a trifle smaller, punched on general 
principles. The Ranns and the Learys, 
ever at war or in guarded armistice, were 
the great rival families the Montagues 
and the Capulets of the Old Jago. 
The Learys, indeed, scarce pretended to 
rivalry rather to factious opposition. For 
the Ranns gloried in the style and title of 
the " Royal Family." and dominated the 
 



 

Jago ; but there were mighty fighters, men 
and women, among the Learys, and when 
a combat arose it was a hard one and 
an animated. The two families ramified 
throughout the Jago, and under the Rann 
standard, whether by kin or by custom, 
were the Gullens, the Fishers, the Spicers, 
and the Walshes ; while in the Leary train 
came Dawsons, Greens, and Harnwells. 
So that near all the Jago was wont to be 
on one side or the other, and any of the 
Jago which was not was apt to be the 
worse for it, for the Ranns drubbed all 
them that were not of their faction in the 
most thorough and most workmanlike man- 
ner, and the Learys held by the same 
practice ; so that neutrality meant double 
drubbing. But when the Ranns and Learys 
combined, and the Old Jago issued forth 
in its entire might against Dove Lane, then 
the battle was one to go miles to see. 

This, however, was but a Rann and 
Leary fight; and it was but in its early stages 
 



 

when Dicky Perrott, emerging from Jerry 
Gullen's back yard, made for Shoreditch 
High Street by way of the " Posties " 
the passage with posts at the end of Old 
Jago Street. His purpose was to snatch a 
handful of hay from some passing wagon, 
or of mixed fodder from some unguarded 
nosebag, wherewith to reward the sympa- 
thy of Jerry Gullen's canary. But by 
the " Posties,'* at the Edge Lane corner, 
Tommy Rann, capless and with a purple 
bump on his forehead, came flying into his 
arms, breathless, exultant, a babbling brag- 
gart. He had fought Johnny Leary and 
Joe Dawson, he said, one after the other, 
and pretty nigh broke Johnny Leary's 
blasted neck; and Joe Dawson's big 
brother was after him now with a bleed'n' 
shovel. So the two children ran on to- 
gether and sought the seclusion of their 
own back yard, where the story of Tommy 
Rann's prowess, with scowls and the 
pounding of imaginary foes, ?nd the storv 
 



 

of the Bishop's watch, with suppressions 
and improvements, mingled and contended 
in the thickening dusk; and Jerry Gullen's 
canary went forgotten and unrequited. 

That night fighting was sporadic and de- 
sultory in the Jago. Bob the Bender was 
reported to have a smashed nose, and Sam 
Cash had his head bandaged at the hospital. 
At the Bag of Nails in Edge Lane, Snob 
Spicer was knocked out of knowledge with 
a quart pot, and Cocko Harnwell's missis 
had a piece bitten off of one ear. As the 
night wore on, taunts and defiances were 
bandied from window to door and from door 
to window, between those who intended to 
begin fighting to-morrow ; and shouts from 
divers corners gave notice of isolated scuf- 
fles. Once a succession of piercing screams 
seemed to betoken that Sally Green had be- 
gun. There was a note in the screams of 
Sally Green's opposites which the Jago had 
learned to recognize. Sally Green, though 
of the weaker faction, was the female cham- 
pion of the Old Jago:an eminence won 
and kept by fighting tactics peculiar to her- 
self. For it was her way, reserving teeth 
and nails, to wrestle closely with her antag- 
onist, throw her by a dexterous twist on 
her face, and fall on her, instantly seizing 
the victim's nape in her teeth, gnawing and 
worrying. The sufferer's screams were 
audible afar, and beyond their invariable 
eccentricity of quality a quality vaguely 
suggestive of dire surprise they had a 
mechanical persistence, a pumplike regu- 
larity, that distinguished them, in the accus- 
tomed ear, from other screams. 

Josh Perrott had not been home all the 
evening ; probably the Bishop's watch was 
in course of transmutation into beer. 
Dicky, stiff and domestically inclined, 
nursed Looey and listened to the noises 
without till he fell asleep, in hopeful antici- 
pation of the morrow. For Tommy Rann 
had promised him half of a broken iron 
railing wherewith to fight the Learys. 

Sleep in the Jago was at best a thing of 
intermission, for reasons reasons of mul- 
titude already denoted; nevertheless, 
Dicky slept well enough to be unconscious 
of his father's home-coming. In the morn- 
ing, however, there lay Josh Perrott, snor- 
ing thunderously on the floor, pie-bald 
with road-dust. This was not a morning 
whereon father would want breakfast, it 
was plain ; he would wake thirsty and sav- 
age. So Dicky made sure of a crust from 
the cupboard and betook himself in search 
of Tommy Rann. As to washing, he was 
never especially fond of it, and in any case 
there were fifty excellent excuses for neg- 
lect. The only water was that from the 
little tap in the back yard. The little tap 
 



 

was usually out of order or had been 
stolen bodily by a tenant, and if it were 
not, there was no basin there, nor any soap, 
nor towel ; and anything savouring of 
moderate cleanliness was resented in the 
Jago as an assumption of superiority. 

Fighting began early, fast and furious. 
The Ranns got together soon, and hunted 
the Learys up and down, and attacked them 
in their houses, the Learys' chances only 
coming when straggling Ranns were cut 
off from the main body. The weapons in 
use, as was customary, rose in effective- 
ness by a swiftly ascending scale. The 
Learys, assailed with sticks, replied with 
sticks, torn from old packing-cases, with 
protruding nails. The two sides bethought 
them of coshes simultaneously, and such 
as had no coshes very few had pokers 
and iron railings. Ginger Stagg, at bay in 
his passage, laid open Pud Palmer's cheek 
with a chisel ; and knives thus happily 
legitimised, with the least possible prelimi- 
  



 

nary form, everybody was free to lay hold 
of whatever came handy. 

In Old Jago Street, half-way between 
Jago Court and Edge Lane, stood the 
Feathers, the grimiest and vilest of the 
four public-houses in the Jago. Into the 
Feathers some dozen Learys were driven, 
and for a while they held the inner bar 
and the tap-room against the Ranns, who 
swarmed after them, chairs, bottles and 
pewter pots flying thick, while Mother 
Gapp, the landlady, hung hysterical on 
the beer pulls in the bar, supplicating and 
blubbering aloud. Then a partition came 
down with a crash, bringing shelves and 
many glasses with it, and the Ranns 
rushed over the ruin, beating the Learys 
down, jumping on them, heaving them 
through the back windows. Having thus 
cleared the house of the intruding enemy, 
the Ranns demanded recompense of liquor, 
and took it, dragging handles off* beer en- 
gines, seizing bottles, breaking into the 
 



 

cellar and driving in bungs. Nobody 
better than Mother Gapp could quell an 
ordinary bar riot, even to knocking a man 
down with a pot, but she knew better 
than to attempt interference now. Noth- 
ing could have made her swoon but she 
sat limp and helpless, weeping and blas- 
pheming. 

The Ranns cleared off, every man with 
a bottle or so, and scattered, and this for 
awhile was their undoing. For the Learys 
rallied and hunted the Ranns in their turn ; 
a crowd of eighty or a hundred sweeping 
the Jago from Honey Lane to Meakin 
Street. Then they swung back through 
Edge Lane to Old Jago Street and made 
for Jerry Gullen's a house full of Ranns. 
Jerry Gullen, Bill Rann and the rest took 
refuge in the upper floors and barricaded 
the stairs. Below, the Learys broke win- 
dows and ravaged the rooms, smashing 
whatsoever of furniture was to be found. 
Above, Pip Walsh, who affected horticul- 
 



 

ture on his window-sill, hurled down flower 
pots. On the stairs, Billy Leary, scaling 
the barricade, was flung from top to bot- 
tom, and had to be carried home. And 
then Pip Walsh's missis scattered the be- 
siegers on the pavement below with a ket- 
tle-full of boiling water. 

There was a sudden sortie of Ranns 
from Jago Court, but it profited nothing : 
for the party was small, and, its advent 
being unexpected, there was a lack of 
prompt co-operation from the house. The 
Learys held the field. 

Down the middle of Old Jago Street 
came Sally Green: red-faced, stripped to 
the waist, dancing, hoarse and triumphant. 
Nail-scores wide as the finger striped her 
back, her face, and her throat, and she had 
a black eye; but in one great hand she 
dangled a long bunch of clotted hair, as 
she whooped defiance to the Jago. It was 
a trophy newly rent from the scalp of 
Norah Walsh, champion of the Rann 



 

womankind, who had crawled away to hide 
her blighted head, and be restored with 
gin. None answered Sally's challenge, 
and, staying but to fling a brickbat at Pip 
Walsh's window, she carried her dance 
and her trophy into Edge Lane. 

The scrimmage on Jerry Gullen's stairs 
was thundering anew, and parties of Learys 
were making for other houses in the street, 
when there came a volley of yells from 
Jago Row, heralding a scudding mob of 
Ranns. The defeated sortie-party from 
Jago Court, driven back, had gained New 
Jago Street by way of the house passages 
behind the court and set to gathering the 
scattered faction. Now the Ranns came, 
drunk, semi-drunk and otherwise, and the 
Learys, leaving Jerry Gullen's, rushed to 
meet them. There was a great shock, 
hats flew, sticks and heads made a wooden 
rattle, and instantly the two mobs were 
broken into an uproarious confusion of 
tangled groups, howling and grappling. 

* 



 

Here a man crawled into a passage to 
nurse a broken head ; there a knot gathered 
to kick a sprawling foe. So the fight 
thinned out and spread, resolving into 
many independent combats with concerted 
rushes of less and less frequency, till once 
again all through the Jago each fought for 
his own hand. Kiddo Cook, joker always, 
ran hilariously through the streets, brand- 
ishing a long roll of twisted paper, where- 
with he smacked the heads of Learys all 
and sundry, who realised too late that the 
paper was twisted round a lodging-house 
poker. 

Now, of the few neutral Jagos, most 
lay low. Josh Perrott, however, hard as 
nails and respected for it, feared neither 
Rann nor Leary, and leaving a little money 
with his missis, carried his morning mouth 
in search of beer. Pigeony Poll, harlot 
and outcast, despised for that she neither 
fought nor kept a cosh-carrier, like a re- 
spectable married woman, slunk and 
 



 

trembled in corners and yards and wept at 
the sight of bleeding heads. As for old 
Beveridge, the affair so grossly excited him 
that he neglected business (he cadged and 
wrote begging screeves) and stayed in the 
Jago; where he strode wildly about the 
streets, lank and rusty, stabbing the air 
with a carving knife, and incoherently de- 
fying " all the lot " to come near him. 
Nobody did. 

Dicky Perrott and Tommy Rann found a 
snug fastness in Jago Row. For there was 
a fence with a loose board, which, pushed 
aside, revealed a hole where-through a very 
small boy might squeeze ; and within 
were stored many barrows and shallows, 
mostly broken, and of these one, tilted 
forward and bottom up, made a hut or den, 
screened about with fence and barrows. 
Here they hid while the Learys swept the 
Jago, and hence they issued from time to 
time to pound such youngsters of the ether 
side as might come in sight. The bits of 
iron railing made imposing weapons, but 
were a trifle too big and heavy for rapid 
use in their puny hands. Still, Dicky 
managed to double up little Billy Leary 
with a timely lunge in the stomach, and 
Tommy Rann made Bobby Harnwell's 
nose bleed very satisfactorily. On the 
other hand, the bump on Tommy Rann's 
forehead was widened by the visitation of 
a stick, and Dicky Perrott sustained a very 
hopeful punch in the eye, which he cher- 
ished enthusiastically, with a view to an 
honourable blackness. In the snuggery 
intervals they explained their prowess one 
to another, and Dicky alluded to his in- 
tention, when he was a man, to buy a very 
long sword wherewith to cutoff the Leary's 
heads ; Tommy Rann inclining, however, 
to a gun, with which one might also shoot 
birds. 

The battle flagged a little toward mid- 
day, but waxed lively again as the after- 
noon began. It was then that Dicky Per- 
rott, venturing some way from the retreat, 
found himself in a scrimmage, and a man 
snatched away his piece of iron and floored 
a Leary with it. Gratifying as was the 
distinction of aiding in the exploit, Dicky 
mourned the loss of the weapon, almost 
unto tears ; and Tommy Rann would 
not go turn about with the other, but kept 
it wholly for himself: so Dicky was fain 
sorrowfully to hunt for a mere stick. 
Even a disengaged stick was not easy to 
find just then. So Dicky, emerging from 
the Jago, tried Meakin Street, where 
there were shops, but unsuccessfully ; and 
so came round by Luck Row, a narrow 
way from Meakin Street, by Walker's 
cook-shop, up through the Jago. 

Dicky's mother, left with the baby, 
fastened the door as well as she might, 
and trembled. Indeed she had reason. 
The time of Josh Perrott's return was a 
matter of doubt, but when he did come he 
 



 

would want something to eat ; it was for 
that he had left the money. But Dicky 
was out and there was nothing iu the cup- 
board. From the windows she saw divers 
fights in Jago Court; and a man lay for 
near two hours on the stones with a cut 
on his temple. As for herself, she was no 
favorite in the neighbourhood at any time. 
For one thing, her husband did not carry 
the cosh. Then she was an alien who 
had never entirely fallen into Jago ways; 
she had soon grown sluttish and dirty, but 
she was never drunk, she never quarrelled, 
she did not gossip freely. Also her husband 
beat her but rarely, and then not with a 
chair or a poker. Justly irritated by such 
superiorities as these, the women of the 
Jago were ill disposed to brook another ; 
which was that Hannah Perrott had been 
married in church. For these reasons she 
was timid at the most peaceful of times, 
but now, with Ranns and Learys on the 
war-path, and herself obnoxious to both, 
 



 

she trembled. She wished Dicky would 
come and do her errand. But there was 
no sign of him, and mid-day wore into 
afternoon. It was late for Josh as it was, 
and he would be sure to come home irri- 
table it was his way when a bad head 
from overnight struggled with morning 
beer. If he found nothing to eat there 
would be trouble. 

At length she resolved to go herself. 
There was a lull in the outer din, and 
what there was seemed to come from the 
further parts of Honey Lane and Jago 
Row. She would slip across by Luck 
Row to Meatin Street, and be back in 
five minutes. She took up little Looey, 
went. 

As Dicky, stickless, turned into Luck 
Row, there arose a loud shriek and then 
another, and then, in a changed voice 
a succession of long screams, with a 
regular breath-pause. Sally Green again ! 
 



 

He ran, turned into Old Jago Street, and 
saw. 

Sprawled on her face in the vile road- 
way lay a writhing woman and screamed, 
while squeezed under her arm was a baby 
with mud in its eyes and a cut cheek, cry- 
ing weakly; and spread over all, clutching 
her prey by hair and wrist, Sally Green 
hung on the nape like a terrier, jaws 
clenched, head shaking. 

Thus Dicky saw it in a flash, and in an 
instant he had flung himself on Sally 
Green, kicking, striking, biting and cry- 
ing, for he had seen his mother and 
Looey. The kicks wasted themselves 
among the woman's petticoats and the 
blows were feeble, but the sharp teeth 
were meeting in the shoulder-flesh when 
help came. 

Norah Walsh, vanquished champion, 

now somewhat recovered, looked from a 

window, saw her enemy vulnerable, and 

ran out, armed with a bottle. She stopped 

 



 

at the kerb to knock the bottom off the 
bottle, and then with an exultant shout 
seized Sally Green by the hair and stabbed 
her about the face with the jagged points. 
Blinded with blood, Sally released her hold 
on Mrs. Perrott and rolled on her back, 
struggling fiercely; but to no end, for 
Norah Walsh, kneeling on her breast, 
stabbed and stabbed again, till pieces of 
the bottle broke away. Sally's yells and 
plunges ceased, and a man pulled Norah 
off. On him she turned, and he was fain 
to run, while certain Learys found a truck 
which might carry Sally to the hospital. 

Hannah Perrott was gone indoors, hys- 
terical and helpless. She had scarce crossed 
the street on her errand when she had met 
Sally Green, in quest of female Ranns. 
Mrs. Perrott was not a Rann, but she 
was not a Leary, so it came to the same 
thing. Moreover, there was her general 
obnoxiousness. She had tried to run, 
but that was useless ; and now, sobbing 
 



 

and bleeding, she was merely conscious of 
being gently led almost carried indoors 
and upstairs. She was laid back on the 
bed, and somebody loosened her hair and 
wiped her face and neck, giving her hoarse, 
comforting words. Then she saw the face 
scared though coarse and pitted, and red 
about the eyes that bent over her. It 
was Pigeony Poll's. 

Dicky had followed her in, no longer 
the hero of the Jago Row retreat, but his 
face tearful and distorted, carrying the 
baby in his arms and wiping the mud from 
her eyes. Now he sat on the little box 
and continued his ministrations, with fear 
in his looks, as he glanced at his mother 
on the bed. 

Without, the fight rallied once more. 
The Learys ran to avenge Sally Green, 
and the Ranns to meet them with a will. 
Down by the bag of Nails a party of 
Ranns were driven between the posts and 
 



 

through the gut into Shoreditch High 
Street, where a stand was made until Fag 
Dawson dropped with a shoemaker's knife 
sticking under his armpit. Then the 
Ranns left, with most of the Learys after 
them, and Fag Dawson was carried to a 
chemist's by the police, never to floor a 
Rann again. For he was chived in the 
left lung. 

Thus the fight ended. For a faction 
fight in the Jago, with a few broken heads 
and ribs and an odd knife wound here and 
there even with a death in the hospital 
from kicks or what not was all very well; 
but when it came to homicide in the open 
High Street the police drew the line and 
entered the Jago in force. Ordinarily, a 
peep between the " Posties " was all the 
supervision the Jago had, although three 
policemen had been seen to walk the length 
of Old Jago Street together; and there 
were raids in force for special captures. 
 



 

There was a raid in force now, and the tur- 
moil ceased. Nothing would have pleased 
both Ranns and Learys better than to 
knock over two or three policemen, for 
kicking practice; but there were too many 
for the sport, and for hours they patrolled 
the Jago's closest passages. Of course 
nobody knew who chived Fag Dawson. 
No enquiring policeman ever found any- 
body in the Old Jago who knew anything, 
even to the harm of his bitterest foe. It 
was the sole commandment that ran there: 
" Thou shalt not nark." 

That night it was known that there 
would be a fight between Josh Perrott and 
Billy Leary, once the latter grew well. 
For Josh Perrott came home, saw his 
wife, and turned Rann on the spot. But 
for the police in the Jago that night, 
there would have been many a sore head, 
if no worse, among the Learys by visita- 
tion of Josh Perrott. Sally Green's hus- 
band had fled years ago, and Billy Leary, 
 



 

her brother, was the obvious mark for 
Josh's vengeance. He was near as emi- 
nent a fighter among the men as his sister 
among the women, and a charming scrap 
was anticipated. It would come off, of 
course, in Jago Court one Sunday morn- 
ing, as all fights of distinction did, and 
perhaps somebody in the High Mob would 
put up stakes. 



VI 

In the morning the police still held the 
Jago. Their presence embarrassed many, 
but none more than Dicky Perrott, who 
would always take a turning, or walk the 
other way,at sight of a policeman. Dicky 
got out of Old Jago Street early, and be- 
took him to Meakin Street, where there 
were chandler's shops with sugar in their 
windows, and cook-shops with pudding. 
He designed working through by these to 
Shoreditch High Street, there to crown his 
solace by contemplation of the cake-shop. 
But, as he neared Weech's coffee-shop, 
scarce half through Meakin Street, there 
stood Weech himself at the door, grinning 
and nodding affably, and beckoning him. 
He was a pleasant man, this Mr. Aaron 
Weech, who sang hymns aloud in the 
 



 

back-parlour and hummed the tunes in the 
shop. A prosperous, white-aproned, whis- 
kered, half-bald, smirking tradesman, who 
bent and spoke amiably to boys, looking 
sharply in their eyes, but talked to a man 
mostly with his gaze on the man's waist- 
coat. 

Indeed, there seemed to be something 
about Mr. Aaron Weech especially at- 
tractive to youth. Nearly all his custom- 
ers were boys and girls, though not boys 
and girls who looked likely to pay a 
great deal in the way of refreshment, much 
as they took. But he was ever indulgent 
and at all times accessible to his young 
clients. Even on Sunday (though, of 
course, his shutters were kept rigidly up on 
the Day of Rest) a particular tap would 
bring him hot-foot to the door ; not to sell 
coffee, for Mr. Weech was no Sabbath- 
breaker. 

Now he stood at his door, and invited 
Dicky with nods and becks. Dicky, all 
 



 

wondering, and alert to dodge in case the 
thing were a mere device to bring him 
within striking distance, went. 

"W'y, Dicky Perrott," quoth Mr. 
Weech in a tone of genial surprise, " I 
b'lieve you could drink a cup o* cawfy ! " 

Dicky, wondering how Mr. Weech had 
learnt his name, believed he could. 

"An* eat a slice o' cake, too, I ' be 
bound," Mr. Weech added. 

Dicky's glance leapt. Yes, he could 
eat a slice of cake, too. 

"Ah, I knew it," said Mr. Weech, tri- 
umphantly ; " I can always tell." He 
rubbed Dicky's cap about his head and 
drew him into the shop, at this hour bare 
of customers. At the innermost compart- 
ment they stopped, and Mr. Weech, with 
a gentle pressure on the shoulders, seated 
Dicky at the table. 

He brought the coffee, and not a single 
slice of cake, but two. True, it was not 
cake of Elevation Mission quality, nor was 
 



 

it so good as that shown at the shop in 
High Street; it was of a browner, dumpier, 
harder nature, and the currants were gritty 
and few. But cake it was, and to con- 
sider it critically were unworthy. Dicky 
bolted it with less comfort than he might, 
for Mr. Weech watched him keenly across 
the table. And, indeed, from some queer 
cause, he felt an odd impulse to cry. It 
was the first time that he had ever been 
given anything, kindly and ungrudgingly. 

He swallowed the last crumb, washed it 
down with the dregs of his cup, and looked 
sheepishly across at Mr. Weech. 

 Goes down awright, do n't it ?" that 
benefactor remarked. "Ah, I like to see 
you enjoyin* of yerself. I 'm very fond o' 
you young 'uns, 'specially clever 'uns like 
you." 

Dicky had never been called clever be- 
fore, so far as he could recollect, and he 
wondered at it now. Mr. Weech, leaning 
back, contemplated him smilingly for some 
 



 

seconds, and then proceeded. " Yus," he 
said, " you 're the sort o' boy as can 'ave 
cawfy an* cake whenever you want it, you 
are." 

Dicky wondered more, and his face said 
as much. " You know," Mr. Weech pur- 
sued, winking amain, grinning and nodding, 
" that was a fine watch you found the other 
day. Y* ought to 'a* brought it to me." 

Dicky was alarmed. How did Mr. 
Weech learn about the watch ? . Perhaps 
he was a friend of the funny old man who 
lost it. Dicky half rose, but his affable 
patron leaned across and pushed him back 
on the seat. " You need n't be frightened," 
he said. " I ain't goin j to say nothink to 
nobody. But I know all about it, mind, 
an* I could if I liked. You found the 
watch, an' it was a red 'un, on a bit o* rib- 
bin. Well, then you went an* took it 'ome, 
like a little fool. Wot does yer father do? 
W'y, 'e ups an* lathers you with 'is belt, 
an' 'e keeps the watch 'isself. That 's all 
 



 

you git for yer pains. See I know all 
about it." And Mr. Weech gazed on 
Dicky Perrott with a fixed grin. 

" Oo toldjer ?" Dicky managed to ask 
at last. 

u Ah !" this with a great emphasis 
and a tapping of the forefinger beside the 
nose U I don't want much tellin': it 
ain't much as goes on 'ereabout I do n't 
know of. Never mind 'ow. P'raps I 
got a little bird as w'ispers p'raps I do 
k some other way. Any'ow I know. It 
ain't no good any boy tryin' to do some- 
think unbeknownst to me, mind jer." 

Mr. Weech's head lay aside, his grin 
widened, his glance was sidelong, his fore- 
finger pointed from his temple over 
Dicky's head, and altogether he looked so 
very knowing that Dicky shuffled in his 
seat. By what mysterious means was 
this new found friend so well informed ? 
The doubt troubled him, for Dicky knew 
nothing of Mr. Aaron Weech's con- 
 



 

versation an hour before with Tommy 
Rann. 

" But it 's awright, bless yer," Mr. 
Weech went on presently. " Nobody's 
none the wuss for me knowin' about 'em. 
Well, we was a-talkin' about 
the watch, was n't we ? All you got, 
after sich a lot o' trouble, was a woppin' 
with a belt. That was too bad." Mr. 
Weech's voice was piteous and sym- 
pathetic. " After you a-findin' sich a 
nice watch a red 'un an' all you gits 
nothink for yerself but a beltin*. Never 
mind ; you ' do better next time I ' 
take care o' that. I do n 't like to see a 
clever boy put upon. You go an' find an- 
other, or somethink else anythink good 
and then you bring it 'ere." 

Mr. Weech's friendly sympathy extin- 
guished Dicky's doubt. u I did n 't find 
it," he said, shy but proud. " It was a 
click I sneaked it." 

Eh ?" ejaculated Mr. Weech, a sud- 



 

den picture of blank incomprehension. 
" Eh ? What ? Click ? wot's a click ? 
Sneaked ? Wot's that ? I dunno nothink 
about no talk o' that sort, an I do n't want 
to. It's my belief it means somethink 
wrong but I dunno, an' I do n't want to. 
'Ear that ? Eh ? Do n't let me 'ave no 
more o' that, or you 'd better not come 
near me agin. If you find somethink 
awright, you come to me and I ' give 
ye somethink for it, if it 's any good. It 
ain't no business of anybody's where you 
find it, o' course, an' I do n't want to 
know. But clicks and sneaks them 's 
Greek to me, an' I do n't want to learn 
'em. Unnerstand that ? Nice talk to 
respectable people, with yer clicks an' 
sneaks !" 

Dicky blushed a little, and felt very 
guilty without in the least understanding 
the offense. But Mr. Weech's virtuous 
indignation subsided as quickly as it had 
arisen, and he went on as amiably as ever. 
 



 

" When you find anythink," he said, 
" jist like you found that watch, do n't tell 
nobody an* don't let nobody see it. Bring 
it 'ere quiet, when there ain't any p'lice- 
man in the street, an' come right through 
to the back o* the shop, an' say, * I come 
to clean the knives.* Unnerstand? 'I 
come to clean the knives.' There ain't no 
knives to clean it 's on'y a way o' tellin' 
me you got somethink without other peo- 
ple knowin.' An' then I'll give you 
somethink for it money p'raps, some- 
times, or p'raps cake or wot not. Do n't 
forget. ' I come to clean the knives.' 
See?" 

Yes, Dicky understood perfectly ; and 
Dicky saw a new world of dazzling de- 
lights. Cake limitless cake, coffee, and 
the like, whenever he might feel moved 
thereunto; but more than all, money 
actual money ; good broad pennies, per- 
haps whole shillings perhaps even more 
still; money to buy bullock's liver for 
 



 

dinner, or tripe, or what you fancied ; 
saveloys, baked potatoes from the can on 
cold nights, a little cart to wheel Looey in, 
a boat from a toy-shop with sails. 

" There 's no end o' things to be found, 
all over the place, an* a sharp boy like you 
can find 'em every day. If you do n't find 
'em, someone else will ; there's plenty on 
'em about, on the look-out, an' you got 
jist as much right as them. On'y mind!" 
Mr. Weech was suddenly stern and 
serious, and his forefinger was raised im- 
pressively " You know you can 'tdo any- 
think without I know, an' if you say a 
word if you say a word," his fist came 
on the table with a bang, "somethink ' 
'appen to you, somethink bad." 

Mr. Weech rose, and was pleasant again 
though businesslike. " Now you just go 
an' find somethink," he said. "Look 
sharp about it, an' do n't go an' git in 
trouble. The cawfy 's a penny an' the 
cake 's a penny ought prop'ly to be two- 
 



 

pence, but say a penny this time that's 
twopence you owe me, an' you better bring 
me somethink an' pay it off quick ; so go 
along." 

This was an unforeseen tag to the en- 
tertainment. For the first time in his life 
Dicky was in debt. It was a little disap- 
pointing to find the coffee and cake no gift 
after all, though, indeed, it now seemed 
foolish to have supposed they were ; for in 
Dicky Perrott's world people did not give 
things away that were the act of a fool. 
Thus Dicky, with his hands in his broken 
pockets, and thought in his small face, 
whereon still stood the muddy streaks of 
yesterday's tears, trudged out of Mr. 
Aaron Weech's shop-door, and along 
Meakin Street. 

Now he was beginning the world seri- 
ously, and must face the fact. Truly, the 
world had been serious enough for him 
hitherto, but that he knew not. Now 
he was of an age when most boys were 
 



 

thieving for themselves, and he owed 
money like a man. True it was, as Mr. 
Weech had said, that everybody the 
whole Jago was on the lookout for 
himself. Plainly, he must take his share, 
lest it fall to others. As to the old 
gentleman's watch, he had but been before- 
hand. Through foolish ingenuousness he 
had lost it, and his father had got it, who 
could so much more easily steal one for 
himself; for he was a strong man, and had 
but to knock over another man at any 
night-time. Nobody should hear of future 
clicks but Mr. Weech ; each for himself. 
Come, he must open his eyes. 



VII 

There was no chance all along Mcakin 
Street. The chandlers and the keepers 
of cookshops knew their neighbourhood 
too well to leave articles unguarded. Soon 
Dickey reached Shoreditch High Street. 
There things were a little more favourable. 
There were shops, as he well remembered, 
where goods were sometimes exhibited at 
the doors and outside the windows ; but 
to-day there seemed to be no chance of 
the sort. As for the people, he was too 
short to try pockets, and, indeed, the High 
Street rarely gave passage to a more un- 
promising lot. Moreover, from robbery 
from the person he knew he must abstain, 
except for such uncommon opportunities 
as that of the Bishop's watch, for some 
years yet. 

 



 

He hung about the doors and windows 
of shop after shop, hoping for a temporary 
absence of the shopkeeper which might 
leave something snatchable, but he hoped 
in vain. From most shops he was driven 
away, for the Shoreditch trader is not slow 
to judge the purpose of a loitering boy. So 
he passed nearly two hours; when at last 
he saw his chance. It came in an advan- 
tageous part of High Street, not far from 
the " Posties," though on the opposite side 
of the way. A nurse-girl had left a per- 
ambulator at a shop door while she bought 
inside, and on the perambulator lay loose 
a little skin rug, from which a little fat 
leg stuck and waved aloft. Dicky set 
his back to the shop and sidled to within 
reach of the perambulator. But it chanced 
that at this moment the nurse-girl stepped 
to the door, and she made a snatch at his 
arm as he lifted the rug. This he dropped 
at once, and was swinging leisurely away 
(for he despised the chase of any nurse- 
 



 

girl) when a man took him suddenly by 
the shoulder. Quick as a weasel, Dicky 
ducked under the man's arm, pulled his 
shoulder clear, dropped forward and rested 
an instant on the tips of his fingers to 
avoid the catch of the other hand, and 
shot out into the road. The man tried to 
follow, but Dicky ran under the belly of a 
standing horse, under the head of another 
that trotted, across the fore-platform of a 
tram-car behind the driver's back and 
so over to the " Posties." 

He slouched into the Jago disappointed. 
As he crossed Edge Lane, he was sur- 
prised to perceive a stranger a toff, in- 
deed who walked slowly along, looking 
up, right and left, at the grimy habitations 
about him. He wore a tall hat, and his 
clothes were black, and of a pattern that 
Dicky remembered to have seen at the 
Elevation Mission ; they were, in fact, the 
clothes of a clergyman. For himself, he 
was tall and soundly built, with a certain 
 



 

square muscularity of face, and of age 
about thirty-five. He had ventured into 
the Jago because the police were in pos- 
session, Dicky thought ; and wondered in 
what plight he would leave had he come 
at another time. But losing view of the 
stranger and making his way along Old 
Jago Street, Dicky perceived that indeed 
the police were gone, and that the Jago 
was free. 

He climbed the broken stairs and pushed 
into the first floor back, hopeful, though 
more doubtful, of dinner. There was 
none. His mother, tied about the neck 
with rags, lay across the bed, nursing the 
damage of yesterday, and commiserating 
herself. A yard from her lay Looey, sick 
and ailing in a new way, but disregarded. 
Dicky moved to lift her but at that she 
cried the more, and he was fain to let her 
lie. She rolled her head from side to side 
and raised her thin little hand vaguely to- 
ward it, with feverishly-working fingers. 
 



 

Dicky felt her head and she screamed 
again. There was a lump at the side, 
a hard sharp lump ; got from the stones 
of the roadway yesterday. And there 
was a curious quality, a rather fearful 
quality, in the little wails : uneasily sug- 
gestive of the screams of Sally Green's 
victims. 

Father was out, prowling. There was 
nothing eatable in the cupboard, and there 
seemed nothing at home worth staying for. 
He took another look at Looey, but re- 
frained from touching her, and went out. 

The opposite door on the landing was 
wide open, and Dicky could hear nobody 
in the room. He had never seen this 
door open before, and now he ventured on 
a peep; for the tenants of the front room 
were strangers, late arrivals, and interlop- 
ers. Their name was Roper. Roper was 
a pale cabinet-maker, fallen on evil times 
and out of work. He had a pale wife, 
disliked because of her neatly-kept clothes, 
 



 

her exceeding use of soap and water, her 
aloofness from gossip. She had a deadly 
pale baby ; also there was the pale hunch- 
backed boy of near Dicky's age. Col- 
lectively, the Ropers were disliked as 
strangers, because they furnished their 
own room, in an obnoxiously complete 
style ; because Roper did not drink, nor 
brawl, nor beat his wife, nor do anything 
all day but look for work; because all 
these things were a matter of scanda- 
lous arrogance, impudently subversive of 
Jago custom and precedent. Mrs. Per- 
rott was bad enough, but such people as 

these 

Dicky had never before seen quite such 
a room as this. Everything was so clean; 
the floor, the windows, the bedclothes. 
Also there was a strip of old carpet on 
the floor. There were two perfectly 
sound chairs, and two pink glass vases 
on the mantelpiece ; and a clock. No- 
body was in the room, and Dicky took a 
 



 

step farther. The clock attracted him 
again. It was a small, cheap, nickel- 
plated cylindrical thing, of American 
make, and it reminded him at once of the 
Bishop's watch. It was not gold, cer- 
tainly, but it was a good deal bigger, and 
it could go it was going. Dicky stepped 
back and glanced at the landing ; then he 
darted into the room, whipped the clock 
under the breast of the big jacket and 
went for the stairs. 

Half-way down he met the pale hunch- 
back ascending. Left at home alone, he 
had been standing in the front doorway. 
He saw Dicky's haste ; saw also the sus- 
picious bulge under his jacket, and straight- 
way seized Dicky's arm. 

" Where 'a' you bin ? " he asked sharply. 
u Bin in our room ? What you got there ? " 

" Nothin' o' yours, 'ump. Git out o' 
that ! " Dicky pushed him aside. " If 
ye do n't le' go, I ' corpse ye ! " 

But one arm and hand was occupied 
 



 

with the bulge, and the other was for the 
moment unequal to the work of driving off 
the assailant. The two children wrangled 
and struggled downstairs, through the door- 
way and into the street; the hunchback, weak 
but infuriate, buffeting, biting and whim- 
pering; Dicky infuriate too, but alert for a 
chance to break away and run. So they 
scrambled together across the street, Dicky 
dragging away from the house at every 
step ; and just at the corner of Luck Row, 
getting his fore-arm across the other's face, 
he back-heeled him, and the little hunch- 
back fell heavily, and lay breathless and 
sobbing, while Dicky scampered through 
Luck Row and round the corner into 
Meakin Street. 

Mr. Weech was busier now, for there 
were customers. But Dicky and his 
bulge he saw ere they were well over the 
threshold. 

"Ah, yus, Dicky," he said, coming to 



 
meet him. " I was expectin' you. Come 



In the swe-e-et by an' by 

W^e shall meet on that beautiful shaw-er ! 
Come in 'ere." 

Still humming his hymn, Mr. Weech 
led Dicky into the shop parlour. Here 
Dicky produced the clock, which Mr. 
Weech surveyed with no great approval. 

" You ' 'ave to try an* do better than 
this, you know," he said. u But any 'ow 
'ere it is, sich as it is. It about clears auf 
wot you owe, I reckon. Want some din- 
ner ? " 

This was a fact, and Dicky admitted it. 

"Awright 

In the swe-e-e-t by an' by, 
Come out an* set down. I ' bring you 
somethink 'ot." 

This proved to be a very salt bloater, a 
cup of the usual muddy coffee, tasting of 
burnt toast and a bit of bread, afterwards 



 

supplemented by a slice of cake. This to 
Dicky was a banquet. Moreover, there 
was the adult dignity of taking your din- 
ner in a coffee-shop; which Dicky sup- 
ported indomitably now that he began to 
feel at ease in Mr. Weech's ; leaning back 
in his seat, swinging his feet, and looking 
about at the walls with the grocers' alma- 
nacks hanging thereto, and the Sunday 
School Anniversary bills of past date, gath- 
ered from afar to signalise the elevated 
morals of the establishment. 

u Done ?" queried Mr. Weech in his 
ear. " Awright, don't 'ang about 'ere 
then. Bloater's a penny, bread a Vpeny, 
cawfy a penny, cake a penny. You ' 
owe thrippence-Vpeny now." 



VIII 

When Dicky Perrott and the small 
hunchback were hauling and struggling 
across the street, old Fisher came down 
from the top-floor back, wherein he dwelt 
with his son Bob, Bob's wife and two sis- 
ters, and five children; an apartment in no 
way so clean as the united efforts of ten 
people might be expected to have made it. 
Old Fisher, on whose grimy face the 
wrinkles were deposits of mud, stopped at 
the open door on the first floor, and, as 
Dicky had done, took a peep. Perplexed 
at the monstrous absence of dirt, and en- 
couraged by the stillness, Old Fisher also 
ventured within. Nobody was in charge, 
and Old Fisher, mentally pricing the pink 
glass vases at three-pence, made for a 
 



 

small chest in the corner of the room and 
lifted the lid. Within lay many of Roper's 
tools, from among which he had that 
morning taken such as he might want on 
an emergent call to work, to carry as he 
tramped Curtain Road. Clearly these were 
the most valuable things in the place, and, 
slipping a few small articles into his pock- 
ets, Old Fisher took a good double handful 
of the larger, and tramped upstairs with 
them. Presently he returned with Bob's 
missus, and together they started with 
more. As they emerged, however, there 
on the landing stood the little hunchback, 
sobbing and smearing his face with his 
sleeve. At sight of this new pillage he 
burst into sharp wails, standing impotent 
on the landing, his streaming eyes follow- 
ing the man and woman ascending before 
him. Old Fisher, behind, stumped the 
stairs with a clumsy affectation of absent- 
mindedness j the woman in front looked 



 



 

down, merely indifferent. Scarce were 
they vanished above, however, when the 
little hunchback heard his father and mother 
on the lower stairs. 



IX 

Dicky came moodily back from his 
dinner at Mr. Weech's, plunged in mys- 
tified computation : starting with a debt 
of twopence, he had paid Mr. Weech an 
excellent clock a luxurious article in 
Dicky's eyes had eaten a bloater, and 
had emerged from the transaction owing 
threepence half-penny. Of what such a 
clock cost he had no notion, though he 
felt it must be some inconceivable sum 
As Mr. Weech put it the adjustment 
of accounts would seem to be quite 
correct ; but the broad fact that all had 
ended in increasing his debt by three half- 
pence, remained and perplexed him. He 
remembered having seen such clocks in a 
shop in Norton Folgate. To ask the 
 



 

price, in person, were but to be chased 
out of the shop ; but they were probably 
ticketed, and perhaps he might ask some 
bystander to read the ticket. This brought 
the reflection that, after all, reading was a 
useful accomplishment on occasion; though 
a matter of too much time and trouble to 
be worth while. Dicky had never been 
to school ; for the Elementary Education 
Act ran in the Jago no more than any 
other Act of Parliament. There was a 
Board School, truly, away out of the 
Jago bounds, by the corner of Honey Lane, 
where children might go free, and where 
some few Jago children did go now and 
again, when boots were to be given away, 
or when tickets were to be had, for tea, or 
soup, or the like. But most parents were 
of Josh Perrott's opinion that school- 
going was a practice best never begun; 
for then the child was never heard of, 
and there was no chance of inquiries or 
such trouble not that any such inquiries 



 

were common in the Jago, or led to any- 
thing. 

Meantime Dicky, minded to know if 
his adventure had made any stir in the 
house, carried his way deviously towards 
home. Working through the parts beyond 
Jago Row, he fetched 'round into Honey 
Lane, so coming at New Jago Street from 
the farther side. Choosing one of the 
houses whose backs gave on Jago Court, 
he slipped through the passage, and so, by 
the back-yard, crawled through the broken 
fence into the court. Left and right were 
the fronts of houses, four a side. Before 
him, to the right of the narrow archway 
leading to Old Jago Street, was the window 
of his own home. He gained the back- 
yard quietly, and at the kitchen door met 
Tommy Rann. 

" Come on," called Tommy. " 'Ere 's 
a barney ! They 're a-pitchin' into them 
noo 'uns Roperses. Roperses sez Fish- 



 



 

erses is sneaked their things. They are 
a-gittin' of it ! " 

From the stairs, indeed, came shouts and 
curses, bumps and sobs and cries. The 
first landing and half the stairs were full of 
people, men and women, Ranns and Learys 
together. When Ranns joined Learys it 
was an ill omen for them they marched 
against ; and never were they so ready and 
auxious to combine as after a fight between 
themselves, were but some common object 
of attack available. Here it was. Here 
were these pestilent outsiders, the Ropers, 
assailing the reputation of the neighbour- 
hood by complaining of being robbed. As 
though their mere presence in the Jago, 
with their furniture and their superiority, 
were not obnoxious enough : they must turn 
about and call their neighbours thieves. 
They had been tolerated too long already. 
They should now be given something for 
themselves, and have some of their exas- 
perating respectability knocked off: and if, 
 



 

in the confusion, their portable articles of 
furniture and bed-clothing found their way 
into more deserving hands why, serve 
them right. 

The requisite volleys of preliminary 
abuse having been discharged, more active 
operations began under cover of fresh vol- 
leys. Dicky, with Tommy Rann behind 
him, struggled up the stairs among legs and 
skirts, and saw that the Ropers, the man 
flushed, but the woman paler than ever, 
were striving to shut their door. Within, 
the hunchback and the baby cried, and 
without, those on the landing, skidding the 
door with their feet, pushed inward, and 
now began to strike and maul. Somebody 
seized the man's wrist, and Nora Walsh 
got the woman by the hair and dragged her 
head down. In a peep through the scuffle 
Dicky saw her face, ashen and sweat- 
beaded, in the jamb of the door, and saw 
Nora Walsh's red fist beat into it twice. 
Then somebody came striding up the stairs, 
 



 

and Dicky was pushed further back. Over 
the shoulders of those about him, Dicky 
saw a tall hat, and then the head beneath 
it. It was the stranger he had seen in Edge 
Lane the parson; active and resolute. 

Nora Walsh he took by the shoulders 
and flung back among the others, and, as 
he turned on him, the man who held 
Roper's wrist released it and backed off. 

" What is this ? " demanded the new- 
comer, stern and hard. of face. " What is 
all this ?" He bent his frown on one and 
another about him, and as he did it, some 
shrank uneasily, and on the faces of others 
fell the blank lack of expression that was 
wont to meet police enquiry in the Jago. 
Dicky looked to see this man beaten down, 
kicked and stripped. But a well-dressed 
stranger was so new a thing in the Jago, 
this one had dropped among them so sud- 
denly, and had withal so bold a confidence, 
that the Jagos stood irresolute. A tofF was 
not a person to be attacked without due 
 



 

consideration. After such a person there 
were apt to be inquiries, with money to 
back them, and vengeance sharp and cer- 
tain : the thing, indeed, was commonly 
thought too risky. And this man, so un- 
flinchingly confident, must needs have rea- 
son for it. He might have the police at 
instant call they might be back in the 
Jago at the moment. And he flung them 
back, commanded them, cowed them with 
his hard, intelligent eyes, like a tamer 
among beasts. 

" Understand this, now," he went on, 
with a sharp tap of his stick on the floor. 
" This is a sort of thing I will not tolerate 
in my parish in this parish ; nor in any 
other place where I may meet it. Go 
away, and try to be ashamed of yourselves 
go. Go, all of you, I say, to your own 
homes ; I shall come there and talk to you 
again soon. Go along, Sam Cash you Ve 
a broken head already, I see. Take it 
away ; I shall come and see you too." 
 



 

Those on the stairs had melted away 
like punished school-children. Most of 
the others, after a moment of averted face 
and muttered justification one to another, 
were dragging their feet, each with a hang- 
dog pretence of sauntering airily off from 
some sight no longer interesting. Sam 
Cash, who had already seen the stranger in 
the street, and was thus perhaps a trifle 
less startled than the others at his advent, 
stood, however, with some assumption of 
virtuous impudence, till amazed by sudden 
address in his own name j whereat, clean 
discomfited, he ignominiously turned tail 
and sneaked downstairs in meaner case 
than the rest. How should this strange 
parson know him, and know his name ? 
Plainly he must be connected with the 
police. He had brought out the name as 
pat as you please. So argued Sam Cash 
with his fellows in the outer street ; never 
recalling that Jerry Gullen had called aloud 
to him by name, when first he observed 
 



\ 



 

the parson in the street ; had called to him, 
indeed, to haste to the bashing of the 
Ropers; and thus had first given the 
stranger notice of the proceeding. But it 
was the way of the Jago that its mean 
cunning saw a mystery and a terror where 
simple intelligence saw there was none. 

As the crowd began to break up, Dicky 
pushed his own door a little open behind 
him and there stood on his own ground as 
the others cleared off; and the hunchback 
ventured a peep from behind his swooning 
mother. 

" There y' are, that 's 'im ! " he shouted, 
pointing at Dicky. " 'E begun it ! 'E took 
the clock !" 

Dicky instantly dropped behind his door 
and shut it fast. 

The invaders had all gone the Fishers 
had made upstairs in the beginning be- 
fore the parson turned and entered the 
Ropers' room. In five minutes he emerged 
and strode upstairs; whence he returned 
 



 

after a still shorter interval, herding before 
him Old Fisher and Bob Fisher's missis, 
sulky and reluctant, carrying tools. 

And thus it was that the Reverend 
Henry Sturt first addressed his parishion- 
ers. The parish, besides the Jago, com- 
prised Meakin Street and some way beyond; 
and it was to this less savage district that 
his predecessor had confined his attention. 
Preaching every Sunday in a stable, in an 
alley behind a disused shop, and distribut- 
ing loaves and sixpences to the old women 
who attended regularly on that account. 
For to go into the Jago were for him mere 
wasted effort. And so, indeed, the matter 
had been since the parish came into 
being. 



When Dicky retreated from the landing 
and shut the door behind him, he slipped 
the bolt, a strong one, put there by Josh 
Perrott himself, possibly as an accessory 
to escape by the window in some possible 
desperate pass. For a little he listened, 
but no sound hinted of attack from with- 
out, and he turned to his mother. 

Josh Perrott had been out since early 
morning, and Dicky, too, had done no more 
than look in for a moment in search of din- 
ner. Hannah Perrott, grown tired of self- 
commiseration, felt herself neglected and 
aggrieved slighted in her state of invalid 
privilege. So she transferred some of her 
pity from her sore neck to her desolate con- 
dition as misprized wife and mother, and, 
the better to feel it, proceeded to martyrise 
zoo 




 
i 

herself, with melancholy pleasure, by a 

nerveless show of " setting to rights " in 
the room a domestic novelty, perfunctory 
as it was. Looey, still restless and weeping, 
she left on the bed, for, being neglected 
herself, it was not her mood to tend the 
baby; she would aggravate the relish of 
her sorrows in her own way. Besides, 
Looey had been given something to eat a 
long time ago, and had not eaten it yet ; 
with her there was nothing else to do. So 
that now, as she dragged a rag along the 
grease-strewn mantelpiece, Mrs. Perrott 
greeted Dicky: "There y' are, Dicky, 
comin* 'inderin' 'ere jest when I 'm a-put- 
tin' things to rights." And she sighed with 
the weight of another grievance. 

Looey lay on her back, faintly and 
vainly struggling to turn her fearful little 
face from the light. Clutched in her little 
fist was the unclean stump of bread she 
had held for hours. Dicky plucked a soft 
piece and essayed to feed her with it, but 

 




 

the dry little mouth rejected the morsel 
and the head turned feverishly from side 
to side to the sound of that novel cry. 
She was hot wherever Dicky touched her, 
and presently he said : "Mother, I b'lieve 
Looey's queer. I think she wants some 
med'cine." 

His mother shook her head peevishly. 
" O you an* Looey 's a noosance," she 
said. " A lot you care about me bein' 
queer, you an* yer father too, leavin' me 
all alone like this an' me feelin' ready to 
drop, an' got the room to do an* all. I 
wish you 'd go away an' stop 'inderin' of 
me like this." 

Dicky took but another look at Looey 
and then slouched out. The landing was 
clear, and the Ropers' door was shut. He 
wondered what had become of the stranger 
with the tall hat whether he was in the 
Ropers' room or not. The thought hur- 
ried him, for he feared to have that stranger 
asking him questions about the clock. He 
 



 

got out into the street, thoughtful. He 
had some compunctions in the matter of 
that clock, now. Not that he could in 
any reasonable way blame himself. There 
the clock had stood at his mercy, and by 
all Jago custom and ethic it was his if 
only he could get clear away with it. 
This he had done, and he had no more 
concern in the business, strictly speaking. 
Nevertheless, since he had seen the 
woman's face in the jamb of the door he 
felt a sort of pity for her that she should 
have lost her clock. No doubt she had 
enjoyed its possession, as, indeed, he 
would have enjoyed it himself, had he 
not had to take it instantly to Mr. 
Weech. And his fancy wandered off in 
meditation of what he would do with 
a clock of his own. To begin with, of 
course, he would open it, and discover the 
secret of its works and its ticking: per- 
haps thereby discovering how to make a 
clock himself. Also he would frequently 
 



 

wind it up, and he would show the inside 
to Looey, in confidence. It would stand 
on the mantelpiece, and raise the social 
position of the family. People would 
come respectfully to ask the time, and he 
would tell them, with an air. Yes, cer- 
tainly a clock must stand eminent among 
the things he would buy, when he had 
plenty of money. He must look out for 
more clicks : the one way to riches. 

As to the Ropers, again. Bad it must 
be, indeed, to be deprived suddenly of a 
clock, after long experience of the joys it 
brought; and Nora Walsh had punched 
the woman in the face, and clawed her hair, 
and the woman could not fight. Dicky 
was sorry for her, and straightway resolved 
to give her another clock or, if not a 
clock, something that would please her as 
much. He had acquired a clock in the 
morning; why not another in the after- 
noon ? Failing a clock, he would try for 
something else, and the Ropers should 
 



 

have it. The resolve gave Dicky a vir- 
tuous exultation of spirit, the reward of 
the philanthropist. 

Again he began the prowl after likely 
plunder that was to be his daily industry. 
Meakin Street he did not try. The chan- 
dlers* and the cook shops held nothing that 
might be counted a consolatory equivalent 
for a clock. Through the "Posties" he 
reached Shoreditch High Street at once, 
and started. 

This time his movements aroused less 
suspicion. In the morning he had no par- 
ticular prize in view, and loitered at every 
shop, waiting his chance at anything port- 
able. Now, with a more definite object, 
he made his promenade easily, but without 
stopping or lounging by shop-fronts. The 
thing, whatsoever it might be, must be 
small, handsome, and of an interesting 
character at least as interesting as the 
clock was. It must be small, not merely 
for facility of concealment and removal 
 



 

though these were main considerations 
but because stealthy presentation were 
then the easier. It would have pleased 
Dicky to hand over his gift openly, and 
to bask in the thanks and consideration 
it would procure. But he had been ac- 
cused of stealing the clock, and an open 
gift would savour of admission and peace- 
offering, whereas in that matter stark 
denial was his plain course. 

A roll of printed stuff would not do; 
apples would not do ; and fish was wide of 
his purpose. Up one side and down the 
other side of High Street he walked, his 
eye instant for suggestion and opportunity. 
But all in vain. Nobody exposed clocks 
out of doors, and of those within not one 
but an attempt on it were simple mad- 
ness. And of the things less desperate of 
access, nothing was proper to the occasion ; 
all were too large, too cheap, or too unin- 
teresting. Oddly, Dicky feared failure 
more than had he been hunting for himself. 
  



 

He tried further south, in Norton Fol- 
gate. There was a shop of cheap second- 
hand miscellanies; saddles, razors, straps, 
dumb-bells, pistols, boxing gloves, trunks, 
bags, and billiard-balls. Many of the things 
hung about the door-posts in bunches, and 
within all was black, as in a cave. At one 
door-post was a pistol. Nothing could be 
more interesting than a pistol indeed, it 
was altogether a better possession than a 
clock ; and it was a small, handy sort of 
thing. Probably the Ropers would be de- 
lighted with a pistol. He stood and re- 
garded it with much interest. There were 
difficulties. In the first place, it was 
beyond his reach ; and, in the second, it 
hung by the trigger-guard on a stout cord. 
Just then, glancing within the shop, he 
perceived a pair of fiery eyes regarding 
him, panther-like, from the inner gloom ; 
and he hastily resumed his walk, as the 
Jew shop-keeper reached the door and 
watched him safely away. 
 



 

Now he came to Bishopsgate Street, and 
here at last he chose the gift. It was at a 
toy-shop ; a fine, flaming toy-shop, with 
carts, dolls and hoops dangling above, and 
wooden horses standing below, guarding 
two baskets by the door. One contained a 
mixed assortment of tops, whips, boats, and 
woolly dogs ; the other was lavishly filled 
with shining, round metal boxes nobly 
decorated with coloured pictures, each box 
with a little cranked handle. As he looked, 
a tune, delightfully tinkled on some in- 
strument, was heard from within the shop. 
Dicky peeped. There was a lady, with 
a little girl at her side, looking eagerly at 
just such a shining round box in the 
saleswoman's hands, and it was from 
that box, as the saleswoman turned the 
handle, that the tune came. Dicky was 
enchanted. This this was the thing, 
beyond debate; a pretty little box that 
would play music whenever you turned a 
handle. This was a thing worth any fifty 
 



 

clocks. Indeed, it was almost as good as 
a regular barrel organ, the first thing he 
would buy if he were rich. 

There was a shop-boy in charge of the 
goods outside the window, and his eyes 
were on Dicky. So Dicky whistled ab- 
sently, and strolled carelessly along. He 
swung behind a large waggon, crossed the 
road, and sought a convenient door-step; 
for his mind was made up, and his business 
was now to sit down before the toy-shop 
and wait his opportunity. 

A shop had been boarded up after a fire, 
and from its doorstep one could command 
a perfect view of the toy-shop across the 
broad thoroughfare with its crowded traffic 
could sit, moreover, safe from interfer- 
ence. Here Dicky took his seat, secure 
from the notice of the guardian shop-boy, 
whose attention was given to passengers on 
his own side. The little girl, gripping the 
new toy in her hand, came out at her 
mother's side and trotted off. For a mo- 
 



 

ment Dicky reflected that the box could be 
easily snatched, but after all the little girl 
had but one; whereas the shop-woman had 
many, and at best could play on no more 
than one at a time. 

He resumed his watch of the shop-boy, 
confident that, sooner or later, a chance 
would come. A woman stopped to ask 
the price of something, and Dicky had 
half crossed the road ere the boy had be- 
gun to answer. But the answer was 
short, the boy's attention was released too 
soon. 

At last the shop-woman called the boy 
within, and Dicky darted across not di- 
rectly, but so as to arrive invisibly at the 
side next the basket of music-boxes. A 
quick glance behind him, a snatch at the 
box with the reddest picture, and a dash 
into the traffic did it. 

The dash away would not have been 
necessary but for the sudden reappearance 
of the shop-boy ere the box had vanished 
no 



 

amid the intricacies of Dicky's jacket. 
Dicky was fast, but the boy was little 
slower, and was, moreover, bigger, and 
stronger on his legs. Dicky reached the 
other pavement and turned the next cor- 
ner into Widegate Street, the pursuer 
scarce ten yards behind. It was now that 
Dicky first experienced "hot beef" 
which is the Jago idiom denoting the 
plight of one harried by the cry " Stop 
thief ! " Down Widegate Street, across 
Sandys Row and into Raven Row he ran 
his best, clutching the hem of his jacket 
and the music-box that lay within. Cross- 
ing Sandys Row a loafing lad shouldered 
against the shop-boy, and Dicky was 
grateful, for he made it a gain of several 
yards. 

But others had joined in the hunt, and 
Dicky for the first time began to fear. 
This was a bad day twice already he 
had been chased ; and now it was bad. 
He thought little more, for a stunning 



 

fear fell upon him : the fear of the hunted, 
that calculates nothing and is measured by 
no apprehension of consequences. He re- 
membered that he must avoid Spitalfields 
Market, full of men who would stop him ; 
and he knew that in many places where a 
man would be befriended, many would 
make a virtue of stopping a boy. To the 
right along Bell Lane he made an agonised 
burst of speed, and for a while he saw not 
nor remembered anything ; heard no more 
than dreadful shouts drawing nearer his 
shoulders, felt only the fear. But he 
could not last. Quick enough when 
fresh, he was tiny and ill-fed, and he now 
felt his legs trembling and his wind going. 
Something seemed to beat on the back of 
his head, till he wondered madly if it were 
the shop-boy with a stick. He turned cor- 
ners and chose his way by mere instinct, 
ashen-faced, staring, open-mouthed. How 
soon would he give in,and drop ? A street 
more half a street ten yards? Roll- 
 



 

ing and tripping, he turned one last corner 
and almost fell against a vast, fat, unkempt 
woman whose clothes slid from her shoul- 
ders. 

" 'Ere y* are boy," said the woman, and 
flung him by the shoulder through the 
doorway before which she stood. 

He was saved at his extremity, for he 
could never have reached the street's end. 
The woman who had done it (probably 
she had boys of her own on the crook) 
filled the entrance with her frowsy bulk, 
and the chase straggled past. Dicky caught 
the stair-post for a moment's support, and 
then staggered out at the back of the house. 
He gasped, he panted, things danced blue 
before him , but still he clutched his jacket 
hem and the music-box lying within. The 
back door gave on a cobble-paved court, 
with other doors, two coster's barrows and 
a few dusty fowls. Dicky sat on a step 
where a door was shut and rested his 
head against the frame. 
" 



 

The beating in his head grew slower 
and lighter, and presently he could breathe 
with no fear of choking. He rose and 
moved off, still panting, and feeble in the 
legs. The court ended in an arched pas- 
sage through which he gained the street 
beyond. Here he had but to turn to the 
left,and he was in Brick Lane, and thence 
all was clear to the Old Jago. Regaining 
his breath and his confidence as he went, 
he bethought him of the Jago Row re- 
treat, where he might examine his prize at 
leisure, embowered amid trucks and bar- 
rows. Thither he pushed his way, and 
soon, in the shade of the upturned bar- 
row, he brought out the music -box. 
Bright and shiny, it had taken no damage 
in the flight, though on his hands he found 
scratches, and on his shins bruises, got he 
knew not how. On the top of the box 
was the picture of a rosy little boy in 
crimson presenting a scarlet nosegay to a 
rosy little girl in pink, while a red brick 
 



 

mansion filled the distance and solidified 
the composition. The brilliant hoop that 
made the sides (silver, Dicky was con- 
vinced) was stamped in patterns, and the 
little brass handle was an irresistible temp- 
tation. Dicky climbed a truck and looked 
about him, peeping from beside the loose 
fence-plank. Then, seeing nobody very 
near, he muffled the box as well as he 
could in his jacket and turned the handle. 
This was, indeed, worth all the trouble. 
" Gently Does the Trick," was the tune, and 
Dicky, with his head aside and his ear on 
the bunch of jacket that covered the box, 
listened; his lips parted, his eyes seeking 
illimitable space. He played the tune 
through, and played it again; and then, 
growing reckless, played it with the box 
unmuffled, till he was startled by a bang 
on the fence from without. It was but 
a passing boy with a stick, but Dicky was 
sufficiently disturbed to abandon his quar- 
ters and take his music elsewhere. 
" 



 

What he longed to do was to take it 
home and play it to Looey, but that was out 
of the question; he remembered the watch. 
But there was Jerry Gullen's canary, and 
him Dicky sought and found. Canary 
blinked solemnly when the resplendent 
box was flashed in his eyes, and set his 
ears back and forward as, muffled again 
in Dicky's jacket, it tinkled out its tune. 

Tommy Rann should not see it, lest he 
prevail over its munificent dedication to 
the Ropers. Truly, as it was, Dicky's 
resolution was hard to abide by. The 
thing acquired at such a cost of patience, 
address, hard flight and deadly fear was 
surely his by right as surely, quite, as the 
clock had been. And such a thing he 
might never touch again. 

But he put by the temptation manfully, 
and came out by Jerry Gullen's front door. 
He would look no more on the music-box, 
beautiful as it was : he would convey it to 
the Ropers before temptation came again. 
x 



 

It was not easy to devise likely means. 
Their door was shut fast, of course. For 
a little while he favoured the plan of set- 
ting the box against the threshold, knock- 
ing and running off. But an opportunity 
might arise of doing the thing in a way to 
give him some glimpse of the Ropers' de- 
light, an indulgence he felt entitled to. So 
he waited a little, listened a little, and at 
last came out into the street and loafed. 

It was near six o'clock, and a smell of 
bloater hung about Jerry Gullen's door 
and window ; under the raised sash Jerry 
Gullen, close cropped and foxy of face, 
smoked his pipe, sprawled his elbows, and 
contemplated the world. Dicky, with the 
music box stowed out of sight, looked as 
blank of design and as destitute of posses- 
sion as he could manage ; for there were 
loafers near Mother Gapp's, loafers at the 
Luck Row corner at every corner 
and loafers by the " Posties," all laggard 
of limb and alert of eye. He had just 
 



 

seen a child, going with an empty beer-can, 
thrown down, robbed of his coppers and 
a poor old top, and kicked away in help- 
less tears j and the incident was common- 
place enough, or many would have lacked 
pocket-money. Whosoever was too young, 
too old, or too weak to fight for it, must 
keep what he had well liidden, in the Jago. 
Down the street came Billy Leary, big, 
flushed and limping, and hanging to a 
smaller man by a fistful of his coat on the 
shoulder. Dicky knew the small man for 
a good toy-getter (which=watch-stealer), 
and judged he had had a good click, the pro- 
ceeds whereof Billy Leary was battening 
upon in beer-shops. For Billy Leary rarely 
condescended to anything less honourable 
than bashing, and had not yet fallen so 
low as to go about stealing for himself. 
His missus brought many to the cosh, 
and his chief necessity another drink 
he merely demanded of the nearest person 
with the money to buy it, on pain of bash- 
 



 

ing. Or he walked into the nearest public 
house, selected the fullest pot, and spat in 
it: a ceremony that deprived the purchaser 
of further interest in the beer and left it at 
his own disposal. There were others, both 
Ranns and Learys, who pursued a similar 
way of life; but Billy Leary was biggest 
among them big men not being common 
in the Jago and rarely came to difficulty : 
as however he did once, having invaded the 
pot of a stranger, who turned out to be a 
Mile End pugilist exploring Shoreditch. It 
was not well for any Jago who had made 
a click to have Billy Leary know of it ; for 
then the clicker was apt to be sought out, 
clung to, and sucked dry ; possibly bashed 
as well, when nothing more was left, if 
Billy Leary were still but sober enough for 
the work. 

Dicky gazed after the man with interest. 

It was he whom his father was to fight in 

a week or so perhaps in a few days : on 

the first Sunday, indeed, that Leary should 

 



 

be deemed fit enough. How much of the 
limp was due to yesterday's disaster and 
how much to to-day's beer Dicky could not 
judge. But there seemed little reason to 
look for a long delay before the fight. As 
Dicky turned away a man pushed a large 
truck round the corner from Edge Lane, 
and on the footpath beside it walked the 
parson, calm as ever, with black clothes 
and tall hat, whole and unsoiled. He had 
made himself known in the Jago in course 
of that afternoon. He had traversed it from 
end to end, street by street, and alley by 
alley. His self-possession, his readiness, 
his unbending firmness, abashed and per- 
plexed the Jagos, and his appearance 
just as the police had left could but con- 
vince them that he must have some mys- 
terious and potent connexion with the 
force. He had attempted very little in the 
way of domiciliary visiting, being content 
for the time to see his parish and speak 



 



 

here a word and there another with his 
parishioners. An encounter with Kiddo 
Cook did as much as anything toward 
securing him a proper deference. In his 
second walk through Old Jago Street, as 
he neared The Feathers, he was aware of 
a bunch of grinning faces pressed against 
the bar window ; and as he came abreast, 
forth stepped Kiddo Cook from the door, 
impudently affable, smirking and ducking 
with mock obsequiousness, and offering a 
quart pot. 

"An* 'ow jer find jerself, sir ?" he asked, 
with pantomime cordiality. " Hof'ly shock- 
in', these 'ere lower classes, ain't they ? 
Er yus; disgustin', weally. Er might 
I er prepose er a little refresh- 
ment ? Allow me ! " 

The parson, grimly impassive, heard him 
through, took the pot, and, instantly jerk- 
ing it upward, shot the beer, a single splash, 
into Kiddo's face. " There are things I 



 



 

must teach you, I see, my man," he said, 
without moving a muscle, except to return 
the pot. 

Kiddo Cook, coughing, drenched and 
confounded, took the pot instinctively and 
backed to Mother Gapp's door, while the 
bunch of faces at the bar window tossed 
and rolled in a joyous ecstasy ; the ghost 
whereof presently struggled painfully among 
Kiddo' s own dripping features as he real- 
ised the completeness of his defeat, and the 
expedience of a patient grin. The parson 
went calmly on. 

Before this, indeed when he left the 
Ropers' room, and just after Dicky had 
started out, he had looked in at the Per- 
rotts* quarters to speak about the clock. 
But plainly no clock was there, and Mrs. 
Perrott's flaccid indignation at the sug- 
gestion, and her unmistakable ignorance of 
the affair, decided him to carry the matter no 
further, at any rate for the present. More- 
over, the little hunchback's tale was incon- 

 



 

elusive. He had seen no clock in Dicky's 
possession had but met him on the stairs 
with a bulging jacket. The thing might 
be suspicious, but the new parson knew 
better than to peril his influence by charg- 
ing where he could not convict. So 
he duly commiserated Hannah Perrott's 
troubles, suggested that the baby seemed 
unwell and had better be taken to a doctor, 
and went his way about the Jago. 

Now he stopped at the truck by Dicky's 
front door and mounted to the Ropers' 
room. For he had seen that the Jago was 
no place for them now, and had himself 
found them a suitable room away by Dove 
Lane. And so, emboldened by his com- 
pany, the Ropers came forth, and with the 
help of the man who had brought the 
truck, carried down the pieces of their bed- 
stead, a bundle of bedding, the two chairs, 
the pink vases and the strip of old carpet, 
and piled them on the truck with the f w 
more things that were theirs. 
 



 

Dicky, with his hand on the music box 
in the Hning of his jacket, sauntered up by 
the tail of the truck and, waiting his 
chance, plunged his gift under the bundle 
of bedding and left it there. But the little 
hunchback's sharp eyes were jealously on 
him, and, "Look there!'* he squealed. U 'E 
put 'is 'and in the truck and took some- 
think ! " 

ct Ye lie ! " answered Dicky, indignant 
and hurt, but cautiously backing off; "I 
ain *t got nothink." He spread his hands 
and opened his jacket in proof. " Think 
I got yer bloomin' bedstead ? " 

He had nothing, it was plain. In fact, 
at the tail of the truck there was nothing 
he could easily have moved at all, cer- 
tainly nothing he could have concealed. 
So the rest of the little removal was hur- 
ried, for heads were now at windows, the 
loafers began to draw about the truck, and 
trouble might break out at any moment: 
indeed, the Ropers could never have ven- 
 



 

tured from their room but for the general 
uneasy awe of the parson. For nothing 
was so dangerous in the Jago as to impugn 
its honesty. To rob another was reas- 
onable and legitimate, and to avoid being 
robbed, so far as might be, was natural 
and proper. But to accuse anybody of 
a theft was unsportsmanlike, a foul out- 
rage, a shameful abuse, a thing unpardon- 
able. You might rob a man, bash a 
man, even kill a man ; but to " take 
away his character" even when he had 
none was to draw the execrations of 
the whole Jago ; while to assail the pure 
fame of the place to u give the street a 
bad name " this was to bring the Jago 
howling and bashing about your ears. 

The truck moved off at last, amid mur- 
murings, mutterings and grunts from the 
onlookers. The man of the truck pulled, 
Roper shoved behind, and his wife, with 
her threadbare decency and her meagre, 
bruised face, carried the baby, while the 
 



 

hunchbacked boy went by her side. All 
this under convoy of the Reverend Henry 
Sturt. 

A little distance gave more confidence 
to a few, and when the group had reached 
within a score of yards of Edge Lane, 
there came a hoot or two, a " Yah ! " and 
other less spellable sounds, expressive of 
contempt and defiance. Roper glanced 
back nervously, but the rest held on their 
way regardless. Then came a brickbat, 
which missed the woman by very little and 
struck the truck-wheel. At this the par- 
son stopped and turned on his heel, and 
Cocko Harnwell, the flinger, drove his 
hands into his breeches-pockets and affected 
an interest in Mother Gapp's window, 
till, perceiving the parson's eyes directed 
sternly upon him, and the parson's stick 
rising to point at him, he ingloriously 
turned tail, and scuttled into Jago Court. 

And so the Ropers left the Jago. Dove 
Lane was but a stone-throw ahead when 
 



 

some of the load shifted, and the truck was 
stopped to set the matter right. The chest 
was pushed back and the bedding was 
lifted to put against it, and so the musical- 
box came to light. Roper picked it up 
and held it before the Vicar's eyes. " Look 
at that, sir," he said. " You ' witness I 
know nothing of it, won 't you ? It ain 't 
mine an' I never saw it before. It 's bin 
put in for spite, to put a theft on us. 
When they come for it you ' bear me out 
sir, won 't you ? That was the Perrott 
boy as was put up to do that, I ' be bound. 
When he was behind the truck." 

But nobody came for Dicky's gift, and 
in the Jago twilight Dicky vainly struggled 
to whistle the half-remembered tune: and 
to persuade himself that he was not sorry 
that the box was gone. 



XL 

Josh Perrott reached home late for tea 
but in good humor. He had spent most of 
the day at the Bag of Nails, dancing 
attendance on the High Mobsmen. Those 
of the High Mob were the flourishing 
practitioners in burglary, the mag, the 
mace, and the broads, with an outer fringe 
of such dippers pickpockets as could 
dress well, welshers and snidesmen. These, 
the grandees of rascality, lived in places far 
from the Jago, and some drove in gigs and 
pony traps. But they found the Bag of 
Nails a convenient and secluded exchange 
and house of call, and there they met, 
made appointments, designed villainies, and 
tossed for sovereigns : deeply reverenced 
by the admiring Jagos, among whom no 
ambition flourished but this to become 
I  



 

also of these resplendent ones. It was of 
these that old Beveridge had spoken one 
day to Dicky, in language the child but 
half understood. The old man sat on a 
kerb in view of the Bag of Nails and 
smoked a blackened bit of clay pipe. He 
hauled Dicky to his side, and, pointing 
with his pipe, said: "See that man with 
the furs?" 

" What ?" Dicky replied. " Mean 'im 
in the ice-cream coat, smokin' a cigar ? 
Yus." 

" And the other, with the brimmy tall- 
hat, and the red face, and the umbrella ?" 

" Yus." 

"What are they?" 

" 'Igh mob. 'Ooks. Toffs." 

"Right. Now, Dicky Perrott, you 
Jago whelp, look at them look hard. 
Some day, if you 're clever cleverer 
than anyone in the Jago now if you 're 
only scoundrel enough, and brazen enough, 
and lucky enough one of a thousand 
 



 

maybe you ' be like them ; bursting with 
high living, drunk when you like, red and 
pimply. There it is that's your aim 
in life there's your pattern. Learn to 
read and write, learn all you can, learn 
cunning, spare nobody and stop at noth- 
ing, and perhaps " he waved his hand 
toward the Bag of Nails. " It 's the best 
the world has for you, for the Jago 's got 
you, and that 's the only way out, except 
gaol and the gallows. So do your devil- 
most, or God help you, Dicky Perrott 
though He won *t ; for the Jago 's got 
you !" 

Old Beveridge had eccentric talk and 
manners, and the Jago regarded him as a 
trifle "balmy," though anything but a 
fool. So that Dicky troubled little to sift 
the meaning of what he said. 

Josh Perrott's mission among the High 
Mob had been to discover some Mobs- 
man who might be disposed to back him 
in the fight with Billy Leary. For though 
 



 

a private feud were the first cause of the 
turn-up, still, business must never be neg- 
lected, and a feud or anything else that 
could produce money must be made to 
produce it, and when a fight of excep- 
tional merit is placed before spectators, it 
is but fair that they should pay for their 
diversion. 

But few High Mobsmen were at the 
Bag of Nails that day. Sunday was the 
day of the chief gatherings of the High 
Mob : Sunday the market-day, so to speak, 
of the Jago, when such such rent as was 
due weekly was paid (most of the Jago rents 
were paid daily and nightly) and other ac- 
counts were settled or fought out. More- 
over, the High Mob were perhaps a trifle shy 
of the Jago at the time of a faction fight ; 
and one was but just over, and that cut 
short at a third of the usual span of days. 
So that Josh waited long and touted vainly 
till a patron arrived who knew him of old ; 
who had employed him, indeed, as " mind- 



 

er" which means a protector or a bully, 
as you please to regard it on a race- 
course adventure involving bodily risk. 
On this occasion Josh had earned his 
wages with hard knocks, given and taken, 
and his employer had conceived a high 
and a thankful opinion of his capacity. 
Wherefore he listened now to the tale of 
the coming fight, and agreed to pro- 
vide something in the way of stakes, and 
to put something " on " for Josh himself: 
looking for his own profit to the bets he 
might make at favourable odds with his 
friends. For Billy Leary was notorious 
as being near prime ruffian of the Jago, 
while Josh's reputation was neither so evil 
nor so wide. And so it was settled, and 
Josh came pleased to his tea ; for assuredly 
Billy Leary would have no difficulty in 
finding another notable of the High Mob 
to cover the stakes. 

Dicky was at home, sitting by Looey on 
the bed, and when he called his father 
 



 

it seemed pretty plain to Josh that the baby 
was out of sorts. " She 's rum about the 
eyes," he said to his wife. " Blimy if she 
do n't look as though she was goin* to 
squint." 

Josh was never particularly solicitous as 
to the children, but he saw that they were 
fed and clothed perhaps by mere force 
of the habit of his more reputable days of 
plastering. He had brought home tripe, 
rolled in paper, and stuffed into his coat 
pocket, to make a supper on the strength 
of the day's stroke of business. When 
this tripe was boiled, he and Dicky essayed 
to drive morsels into Looey's mouth, and 
to wash them down with beer ; but to no 
end but choking rejection. Whereat Josh 
decided that she must go to the dispensary 
in the morning. And in the morning he 
took her, with Dicky at his heels j for not 
only did his wife still nurse her neck, but 
in truth she feared to venture abroad. 

The dispensary was no charitable insti- 



 

tution, but a shop so labeled in Meakin 
Street, one of half a dozen such kept by a 
medical man who lived away from them, 
and bothered himself as little about them 
as was consistent with banking the takings 
and signing the death certificates. A needy 
young student, whose sole qualification was 
cheapness, was set to do the business of 
each place, and the uniform price for 
advice and medicine was sixpence. But 
there was a deal of professional character 
in the blackened and gilt-lettered front 
windows, and the sixpences came by hun- 
dreds. For hospital letters but rarely came 
Meakin Street way. Such as did were 
mostly in the hands of tradesmen who sub- 
scribed for the purpose of getting them, 
and gave them to their best customers, 
as was proper and bnsiness-like. And so 
the dispensary flourished, and the needy 
young student grew shifty and callous, and 
no doubt there were occasional faith-cures. 
Indeed, cures of simple science were iru at 
J 



 

all impossible. For there was always a 
good supply of two drugs in the place 
Turkey rhubarb and sulphuric acid; both 
very useful, both very cheap, and both 
going very far in varied preparation, prop- 
erly handled. An ounce or two of sul- 
phuric acid, for instance, costing something 
fractional, dilutes with water iuto many 
gallons of physic. Excellent medicines 
they made, too, and balanced each other 
remarkably well by reason of their opposite 
effects. But indeed they were not all, for 
sometimes there were other two or three 
drugs in hand, interfering, perhaps trouble- 
somely, with the simple division of thera- 
peutics into the two provinces of rhubarb 
and sulphuric acid. 

Business was brisk at ^the dispensary : 
several were waiting, and medicine and 
advice were going at the rate of two min- 
utes for sixpence. Looey's case was not 
so clear as most of the others ; she could 
not describe its symptoms succinctly, as 
 



 

" a pain here,'* or " a tight feeling there." 
She did but lie heavily, staring blankly 
upward (she did not mind the light now) 
with the little cast in her eyes, and repeat 
her odd little wail; and Dicky and her 
father could tell very little. The young 
student had a passing thought that he might 
have known a trifle more of the matter if 
he had had time to turn up Ross on nerve 
and brain troubles were such a proceed- 
ing consistent with the dignity of the 
dispensary but straightway assigning the 
case to the rhubarb province, made up a 
powder, ordered Josh to keep the baby 
quiet, and pitched his sixpence among the 
others well within the two minutes. 

And faith in the dispensary was strength- 
ened, for indeed Looey seemed a little 
better after the powder ; and she was fed 
with spoonfuls of a fluid bought at a 
chandler's shop, and called milk. 



 



XII 

" Dicky Perrott, come 'ere,*' said Mr. 
Aaron Weech in a voice of sad rebuke, a 
few days later. " Come 'ere, Dicky Per- 
rott." 

He shook his head solemnly as he 
stooped. Dicky slouched up. 

" What was that you found the other 
day and did n't bring to me ? " 

" Nuffin'." Dicky withdrew a step. 

u It 's no good you a-tellin' me that, 
Dicky Perrott, when I know better. You 
know very well you can 't prevent me 
knowin'." His little eyes searched Dicky's 
face, and Dicky sulkily shifted his own 
gaze. u You 're a wicked, ungrateful 
young 'ound, an' I 've a good mind to tell 
a p'liceman to find out where you got that 
clock. Come 'ere, now don't you try 
 



 

runnin' away. Wot ! After me a-takin' 
you in when you was 'ungry, an* givin' 
you cawfy an' cake, an* good advice like a 
father, an* a bloater an' all, and you owin' 
me thrippence 'a'peny besides, then you 
goes an* an takes your findings somewhere 
else ! " 

" I never ! " protested Dicky stoutly, 
but Mr. Weech's cunning, equal to a 
shrewd guess that since his last visit Dicky 
had probably had another " find," and 
quick to detect a lie, was slack to perceive 
a truth. 

" Now, don't you go an' add on a 
wicked lie to your sinful ungratefulness, 
wotever you do,'* he said severely, "that's 
wuss, and I alwis know. Doncher know 
the little 'ymn ? : 

'An' 'im as does one fault at fust 
An' lies to 'ide it, makes it two ! ' 

It 's bad enough to be ungrateful to me as 

is bin so kind to you, an' it 's wuss to 

break the fust commandment. If the 

 



 

bloater do n't inflooence you, the *oly 'ymn 
ought. 'Ow would you like me to go an' 
ask yer father for that thrippence Vpeny 
you owe me ? That 's wot I ' 'ave to 
do, if you do n't mind." 

Dicky would not have liked it at all, 
as his frightened face testified. 

u Then find somethink an' pay it at 
once, an' then I wo n't. I wo n't be 'ard 
on you, if you ' be a good boy. But 
do n't git play in* no more tricks cos I ' 
know all about 'em. Now, go and find 
somethink quick." And Dicky went. 



XIII 

Ten days after his first tour of the Old 
Jago, the Reverend Henry Sturt first 
preached in the parish church made of a 
stable, in an alley behind Meakin Street, 
but few yards away, though beyond sight 
and sound of the Jago. 

There, that Sunday morning was a morn- 
ing of importance, a time of excitement, 
for the fight between Billy Leary and Josh 
Perrott was to come off in Jago Court. 
The assurance that there was money in the 
thing was a sovereign liniment for Billy 
Leary's bruises for they were but bruises 
and he hastened to come by that money, 
lest it melt by caprice of the backers, 
or the backers themselves fall at un- 
lucky odds with the police. He made little 
of Josh Perrott, his hardness and known 
 



 

fighting power notwithstanding. For was 
there not full a stone and a half between 
their weights ? and had Billy not four or 
five inches the better in height and a com- 
mensurate advantage in reach ? And Billy 
Leary's own hardness and fighting power 
were well proved enough. 

It was past eleven o'clock. The weekly 
rents for the week forthcoming had 
been extracted, or partly extracted, or 
scuffled over. Old Poll Rann, who had 
made money in sixty-five years of stall- 
farming and iniquity, had made the rounds 
of the six houses she rented, to turn out 
the tenants of the night who were disposed 
to linger. Many had already stripped 
themselves to their rags at pitch and toss 
in Jago Court; and the game still went 
busily on in the crowded area and in over- 
flow groups in Old Jago Street, and men 
found themselves deprived, not merely of 
the money for that day's food and that 
night's lodging, but even of the last few 
 



 

pence set aside to back a horse for Tues- 
day's race. A little-regarded fight or two 
went on here and there as usual, and on 
kerbs and doorsteps sat women, hideous at 
all ages, filling the air with the rhetoric of 
the Jago. 

Presently down from Edge Lane and 
the " Posties " came the High Mobsmen, 
swaggering in check suits and billycocks, 
gold chains and lumpy rings: stared at, 
envied, and here and there pointed out by 
name or exploit : " Him as done the sparks 
in from Regent Street for nine centuries o* 
quids"; "him as done five stretch for a 
snide bank bill an' they never found the 
'oof"; "him as maced the bookies in 
France an' shot the nark in the boat " ; 
and so forth. And the High Mob being 
come, the fight was due. 

Of course, a fight merely as a fight was 

no great matter of interest ; the thing was 

too common. But there was money on 

this; and again, it was no common thing to 

 



 

find Billy Leary defied, still less to find 
him challenged. Moreover, the thing had 
a Rann and Leary complexion, and it arose 
out of the battle of less than a fortnight 
back. So that Josh Perrott did not lack 
for partisans, though not a Rann believed 
he could stand long before Billy Leary. 
Billy's cause, too, had lost some popularity 
because it had been reported that Sally 
Green, in hospital, had talked of " sum- 
monsing " Nora Walsh in the matter of 
her mangled face ; a scandalous device to 
overreach, a piece of foul practice repug- 
nant to all proper feeling ; more especially 
for such a distinguished Jago as Sally 
Green, so well able to take care of herself. 
But all this was nothing as affecting the 
odds. They ruled at three to one on Billy 
Leary, with few takers, and went to four 
to one before the fight began. 

Josh Perrott had been strictly sober for 
a full week. And the family had lived bet- 
ter, for he had brought meat home each 
 



A CHILD OF THEJAGO 

day. Now he sat indifferently at the win- 
dow of his room, and looked out at the 
crowd in Jago Court till such time as he 
might be wanted. He had not been out 
of the room that morning : he was saving 
his energy for Billy Leary. 

As for Dicky, he had scarce slept for ex- 
citement. For days he had enjoyed consid- 
eration among his fellows on account of this 
fight. Now he shook and quivered, and 
nothing relieved his agitation but violent ex- 
ertion. So he rushed down stairs a hundred 
times to see if the High Mob were coming, 
and back to report that they were not. At 
last he saw their overbearing checks, and 
tore upstairs, face before knees, with " 'Ere 
they are, father ! 'Ere they are ! They 're 
comin' down the street, father ! " and danced 
frenzied about the room and the landing. 

Presently Jerry Gullen and Kiddo Cook 

came, as seconds, to take Josh out, and 

then Dicky quieted a little externally, 

though he was bursting at the chest and 

 



 

throat, and his chin jolted his teeth to- 
gether uncontrollably. Josh dragged off 
his spotted coat and waistcoat and flung 
them on the bed, and was then helped out 
of his ill-mended blue shirt. He gave a 
hitch to his trousers-band, tightened his 
belt, and was ready. 

" Ta-ta, ol* gal," he said to his wife, 
with a grin ; " back agin soon." 

"With a bob or two for ye," added 
Kiddo Cook, grinning likewise. 

Hannah Perrott sat pale and wistful, 
with the baby on her knees. Through 
the morning she had sat so, wretched and 
helpless, sometimes patting her face in her 
hands, sometimes breaking out hopeless- 
ly: " Do n't, Josh, do n't good Gawd 
Josh, I wish you would n't ! ' or, " Josh, 
Josh, I wish I was dead !" Josh had 
fought before, it was true, and more than 
once, but then she had learned of the mat- 
ter afterward. This preparation and long 
waiting were another thing. Once she 

MS 



 

had even exclaimed that she would go 
with him though she meant nothing. 

Now, as Josh went out at the door, she 
bent over Looey and hid her face again. 
"Good luck, father," called Dicky, "Go 
it !" though the words would hardly 
pass his throat, and he struggled to believe 
that he had no fear for his father. 

No sooner was the door shut than he 
rushed to the window, though Josh could 
not appear in Jago Court for three or four 
minutes yet. The sash-line was broken, 
and the window had been propped open 
with a stick. In his excitement Dicky 
dislodged the stick, and the sash came 
down on his head, but he scarce felt the 
blow, and readjusted the stick with trem- 
bling hands, regardless of the bruise rising 
under his hair. "Aincher goin' to look, 
mother ?" he asked ; " woncher 'old up 
Looey ?" 

But his mother would not look. As 
for Looey, she looked at nothing. She 
 



 

had been taken to the dispensary once 
again, and now lay drowsy and dull, with 
little more movement than a general shud- 
der and a twitching of the face at long in- 
tervals ; the little face itself was thinner 
and older than ever : horribly flea-bitten 
still, but bloodlessly pale. Mrs. Perrott 
had begun to think Looey was ailing for 
something ; thought it might be measles 
or whooping-cough coming, and com- 
plained that children were a continual 
worry. 

Dicky hung head and shoulders out of 
the window, clinging to the broken sill 
and scraping feverishly at the wall with 
his toes. 

Jago Court was fuller than ever. The 
tossing went on, though now with more 
haste, that most might be made of the 
remaining time. A scuffle still persisted 
in one corner. Some stood to gaze at the 
High Mob, who, to the number of eight 
or ten, stood in an exalted group over 



 

against the back fences of New Jago 
Street; but the thickest knot was about 
Cocko Harnwell's doorstep, whereon sat 
Billy Leary, his head just visible through 
the press about him, waiting to keep his 
appointment. 

Then a close group appeared at the 
archway, and pushed into the crowd, 
which made way at its touch, the dis- 
turbed tossers pocketing their coppers, 
but the others busily persisting, with no 
more than a glance aside between the 
spins. Josh Perrott's cropped head and 
bare shoulders marked the centre of the 
group, and as it came, another group 
moved out from Cocko HarnwelPs door- 
step, with Billy Leary's tall bulk shining 
pink and hairy in its midst. 

" 'E's in the Court, mother ! " called 
Dicky, scraping faster with his toes. 

The High Mobsmen moved up toward 
the middle of the court, and some from the 
two groups spread and pushed back the 
 



 

crowd. Still half a dozen couples, remote 
by the walls, tossed and tossed faster than 
ever, moving this way and that as the 
crowd pressed. 

Now there was an irregular space of 
bare cobble stones and house refuse, five 
or six yards across, in the middle of Jago 
Court, and all round it the shouting crowd 
was packed tight, those at the back stand- 
ing on sills and hanging to fences. Every 
window was a clump of heads, and women 
yelled savagely or cheerily down and 
across. The two groups were merged in 
the press at each side of the square, Billy 
Leary and Josh Perrott in front of each, 
with his seconds. 

" Naa, then, any more 'fore they begin?" 
bawled a High Mobsman, turning about 
among his fellows. u Three to one on 
the big 'un three to one! 'Ere, I'll 
give four four to one on Leary ! Fourer 
one ! Fourer one ! " 

But they shook their heads ; they would 
 



 

wait a little. Leary and Perrott stepped 
out. The last of the tossers stuffed away 
his coppers and sought for a hold on the 
fence. 

" They 're a-sparrin', mother ! " cried 
Dicky, pale and staring, elbows and legs 
a-work, till he was like to pitch out of 
window. From his mother there but 
jerked a whimpering sob, which he did 
not hear. 

The sparring was not long. There was 
little of subtlety in the milling of the 
Jago ; mostly no more than a rough appli- 
cation of the main hits and guards, with 
much rushing and ruffianing. What there 
was of condition in the two men was 
Josh's : smaller and shorter, he had a cer- 
tain hard brownness of hide that Leary, in 
his heavy opulence of flesh, lacked, and 
there was a horny quality in his face and 
hands that reminded the company of his 
boast of invulnerability to anything milder 
than steel; also his breadth of chest was 
 



 

great. Nevertheless, all odds seemed 
against him, by reason of Billy Leary's 
size, reach, and fighting record. 

The men rushed together, and Josh was 
forced back by weight. Leary's great fists, 
left and right, shot into his face with 
smacking reports, but left no mark on the 
leathery skin, and Josh, fighting for the 
body, drove his knuckles into the other's 
ribs with a force that jerked a thick grunt 
from Billy's lips at each blow. 

There was a roar of shouts. " Go it, 
father ! Fa ther ! Fa ther !" Dicky 
screamed from the window, till his voice 
broke in his throat and he coughed himself 
livid. The men were at holds, and sway- 
ing this way and that over the uneven 
stones. Blood ran copiously from Billy 
Leary's nose over his mouth and chin, and, 
as they turned, Dicky saw his father spit 
away a tooth over Leary's shoulder. They 
clipped and hauled to and fro, each striving 
to break the other's foothold. Then Per- 



 

rott stumbled at a hole, lost his feet and 
went down, with Leary on top. 

Cheers and yells rent the air as each 
man was taken to his own side by his sec- 
onds. Dicky let go the sill and turned to 
his mother, wild of eye, breathless with 
broken chatter. 

" Father 'it 'im on the nose, mother, 
like that 'is ribs is goin' black where 
father pasted 'em 'e was out o* breath 
fust there's blood all over his face, 
mother father would 'a' chucked 'im 
over if 'e 'ad n't tumbled in a 'ole father 
'it 'im twice on the jore 'e O !" 

Dicky was back again on the sill, kick- 
ing and shouting, for time was called, and 
the two men rushed again into a tangled 
knot. But the close strife was short. 
Josh had but closed to spoil his man's 
wind, and, leaving his head to take care of 
itself, stayed till he had driven left and 
right on the mark, and then got back. 
Leary came after him, gasping and blow- 
 



 

ing already, and Josh feinted a lead and 
avoided, bringing Leary round on his heel 
and off again in chase. Once more Josh 
met him, drove at his ribs and got away out 
of reach. Leary's wind was going fast, and 
his partisans howled savagely at Josh 
perceiving his tactics taunting him with 
running away, daring him to stand and 
fight. " I ' take that four to one,'* called 
a High Mobsman to him who had offered 
the odds in the beginning. u I ' stand a 
quid on Perrott !" 

" Not with me, you won't," the other 
answered. " Evens, if you like." 

u Right. Done at evens, a quid." 

Perrott, stung at length by the shouts 
from Leary's corner, turned on Billy and 
met him at full dash. He was himself 
puffing by this, though much less than his 
adversary, and, at the cost of a heavy blow 
(which he took on his forehead), he visited 
Billy's ribs once more. 

Both men were grunting and gasping 



 

now, and the sound of blows was as of 
the confused beating of carpets. Dicky, 
who had been afflicted to heart-burst by 
his father's dodging and running, which he 
mistook for simple flight, now broke into 
excited speech once more: 

"Father's 'it 'im on the jore again 'is 
eye 's a bungin' up Go it, father, bash 
i-t-j-mf Father's landin' 'im 'e." 

Hannah Perrott crept to the window 
and looked. She saw the foul Jago mob, 
swaying and bellowing about the shifting 
edge of an open patch, in the midst whereof 
her husband and Billy Leary, bruised, 
bloody and gasping, fought and battered 
infuriately; and she crept back to the bed 
and bent her face on Looey's unclean 
little frock; till a fit of tense shuddering 
took the child, and the mother looked up 
again. 

Without, the round ended. For a full 
minute the men took and gave knock for 
knock, and then Leary, wincing from 



 

another body-blow, swung his right des- 
perately on Perrott's ear, and knocked him 
over. 

Exulting shouts rose from the Leary 
faction, and the blow struck Dicky's heart 
still. But Josh was up almost before 
Kiddo Cook reached him, and Dicky saw 
a wide grin on his face as he came to his 
corner. The leathery toughness of the 
man, and the advantage it gave him, now 
grew apparent. He had endured to the 
full as much and as hard punching as had 
his foe even more, and harder; once he 
had fallen on the broken cobble-stones 
with all Leary's weight on him, and once 
he had been knocked down on them. But, 
except for the sweat that ran over his face 
and down his back, and for a missing front 
tooth and the lip it had cut, he showed 
little sign of the struggle ; while Leary's 
left eye was a mere slit in a black wen, 
his nose was a beaten mass, which had 
ensanguined him (and indeed Josh) from 



 

crown to waist, and his chest and flanks 
were a mottle of bruises. 

"Father's awright, mother I see 'im 
laughin'. An' 'e 's smashed Leary's nose 
all over 'is face!" 

Up again they sprang for the next round, 
Perrott active and daring, Leary cautious 
and a trifle stiff. Josh rushed in and struck 
at the tender ribs once more, took two 
blows callously on his head, and sent his 
left at the nose, with a smack as of a flail 
on water With that Leary rushed like a 
bull, and Josh was driven and battered 
back, for the moment without response. 
But he ducked and slipped away and came 
again, fresh and vicious. And now it was 
seen that Perrott' s toughness of hand was 
lasting. Leary's knuckles were raw, cut, 
and flayed, and took little good by the 
shock when they met the other's stubborn 
muzzle; while Josh still flung in his 
corneous fists, hard and lasting as a bag 
of bullets. 

 



 

But suddenly, stooping to reach the 
mark once more, Josh's foot turned on a 
projecting stone, and he floundered for- 
ward into Billy's arms. Like a flash his 
neck was clipped in the big man's left arm 
Josh Perrott was in chancery. Quick 
and hard Leary pounded the imprisoned 
head, while Jerry Gullen and Kiddo Cook 
danced distracted and dismayed, and the 
crowd whooped and yelled. 

Dicky hung delirious over the sill, and 
shrieked he knew not what. He saw his 
father righting hard at the back and ribs 
with both hands, and Leary hammering 
his face in a way to make pulp of an ordi- 
nary mazzard. Then suddenly Josh Per- 
rott's right hand shot up from behind, over 
Leary's shoulder, and gripped him at the 
chin. Slowly, with tightened muscles, he 
forced his man back over his bent knee, 
Leary clinging and swaying, but impotent 
to struggle. Then with an extra wrench 
from Josh, up came Leary' s feet from the 



 

ground, higher, higher, till suddenly Josh 
flung him heavily over, heels up, and 
dropped on him with all his weight. 

The Ranns roared again. Josh was up 
in a moment, sitting on Kiddo Cook's 
knee, and taking a drink from a bottle. 
Billy Leary lay like a man fallen from a 
housetop. His seconds turned him on 
his back and dragged him to his corner. 
There he lay limp and senseless, and there 
was a cut at the back of his head. 

The High Mobsman who held the 
watch waited for half a minute and then 
called " Time !" Josh Perrott stood up, 
but Billy Leary was knocked out of know- 
ledge, and heard not. He was beaten. 

Josh Perrott was involved in a howling, 
dancing crowd, and was pushed, grinning, 
this way and that, slapped on the back, 
and offered drinks. In the outskirts the 
tossers, inveterate, pulled out^their pence 
and resumed their game. 

Dicky spun about, laughing, flushed, 
 



 

and elated, and as soon as the door was 
distinct to his dazzled sight, he ran off 
downstairs. His mother, relieved and 
even pleased, speculated as to what 
money the thing might bring. She put 
the baby on the bed, and looked from the 
window. 

Josh, in the crowd, shouted and beck- 
oned her, pointing and tapping his bare 
shoulder. He wanted his clothes. She 
gathered together the shirt, the coat, and 
the waistcoat, and hurried downstairs. 
Looey could come to no harm lying on 
the bed for a few minutes. And, indeed, 
Hannah Perrott felt thai she would be a 
person of distinction in the crowd, and 
was not sorry to have an excuse for going 
out. 

" Three cheers for the missis ! " sang 
out Kiddo Cook as she came through the 
press. " I said Vd 'ave a bob or two for 
you, did n't I ? " 

Josh Perrott, indeed, was rich a cap- 



 

italist of five pounds. For a sovereign a 
side had been put up, and his backer had 
put on a sovereign for him at three to one. 
So that now it became him to stand beer 
to many sympathizers. Also, he felt that 
the missis should have some part in the 
celebration, for was it not her injury that 
he had avenged on Sally Green's brother? 
So Hannah Perrott, pleased but timorous, 
was hauled away with the rest to Mother 
Gapp's. 

Here she sat by Josh's side for an hour. 
Once or twice she thought of Looey, but 
with native inertness she let the thought 
slip. Perhaps Dicky would be back, and 
at any rate it was hard if she must not 
take half an hour's relaxation once in a 
way. At last came Dicky, urgent per- 
plexity in his face, looking in at the door. 
Josh, minded to be generous all round, felt 
for a penny. 

" Mother," said Dicky, plucking at her 
arm, " Pigeony Poll's at 'ome, nussin* 
 



 

Looey ; she told me to tell you to come 
at once." 

Pigeony Poll ? What right had she in 
the room ? The ghost of Hannah Per- 
rott's respectability rose in resentment. 
She supposed she must go. She arose, 
mystified, and went, with Dicky at her 
skirts. 

Pigeony Poll sat by the window with 
the baby in her arms, and pale misgiving 
in her dull face. "I I come in, Mrs. 
Perrott, mum," she said, with a hush in 
her thick voice, " I come in 'cos I see you 
goin' out, an* I thought the baby 'd be 
alone. She she 's 'ad a sort *o fit all 
stiff an* blue in the face an' grindin* 'er 
little mouth. She 's left auf now but I 
I dunno wot to make of 'er. She *s 
so so " 

Hannah Perrott stared blankly, and lifted 

the child, whose arm dropped and hung. 

The wizen age had gone from Looey's 

face, and the lids were down on the strained 

 



 

eyes ; her pale lips lay eased of the old 
pinching even parted in a smile. For 
she looked in the face of the angel that 
plays with the dead children. 

Hannah Perrott's chin fell. " Lor," she 
said bemusedly, and sat on the bed. 

An odd croaking noise broke in jerks 
from Pigeony Poll as she crept from the 
room, with her face bowed in the bend of 
her arm, like a weeping schoolboy. Dicky 
stared, confounded 

Josh came and gazed stupidly, with 
his mouth open, walking tiptoe. But at 
a word from Kiddo Cook, who came in 
his tracks, he snatched the little body and 
clattered off to the dispensary, to knock up 
the young student. 

The rumour went in the Jago that Josh 
Perrott was in double luck. For here was 
insurance money without a doubt. But in 
truth that was a thing the Perrotts had 
neglected. 

 



 

****** 

Hannah Perrott felt a listless relief; 
Josh felt nothing in particular, except that 
there was no other thing to be done, and 
that Mother Gapp's would be a cheerful 
place to finish the day in, and keep up the 
missis's pecker. 

So that eight o'clock that evening at 
Perrott's witnessed a darkening room 
wherein an inconsiderable little corpse 
lay on a bed ; while a small ragamuffin 
spread upon it with outstretched arms, 
exhausted with sobbing, a soak of muddy 
tears : " O Looey, Looey ! Can 't you 
'ear ? Won't you never come to me no 
more?" 

And the Reverend Henry Sturt, walk- 
ing from church through Luck Row toward 
his lodgings in Kingsland Road, heard 
shouts and riot behind the grimy panes 
of Mother Gapp's, and in the midst the 
roar of many voices joined in the Jago 
chant : 

 



 

Six bloomin' long months in a prison, 

Six more bloomin' months I must stay, 
For meet in' a bloke in our alley 
An* takirf 'is ticker away ! 

Toora-li toora-il loora I, 
Toora-li toora- li lay, 
A-cosbirf a bloke in our alley, 
An' taking 'is uxter away ! 



XIV 

On an autumn day, four years after his 
first coming to the Jago, the Reverend 
Henry Sturt left a solicitor's office in 
Cheapside, and walked eastward with some- 
thing more of hope and triumph in him 
than he had felt since the Jago fell to his 
charge. For the ground was bought 
whereon should be built a church and 
buildings accessory, and he felt, not that 
he was like to see any great result from 
his struggle, but that perhaps he might 
pursue it better armed and with less of 
grim despair than had been his portion 
hitherto. 

It had taken him four years to gather 
the money for the site, and some of it he 
was paying from his own pocket. He 
 



 

was unmarried, and had therefore no reason 
to save. Still, he must be careful, for the 
sake of the parish : the church must be 
built, and some of the money would prob- 
ably be wanted for that. Moreover, there 
were other calls. The benefice brought 
a trifle less than  a year, and out of 
that, so far as it would go, he paid (with 
some small outside help)  for rent of 
the temporary church and the adjacent 
rooms ; the organist's salary; the rates and 
the gas-bills; the cost of cleaning, care, 
and repair; the sums needed for such 
relief as was impossible to be withheld; 
and a thousand small things beside, while 
the Jagos speculated wildly among them- 
selves as to the vast sums he must make 
by his job. For what toff would come 
and live in the Jago except for a consider- 
ation of solid gain? What other possible 
motive could there be, indeed ? 

Still, he had an influence among them 
such as they had never known before. 
( 



 

For one thing, they feared in him what 
they took for a sort of supernatural insight. 
The mean cunning of the Jago, subtle as 
it was, and baffling to most strangers, 
foundered miserably before his relentless 
intelligence ; and crafty rogues ' wide 
as Broad Street,' as their proverb went 
at first sulked, faltered and prevaricated 
transparently, but soon gave up all hope 
of effort to deceive him. Thus he was 
respected. Once he had made it plain 
that he was no common milch-cow in the 
matter of gratuities to be bamboozled 
for shillings, cajoled for coals, and bullied 
for blankets then there became apparent 
in him qualities of charity and loving- 
kindness, well-judged and governed, that 
awoke in places a regard that was in a 
way akin to affection. And the fami- 
liar habit of the Jago slowly grew to call 
him Father Sturt. 

Father Sturt was not to be overreached : 
that was the axiom gloomily accepted by 
 



 

all in the Jago who lived by what they 
accounted their wits. You could not jug- 
gle shillings and clothing (convertible into 
shillings) out of Father Sturt by the easy 
fee-faw-fum of repentance and salvation 
that served with so many. There were 
many of the Jagos (mightily despised by 
some of the sturdier ruffians) who sallied 
forth from time to time into neighbouring 
regions in pursuit of the profitable senti- 
mentalist: discovering him black-coated, 
earnest, green sometimes a preacher, 
sometimes a layman, sometimes one hav- 
ing authority on the committee of a charit- 
able institution ; dabbling in the East End 
on his own account, administering relief 
for a mission, disbursing a Mansion House 
Fund. He was of two chief kinds ; the 
Merely Soft, the  man of wool ' as the 
Jago word went, for whom any tale was 
good enough, delivered with the proper wist- 
ful misery : and the Gullible-Cocksure, 
confident in a blind experience, who was 
 



 

quite as easy to tap, when approached with 
a becoming circumspection. A rough and 
ready method, which served well in most 
cases with both sorts, was a profession of 
sudden religious awakening. For this, one 
offered an aspect either of serene happi- 
ness or of maniacal exaltation, according 
to the customer's taste. A better way, 
but one demanding greater subtlety, was 
the assumption of the part of Earnest 
Inquirer, hesitating on the brink of Salva- 
tion. For the attitude was capable of 
indefinite prolongation, and was ever pro- 
ductive of the boots, the coats, and the 
half-crowns used to coax weak brethren 
into the fold. But with Father Sturt, such 
trouble was worse than useless ; it was, 
indeed, but to invite a humiliating snub. 
Thus, when Fluffy Pike first came to 
Father Sturt with the intelligence that he 
had at last found Grace, the Father asked 
if he had found it in a certain hamper 
a hamper hooked that morning from 
 



 

a railway van, and if it were of a quality 
likely to inspire an act of restoration to 
the goods office. Nothing was to be done 
with a man of this disgustingly practical 
turn of mind, and the Jagos soon ceased 
from trying. 

Father Sturt had made more of the 
stable than the make-shift church he had 
found. He had organized a club in a 
stable adjoining, and he lived in the rooms 
over the shut-up shop. In the club he 
gathered the men of the Jago indiscrim- 
inately, with the sole condition of good 
behaviour on the premises. And there 
they smoked, jumped, swung on horizon- 
tal bars, boxed, played at cards and baga- 
telle, free from interference save when 
interference became necessary. For the 
women there were sewing-meetings and 
singing. And all governed with an invis- 
ible discipline, which, being brought to 
action, was found to be of iron. 

Now there was ground on which might 
 



 

be built a worthier church; and Father 
Sturt had in mind a church which should 
have by its side a cleanly lodging-house, a 
night-shelter, a club, baths and wash- 
houses. And at a stroke he would estab- 
lish this habitation and wipe out the black- 
est spot in the Jago. For the new site 
comprised the whole of Jago Court and 
the houses that masked it in Old Jago 
Street. 

This was a dream of the future per- 
haps of the immediate future, if a certain 
new millionaire could only be interested 
in the undertaking but of the future, 
certainly. The money for the site alone 
had been hard enough to gather. In the 
first place the East London Elevation 
Mission and Pansophical Institute was 
asking very diligently for funds and was 
getting them. It was to that, indeed, that 
people turned by habit when minded to 
invest in the amelioration of the East End. 
Then about this time there had arisen a 
 



 

sudden quacksalver, a Panjandrum of phi- 
lanthropy, a mummer of the market-place, 
who undertook for a fixed sum, to abolish 
poverty and sin together; and many, 
pleased with the new gaudery, poured out 
before him the money that had gone to 
maintain hospitals and to feed proved 
charities. So that gifts were scarce and 
hard to come by indeed, were apt to be 
thought unnecessary, for was not misery 
to be destroyed out of hand ? Moreover, 
Father Sturt wanted not for enemies among 
the Sentimental-Cocksure. He was cal- 
lous and cynical in the face of the succulent 
penitence of Fluffy Pike and his kind. He 
preferred the frank rogue before the cal- 
culating snivelmonger. He had a club at 
which boxing was allowed and dominoes 
flat ungodliness. He shook hands 
familiarly every day with the lowest char- 
acters : his tastes were vulgar and brutal. 
And the company at his club was really 
dreadful. These things the Cocksure said, 
 



 

with shaking of heads; and these they 
took care should be known among such as 
might give Father Sturt money. Father 
Sturt ! the name itself was sheer papis- 
try. And many comforted themselves by 
writing him anonymous letters, displaying 
hell before his eyes, and dealing him vivid 
damnation. 

So Father Sturt tramped back to the 
Jago, and to the strain and struggle that 
ceased not for one moment of his life, 
though it left never a mark of success 
behind it. For the Jago was much as ever. 
Were the lump once leavened by the ad- 
vent of any denizen a little less base than 
the rest, were a native once ridiculed and 
persuaded into a spell of work and clean 
living, then must Father Sturt hasten to 
drive him from the Jago ere its influence 
suck him under forever ; leaving for his 
own community none but the entirely 
vicious. And among these he spent his 
life : preaching little, in the common sense, 



 

for that were but idle vanity in this place ; 
but working, alleviating, growing into the 
Jago life, flinging scorn and ridicule on evil 
things, grateful for tiny negative successes 
for keeping a few from ill-behaviour 
but for an hour ; conscious that wherever 
he was not, iniquity flourished unreproved ; 
and oppressed by the remembrance that 
albeit the Jago death-rate ruled full four 
times that of all London beyond, still the 
Jago rats bred and bred their kind unhin- 
dered, multiplying apace and infecting the 
world. 

In Luck Row he came on Josh Perrott, 
making for home with something under 
the skirt of his coat. 

"How d'ye do, Josh?" said Father 
Sturt, clapping a hand on Josh's shoulder, 
and offering it as Josh turned about. 

Josh, with a shifting of the object under 
his coat, hastened to tap his cap-peak with 
his forefinger before shaking hands. He 
grinned broadly, and looked this way and 



 

that, with mingled gratification and em- 
barrassment, as was the Jago way in such 
circumstances. Because one could never 
tell whether Father Sturt would exchange 
a merely friendly sentence or two, or, with 
concealed knowledge, put some disastrous 
question about a watch, or a purse, or a 
breastpin, or what not. 

" Very well, thanks, Father,'* answered 
Josh, and grinned amiably at the wall 
beyond the vicar's elbow. 

" And what have you been doing just 
lately ? " 

" Oo odd jobs, Father." Always 
the answer, all over the Jago. 

u Not quite such odd jobs as usual, I 
hope, Josh, eh ? " Father Sturt smiled, 
and twitched Josh playfully by the button- 
hole as one might treat a child. "I once 
heard of a very odd job in the Kingsland 
Road that got a fine young man six 
months' holiday. Eh, Josh ? " 

Josh Perrott wriggled and grinned 



 

sheepishly ; tried to frown, failed, and 
grinned again. He had only been out a 
few weeks from that six moon. Presently 
he said : " Awright, Father ; you do rub 
it into a bloke, no mistake." 

The grin persisted as he looked first at 
the wall, then at the pavement, then down 
the street, but never in the parson's face. 

"Ah, there 's a deal of good in a blister, 
sometimes, is n't there, Josh ? What 's 
that I see a clock ? Not another odd 
job, eh ? " 

It was, indeed, a small nickel-plated 
American clock which Josh had under 
his coat, and which he now partly un- 
covered with positive protests. " No, 
s 'elp me, Father, it 's all straight all fair 
trade, Father jist a swop for somethink 
else, on me solemn davy. That 's wot it 
is, Father straight ! " 

" Well, I 'm glad you thought to get 
it, Josh," Father Sturt pursued, still 
twitching the button-hole. " You never 
 



 

have been a punctual churchgoer, you 
know, Josh, and I 'm glad you Ve made 
arrangements to improve. You ' have 
no excuse now, you know, and I shall 
expect you on Sunday morning promptly. 
Do n't forget : I shall be looking for you." 
And Father Sturt shook hands again, and 
passed on, leaving Josh Perrott still grin- 
ning dubiously, and striving to assimilate 
the invitation to church. 

The clock was indeed an exchange, 
though not altogether an innocent one : 
the facts being these. Early that morning 
Josh had found himself scrambling hastily 
along a turning out of Brick Lane, accom- 
panied by a parcel of nine or ten pounds 
of tobacco, and extremely conscious of 
the hasty scrambling of several other 
people round the corner. Some of these 
people turned that corner before Josh 
reached the next, so that his course was 
observed, and it became politic to get rid 
of his parcel before a possible heading off 
 



 

in Meakin Street. There was one place 
where this might be done, and that was at 
Weech's. A muddy yard, one of a tangle 
of such places behind Meakin Street, 
abutted on Weech's back-fence ; and it 
was no uncommon thing for a Jago on the 
crook, hard pressed, to pitch his plunder 
over the fence, double out into the crowd, 
and call on Mr. Aaron Weech for the 
purchase-money as soon as opportunity 
served. The manoeuvre was a simple one, 
facilitated by the plan of the courts ; but 
it was only adopted in extreme cases, 
because Mr. Aaron Weech was at best 
but a mean paymaster, and with so much 
of the upper hand in the bargain as these 
circumstances conferred, was apt to be 
meaner than ever. But this case seemed 
to call for the stratagem, and Josh made 
for the muddy yard, dropped the parcel 
over the fence, with a loud whistle, and 
backed off by the side passage in the regular 
way. 

 



 

When he called on Mr. Aaron Weech 
a few hours later, that talented tradesman, 
with liberal gestures, told out shillings 
singly in his hand, pausing after each as 
though that were the last. But Josh held 
his hand persistently open till Mr. Weech 
having released the fifth shilling, stopped 
altogether, scandalized at such rapacity. 
But still Josh was not satisfied, and as he 
was not quite so easy a customer to man- 
age as the boys who commonly fenced at 
the shop, Mr. Weech compromised, in the 
end, by throwing in a cheap clock. It 
had been in hand for a long time ; and Josh 
was fain to take it, since he could get no 
more. And thus it was that Dicky, com- 
ing in at about five o'clock, was astonished 
to see on the mantelpiece, amid the greasy 
ruins of many candle-ends, the clock that 
had belonged to the Ropers four years 
before. 



 



XV 

As for Dicky, he went to school. That 
is to say, he turned up now and again, at 
irregular intervals, at the Board School just 
over the Jago border in Honey Lane. 
When anything was given away, he at- 
tended as a matter of course ; but he went 
now and again without such inducement 
perhaps, because he fancied an after- 
noon's change ;perhaps,because the weather 
was cold and the school was warm. He 
was classed as a half-timer, an arrangement 
which variegated the register, but otherwise 
did not matter. Other boys, half-timers 
or not, attended as little as he. It was 
long since the managers had realised the 
futility of attempting compulsion in the 
Jago. 

 



 

Dicky was no fool, and he had picked up 
some sort of reading and writing as he 
went along. Moreover, he had grown an 
expert thief, and had taken six strokes of 
a birch-rod by order of a magistrate. As 
yet he rarely attempted a pocket, being, 
for most opportunities, too small; but he 
was comforted by the reflection that prob- 
ably he would never get really tall, and 
thus grow out of pocket-picking when he 
was fully experienced, as was the fate of 
some. For no tall man can be a success- 
ful pickpocket, because he must bend to 
his work, and so advertise it to every be- 
holder. 

Meantime Dicky practised that petty 
larceny which is possible in every street in 
London ; and at odd times he would play 
the scout among the practitioners of the 
c fat 's a-running ' industry. If one crossed 
Meakin Street by way of Luck Row and 
kept his way among the courts ahead, he 
presently reached the main Bethnal Green 
 



 

Road, at the end whereof stood the great 
goods depot of a railway company. Here 
carts and vans went to and fro all day, 
laden with goods from the depot, and 
certain gangs among the Jagos preyed on 
these continually. A quick-witted scout 
stood on the look-out for such vehicles as 
went with unguarded tailboards. At the 
approach of one such he sent the shout 
' Fat's a-runnirf r up Luck Row, and, 
quick at the signal, a gang scuttled down, 
by the court or passage which his waved 
hand might hint at, seized whatever could 
be snatched from the cart, and melted 
away into the courts, sometimes leaving a 
few hands behind to hinder and misdirect 
pursuit. Taking one capture with another, 
the thing paid very well ; and besides there 
were many vans laden with parcels of to- 
bacco, not from the railway depot but from 
the tobacco factories hard by, a click from 
which was apt to prove especially lucra- 
tive. Dicky was a notable success as 
 



 

scout. The department was a fairly safe 
one, but it was not always easy to extract 
from the gang the few coppers that were 
regarded as sufficient share for service done. 
Moreover, Mr. Weech was not pleased ; 
for by now Dicky was near to being his most 
remunerative client, and the cart robberies 
counted nothing, for the fat's a-running 
boys fenced their swag with a publican at 
Hoxton. And though Dicky had grown 
out of his childish belief that Mr. Weech 
could hear a mile away and see through a 
wall, he had a cautious dread of the weapon 
he supposed to lie ever to his patron's 
hand betrayal to the police. In other 
respects things were easier. His father 
took no heed of what he did, and even his 
mother had so far accepted destiny as to 
ask if he had a copper or two, when there 
was a scarcity. Indeed, Hannah Perrott 
filled her place in the Jago better than 
of old. She would gossip, she drew no 
very rigid line as to her acquaintance, and 
 



 

Dicky had seen her drunk. Still, for Old 
Jago Street she was a quiet woman, and 
she never brawled nor fought. Of fight- 
ing, indeed, Josh could do enough for the 
whole family, once again four in number. 
For the place of Looey, forgotten, was 
supplied by Em, aged two. 

When Dicky came home and recognised 
the clock on the mantelpiece, being the 
more certain because his mother told him 
it had come from Weech's, the thing irri- 
tated him strangely. Through all those 
four years since he had carried that clock 
to Mr. Weech, he had never got rid of the 
wretched hunchback. He, too, went to 
the Board School in Honey Lane (it lay 
between Dove Lane and the Jago), but he 
went regularly, worked hard, and was a 
favourite with teachers. So far, Dicky 
was unconcerned. But scarce an ill chance 
came to him but, sooner or later, he found 
the hunchback at the back of it. If ever 
a teacher mysteriously found out that it 
 



 

was Dicky who had drawn his portrait, all 
nose and teeth, on the blackboard, the tale 
had come from Bobby Roper. Whenever 
Dicky, chancing upon school by ill luck 
on an afternoon when sums were to be 
done, essayed to copy answers from his 
neighbour's slate, up shot the hunchback's 
hand in an instant, the tale was told, and 
handers were Dicky's portion Once, 
dinnerless and hungry, he had stolen a 
sandwich from a teacher's desk; and, 
though he had thought himself alone and 
unseen, the hunchback knew it, and pointed 
him out, white malice in his thin face and 
eager hate in his thrust finger. For a fort- 
night Dicky dared not pass a little fruit shop 
in Meakin street, because of an attempt 
on an orange, betrayed by his misshapen 
schoolfellow, which brought him a hard 
chase from the fruiterer and a bad bruise 
on the spine from a board flung after him. 
Thehunchback's whole energies even his 
whole time seemed to be devoted to 



 

watching him. Dicky, on his part, received 
no injuries meekly. In the beginning he had 
tried threats and public jeers at his enemy's 
infirmity. Then, on some especially ex- 
asperating occasion, he pounded Bobby 
Roper savagely about the head and cap- 
sized him into a mud-heap. But bodily 
reprisal, though he erected it into a practice, 
proved no deterrent. For the little hunch- 
back, though he might cry at the pummel- 
ling, retorted with worse revenge of his own 
sort. And, once or twice, bystanders, 
seeing a deformed child thus treated, in- 
terfered with clouts on Dicky's ears. The 
victim, moreover, designed another re- 
taliation. He would go to some bigger 
boy with a tale that Dicky had spoken 
vauntingly of righting him and beating 
him hollow, with one hand. This brought 
the big boy after Dicky at once, with 
a hiding: except on some rare occa- 
sion when the hunchback rated his instru- 
ment of vengeance too high, and Dicky 
  



 

was able to beat him in truth. But this 
was a very uncommon mistake, and after 
this Dicky did not wait for specific provo- 
cation : he ' clumped ' Bobby Roper, or 
rolled him in the gutter, as a matter of 
principle, whenever he could get hold of 
him. 

That afternoon Dicky had suffered again. 
Two days earlier tea and cake had been 
provided by a benevolent manager for all 
who attended the school. Consequently 
the attendance was excellent, and included 
Dicky. But his attempt to secrete a 
pocketful of cake, to carry home for Em, 
was reported by Bobby Roper ; and Dicky 
was hauled forth, deprived of his plunder, 
and expelled in disgrace. He waited out- 
side and paid off the score fiercely, by the 
help of a very long and pliant cabbage 
stalk. But this afternoon Bill Bates, a 
boy a head taller than himself and two 
years older, had fallen on him suddenly in 
Lincoln Street, and, though Dicky fought 
 



 

desperately and kicked with much effect, 
had dealt him a thrashing that left him 
bruised, bleeding, dusty, and crying with 
rage and pain. This was the hunchback's 
doing, without a doubt. Dicky limped 
home, but was something comforted by an 
accident in Shoreditch High Street, whereby 
a coster's barrow-load of cough-drops was 
knocked over by a covered van, and the 
cough-drops were scattered in the mud. 
For while the carman and the coster flew 
at each other's name and address, and de- 
famed each other's eyes and mother, Dicky 
gathered a handful of cough-drops, muddy, 
it is true, but easy to wipe. And so he 
made for home more cheerfully disposed : 
till the sight of the Ropers' old clock 
brought the hunchback to mind once more, 
and, in bitter anger, he resolved to search 
for him forthwith, and pass on the after- 
noon's hiding, with interest. 

As he emerged into the street, a hand 
was reached to catch him, which he dodged 
 



 

by instinct. He rushed back upstairs, and 
emptied his pockets, stowing away in a 
safe corner the rest of the cough-drops, 
the broken ruin he called his knife, some 
buttons and pieces of string, a bit of 
chalk, three little pieces of slate-pencil, 
and two marbles. Then he went down 
again into the street, confident in his 
destitution, and watched, forgetting the 
hunchback in the excitement of the spec- 
tacle. 

The loafers from the corners had con- 
ceived a sudden notion of co-operation, 
and had joined forces to the array of twenty 
or thirty. Confident in their numbers, 
they swept the street, stopping every pas- 
senger man, woman, or child and 
emptying all pockets. A straggler on the 
outskirts of the crowd, a hobbledehoy like 
most of the rest, had snatched at, but had 
lost Dicky, and was now busy, with four 
or five others, rolling a woman, a strug- 
gling heap of old clothes and skinny limbs, 
 



 

in the road. It was Biddy Flynn, too old 
and worn for anything but honest work, 
who sold oranges and nuts from a basket, 
and who had been caught on her way out 
for her evening's trade in High Street. 
She was a fortunate capture, being a lone 
woman with all her possessions about her. 
Under her skirt, and tied round her waist 
with string, she kept her money-bag ; and 
it was soon found and dragged away, 
yielding two and eightpence farthing and a 
lucky shoe-tip, worn round and bright. 
She had, moreover, an old brass brooch ; 
but unfortunately her wedding-ring, worn 
to pin-wire, could not be got past the knot- 
ted knuckle though it would have been 
worth little in any case. So Biddy Flynn, 
exhausted with plunging and screaming, 
was left, and her empty basket was flung 
at her. She staggered away, wailing and 
rolling her head, with her hand to the wall j 
and the gang, sharing out, sucked oranges 
with relish, and turned to fresh exploits. 
 



 

Dicky watched from the Jago Court pas- 
sage. 

Business slackened for a little while, 
and the loafers were contemplating a raid 
in force on Mother Gapp's till, when a 
grown lad ran in pell-mell from Luck Row 
with a square parcel clipped under his arm 
a parcel of aspect well known among 
the fat's a-running boys a parcel that 
meant tobacco. He was collared at once. 

" Stow it, Bill ! " he cried, breathlessly, 
recognizing his captor. " The bloke 's 
a-comin' ! " 

But half-a-dozen hands were on his 
plunder, it was snatched away, and he was 
flung back on the flags. There was a 
clatter on the stones of Luck Row, and a 
light van came rattling into Old Jago 
Street, the horse galloping, the carman 
lashing and shouting : u Stop ' im ! Stop 
thief!" 

The sight was so novel that for a mo- 
ment the gang merely stared and grinned. 
 



 

This man must be a greenhorn new to 
the neighborhood to venture a load of 
goods up Luck Row. And it was tobacco, 
too. He was pale and flustered, and he 
called wildly, as he looked this way and 
that : " A man 's stole somethin' auf my 
van. Where *s 'e gawn ? " 

" No good, guv'nor," cried one. " The 
ball's stopped rollin'. You 've lawst 'im." 

" My Gawd ! " said the man, in a 
sweat, " I 'm done. There *s two quid's 
worth o* bacca an* I on'y got the job 
o* Monday bin out nine munse ! " 

" Was it a parcel like this 'ere ? " asked 
another, chuckling, and lifting a second 
packet over the tailboard. 

" Yus put it down ! Gawd wotcher 
up to? 'Ere 'elp ! 'elp ! " 

The gang were over the van, guffawing 
and flinging out the load. The carman 
yelled aloud, and fought desperately with 
his whip Bill Hanks is near blind of an 
eye now from one cut : but he was the 
 



 

worse for it. For he was knocked off the 
van in a heap, and, as he lay, they cleared 
his pockets, and pulled off his boots ; 
those that had caught the sting of the whip 
kicking him about the head till it but 
shifted in the slime at the stroke, an inani- 
mate lump. 

There was talk of how to deal with the 
horse and van. To try to sell them was 
too large a job, and too risky. So, as it 
was growing dusk, the senseless carman 
was put on the floor of the van, the tail- 
board was raised, and one of the gang led 
the horse away, to lose the whole thing in 
the busy streets. 

Here was a big haul, and many of the 
crowd busied themselves in getting it out of 
sight, and scouting out among the fences to 
arrange sales. Those who remained grew 
less active, and hung at the corner of Luck 
Row, little more than an ordinary corner- 
group of loafers. 

Then Dicky remembered the hunch- 



 

back, ' and slouched off to Dove Lane. 
But he could see nothing of Bobby Roper. 
The Jago and Dove Lane were districts 
ever at feud, active or smouldering, save 
for brief intervals of ostentatious recon- 
ciliation, serving to render the next attack 
on Dove Lane the more savage for in- 
variably the Jagos were aggressors and 
victors. Dicky was careful in his lurkings, 
therefore, lest he should be recognized 
and set upon by more Dove Lane boys 
than would be convenient. He knew 
where the Ropers lived, and he went and 
hung about the door. Once he fancied 
he could hear a disjointed tinkle, as of a 
music-box grown infirm, but he was not 
sure of it. And in the end he contented 
himself, for the present, with flinging a 
stone through the Ropers' window, and 
taking to his heels. 

The Jago was black with night, the rats 
came and went, and the cosh-carriers 



 

lurked on landings. On a step, Pigeony 
Poll, drunk because of a little gin and no 
food, sang hideously and wept. The 
loafers had dispersed to spend their after- 
noon's makings. The group which Dicky 
had left by Luck Row corner, indeed, had 
been discouraged early in the evening in 
consequence of an attempt at "turning 
over " old Beveridge, as he unsuspectingly 
stalked among them, in from his city round. 
For the old man whipped out his case- 
knife and drove it into the flesh of Nobber 
Sugg's arm, at the shoulder stabbed, too, 
at another, and ripped his coat. So Nob- 
ber Sugg, with blood streaming through 
his sleeve, went off with two more to tie 
up the arm ; and old Beveridge, grinning 
and mumbling fiercely, strode about the 
street, knife in hand, for ten minutes, ere 
he grew calm enough to go his way. This 
Tommy Rann told Dicky, sitting in the 
back-yard and smoking a pipe ; a pipe 



J 



 

charged with tobacco pillaged from a tin- 
full which his father had bought, at about 
fourpence a pound, from a loafer. And 
both boys crawled indoors deadly sick. 



XVI 

Josh Perrott was at church on Sunday 
morning, as Father Sturt had bid him. Not 
because of the bidding, but because the 
vicar overtook him and Kiddo Cook in 
Meakin Street, and hauled them in, pro- 
fessing to be much gratified at their punc- 
tuality, and charging them never to fall 
away from the habit. The two Jagos, 
with dubious grins, submitted as they 
must, and were in a little* while surprised 
to find others arriving, friends and acquaint- 
ances never suspected of church-going. 
The fact was, that Father Sturt, by dint of 
long effort, had so often brought so many 
to his stable-church, as he had now brought 
Josh and Kiddo, that the terrors and em- 
barrassments of the place had worn ofF, 
 



 

and many, finding nothing more attractive 
elsewhere, would make occasional attend- 
ances of their own motion. Wet Sundays, 
particularly, inclined them to church : 
where there might be a fire, where at least 
there was a clean room, with pictures on 
the walls, where there were often flowers, 
where there was always music, and where 
Father Sturt made an address of a quarter 
of an hour, which nobody ever suspected 
of being a sermon ; an address which one 
might doze over or listen to, as one might 
be disposed ; but which most listened to, 
more or less, partly because of an uneasy 
feeling that Father Sturt would know if 
they did not, and partly because it was very 
easy to understand, was not oppressively 
minatory, was spoken with an intimate 
knowledge of themselves, and was, indeed, 
something of a refreshing novelty, being 
the simple talk of a gentleman. 

Josh Perrott and Kiddo Cook were not 
altogether sorry they had come. It was a 
 



 

rest. Stable though it had been, they had 
never sat in so pleasant a room before. 
There was nothing to do, no constant 
watch to be kept, no police to avoid, and 
their wits had a holiday. They forgot 
things. Their courage never rose so high 
as to build the thought; but, in truth, pipes 
would have made them happy. 

The address being done, Father Sturt 
announced the purchase of the site for the 
new church, and briefly described his 
scheme. He would give tenants good 
notice, he said, before the houses were 
destroyed. Meantime, they must pay 
rent ; though most of the amounts would 
be reduced. 

And after the benediction Father Sturt, 
from his window over the closed shop, 
saw Josh Perrott and Kiddo Cook guffaw- 
ing and elbowing one another up Luck 
Row. Each was accusing the other of 
having tried to sing. 



 



XVII 

There was much talk of Father Sturt's 
announcement. Many held it a shame 
that so much money, destined for the ben- 
efit of the Jago, should be spent in bricks 
and mortar, instead of being distributed 
among themselves. They fell to calcu- 
lating the price of the land and houses, 
and to working it out laboriously in the 
denomination of pots and gallons. More: 
it was felt to be a grave social danger that 
Jago Court should be extinguished. What 
would become of the Jago without Jago 
Court ? Where would Sunday morning 
be spent ? Where would the fights come 
off, and where was so convenient a place 
for pitch and toss ? But mainly they 
feared the police. Jago Court was an 
 



 

unfailing sanctuary, a city of refuge ever 
ready, ever secure. There were times 
when two or three of the police, hot in 
the chase, would burst into the Jago at the 
heels of a flying marauder. Then the 
run away would make straight for the arch- 
way, and, once he was in Jago Court, 
danger was over. For he had only to run 
into one of the ever-open doors at right 
or left, and out into back-yards and other 
houses ; or, better, to scramble over the 
low fence opposite, through the back door 
before him, and so into New Jago Street. 
Beyond the archway the police could not 
venture, except in large companies. A 
young constable who tried it once, getting 
ahead of two companions in his ardour, 
was laid low as he emerged from the pas- 
sage, by a fire-grate adroitly let drop from 
an upper window. 

The blotting out of such a God-send of 
a place as this would be a calamity. The 
Jago would never be the same again. As 
 



 

it was, the Old Jago was a very convenient, 
comfortable sort of place, they argued. 
They could not imagine themselves living 
anywhere else. But, assuredly, it would 
be the Jago no longer without Jago Court. 
And this thing was to be done, too, with 
money got together for their benefit ! The 
sole explanation the Jago could supply 
was the one that, at last, with arithmetical 
variations, prevailed. 

The landlords were to be paid a sum 
(varying in Jago estimation from a hundred 
pounds to a hundred thousand) for the 
houses and the grounds, and of this they 
were secretly to return to Father Sturt a 
certain share (generally agreed on as half), 
as his private fee for bringing about so 
desirable a transaction. Looked at from 
all points, this appeared to be the most 
plausible explanation : for no other could 
reasonably account for Father Sturt's ac- 
tivity. No wonder he could afford to re- 
duce some of the rents ! Was he not 



 



 

already receiving princely wages (variously 
supposed to be something from ten pounds 
to thirty pounds a week) from the Govern- 
ment, for preaching every Sunday ? 

Still the rents were to be reduced : that 
was the immediate consideration, and noth- 
ing but an immediate consideration carried 
weight in the Jago, where a shilling to-day 
was to be preferred to a constant income 
beginning in a month's time. The first 
effect of the announcement was a rush of 
applications for rooms in the doomed 
houses, each applicant demanding to be 
accommodated by the eviction of some- 
body already established, but now dis- 
interestedly discovered to be a bad tenant. 
They were all disappointed, but the resi- 
dents had better luck than they had hoped. 
For the unexpected happened, and the 
money for a part of the new buildings was 
suddenly guaranteed. Wherefore Father 
Sturt, knowing that many would be hard 
put to it to find shelter when the houses 
 



 

came down, and guessing that rents would 
rise with the demand, determined to ask 
none for the little while the tenements 
endured. Scarce had he made his decision 
known ere he regretted it, popular as it 
was. For he reflected that the money 
saved would merely melt, and that at the 
inevitable turning out, not a soul would be 
the better off for the relief, but indeed 
might find it harder than ever to pay rent 
after the temporary easement. It would 
have been better rigidly to exact the rent, 
and return it in lump to each tenant as 
he left. The sum would have been an 
inducement to leave peaceably a matter 
in which trouble was to be expected. But 
then, what did any windfall of shillings 
bring in the Jago ? What but a drunk ? 
This was one of Father Sturt's thousand 
perplexities, and he could but hope that, 
perhaps, he had done right, after all. 

The old buildings were sold, as they 
stood, to the house-wreckers, and on thw 
 



 

house-wreckers devolved the work of get- 
ting the lodgers out. For weeks the day 
was deferred, but it drew very near at last, 
and a tall hoarding was put up. Next 
morning it had vanished, but there was a 
loud crackling where the Jagos boiled their 
pots. Dicky Perrott and Tommy Rann 
had a bonfire in Edge Lane ; and Jerry 
Gullen's canary sweated abroad before a 
heavy load of cheap firewood. 

Then Josh Perrott and Billy Leary, his 
old enemy, were appointed joint guardians 
of the new hoarding, each to get half-a- 
crown on every morning when the fence was 
found intact. And in the end there came 
eviction day, and once more the police 
held the Jago in force, escorting gangs of 
men with tumbrils. 

As for the Perrotts, they could easily 
find another room, at the high rent always 
charged for the privilege of residence in 
the Jago. To have remained in one room 
four or five years, and to have paid rent 
 



 

with indifferent good regularity was a feat 
sufficiently rare to be notorious, and to 
cause way to be made for them wherever 
a room was falling vacant or could be 
emptied. They went no farther than 
across the way, to a room wherein a widow 
had died over her sack-making two days 
before, and had sat on the floor with her 
head between her knees for hours, while 
her children, not understanding, cried that 
they were hungry. These children were 
now gone to the work-house : more for- 
tunate than the many they left behind. 
And the room was a very fair one, ten feet 
square or so. 

The rest of the tenants thought not at 
all of new quarters, and did nothing to 
find them, till they found themselves and 
their belongings roofless in Old Jago 
Street. Then with one accord they de- 
manded lodgings of the vicar. Most of 
them had never inhabited any rooms so 
long as they had these which they must 
 



 

now leave having been ejected again 
and again because of unpaid rent. Nev- 
ertheless, they clamoured for redress, as 
they might have clamoured had they never 
changed dwellings in their lives. 

Nobody resisted the police; for there were 
too many of them. Moreover, Father Sturt 
was there and few had hardihood for any 
but their best behaviour in his presence. 
Still, there were disputes among the Jagos 
themselves, that sometimes came very near 
to fights. Ginger Stagg's missis professed 
to recognize a long-lost property in a tin 
kettle brought into the outer air among the 
belongings of Mrs. Walsh. The miscel- 
laneous rags and sticks that were Cocko 
Harnwell's household goods got mingled 
in the roadway with those appertaining to 
the Fishers ; and their assortment without 
a turn of family combat was a task which 
tried the vicar's influence to the utmost. 
Mrs. RafFerty, too, was suspected of undue 
pride in a cranky deal wash-stand, and 
 



 

thereby of a disposition to sneer at the 
humbler turn-out of the Regans from the 
next floor : giving occasion for a shrill and 
animated row. 

The weather was dry, fortunately, and, 
the evicted squatted in the roadway, by 
their heaps, or on them, squabbling and 
lamenting. Ginger Stagg having covered 
certain crockery with the old family mat- 
tress, forgetfully sat on it, and came upon 
Father Sturt with an indignant demand for 
compensation. 

Father Sturt's efforts to stimulate a search 
for new lodgings met with small success at 
first. It was felt that, no doubt, there 
were lodgings to be had, but they would 
be open to the fatal objection of costing 
something ; and the Jago temperament 
could neither endure nor understand pay- 
ment for what had once been given for 
nothing. Father Sturt, the Jagos argued, 
had given them free quarters for so long ; 
why should he stop now ? If they 
 



 

cleared out in order to make room for his 
new church, in common fairness he should 
find them similar lodgings on the same 
terms. So they sat and waited for him to 
do it. 

At length the vicar set to work with 
them in good earnest, carried away with 
him a family or two at a time, and inducted 
them to rooms of his own finding. And 
hereat others, learning that in these cases, 
rent in advance was exacted, bestirred 
themselves : reflecting that if rent must be 
paid, they might as well choose their own 
rooms as take those that Father Sturt might 
find. Of course the thing was not done 
without payments from the vicar's pocket. 
Some were wholly destitute ; others could 
not muster enough to pay that advance of 
rent which alone could open a Jago ten- 
ancy. Distinguishing the genuine impe- 
cuniosity from the merely professed, with 
the insight that was now a sixth sense with 
him, Father Sturt helped sparingly and in 
 



 

secret ; for a precedent of almsgiving was 
an evil thing in the Jago, confirming the 
shiftlessness which was already a piece of 
Jago nature, and setting up long affliction 
for the almsgiver. Enough of such pre- 
cedents existed ; and the inevitable addi- 
tions thereto were a work of anxious re- 
sponsibility and jealous care. 

So the bivouacs in Old Jago Street melted 
away. For one thing, there were those 
among the dispossessed who would not 
waste time in unproductive inactivity just 
then ; for war had arisen in Dove Lane, 
and spoils were going. Dove Lane was 
no very reputable place, but it was not like 
the Jago. In the phrase of the district, 
the Dove Laners were pretty thick, but 
the Jagos were thick as glue. There were 
many market-porters among the Dove 
Laners, and at this, their prosperous season, 
they and their friends resorted to a shop 
in Meakin Street, kept by an " ikey " 
tailor, there to buy the original out-and-out 

X 



 

downy benjamins, or the celebrated bang- 
up kicksies, cut saucy, with artful buttons 
and a double fakement down the sides, 
and hereabout they were apt to be set upon 
by Jagos ; overthrown by superior num- 
bers; bashed; and cleaned out. Or, if 
the purchases had been made, they were 
flimped of their kicksies, benjies or daisies, 
as the case might be. So that a fight with 
Dove Lane might be an affair of some 
occasional profit ; and it became no loyal 
Jago to idle in the stronghold. 

Father Sturt's task was nearly over, 
when, returning to Old Jago Street he saw 
Dicky Perrott sitting by a still-remaining 
heap a heap small and poor even among 
those others. The Perrotts had been 
decorously settled in their new home since 
early morning; but here was Dicky, 
guarding ;a heap with a baby on it, and 
absorbed in the weaving of rush-bags. 

"That's right, Dicky, my boy," said 
Father Sturt, in the approving voice that 

 



 

a Jago would do almost anything ex- 
cept turn honest to hear. And Dicky, 
startled, looked up, flushed and happy, 
over his shoulder. 

" Rush-bags, eh ? " the vicar went on, 
stooping and handing Dicky another rush 
from the heap. " And whose are they ? " 

The bags, the rushes, the heap, and the 
baby belong to Mrs. Bates, the widow, 
who was now in search of a new room. 
Dicky had often watched the weaving of 
fishmongers' frails, and, since it was work 
in which he had had no opportunity of 
indulging, it naturally struck him as a 
fascinating pastime. So that he was de- 
lighted by the chance which he had taken, 
and Mrs. Bates, for her part, was not sorry 
to find somebody to mind her property. 
Moreover, by hard work and the skill begot 
of much practice, she was able to earn 
the sum of some three farthings an hour 
at the rush-bags : a profit which her cu- 
pidity made her reluctant to lose, for even 
 



 

half an hour. And thus, to have Dicky 
carry on the business and in his enthu- 
siasm he did it very well was a further 
consideration. 

Father Sturt chatted with Dicky till the 
boy could scarce plait for very pride. 
Would not Dicky like to work regularly 
every day, asked Father Sturt, and earn 
wages ? Dicky could see no graceful 
answer but the affirmative ; and in sober 
earnest he thought he would. Father 
Sturt took hold of Dicky's vanity. Was 
he not capable of something better than 
other Jago boys ? Why should he not 
earn regular wages, and live comfortably, 
well-fed and clothed, with no fear of the 
police, and no shame for what he did ? 
He might do it, when others could not. 
They were not clever enough. They 
called themselves " clever " and " wide ; " 
" but," said Father Sturt, " is there one of 
them that can deceive me ? " And Dicky 
knew there was not one. Most did no 
 



 

work, the vicar's argument went on, be- 
cause they had neither the pluck to try 
nor the intelligence to accomplish. Else 
why did they live the wretched Jago life 
instead of take the pleasanter time of the 
decent labourer ? 

Dicky, already zealous at work as ex- 
ampled in rush bag-making, listened with 
wistful pride. Yes, if he could, he would 
work and take his place over the envious 
heads of his Jago friends. But how ? 
Nobody would employ a boy living in the 
Jago. That was notorious. The address 
was a topsy-turvy testimonial for miles 
round. 

All the same, when Mrs. Bates at last 
took away her belongings, Dicky ran off 
in delighted amaze to tell his mother and 
Em that he was going to tea at Father 
Sturt's rooms. 

And the wreckers tore down the foul 
old houses, laying bare the secret dens of 
a century of infamy ; lifting out the wide 
 



 

sashes of the old "weavers' windows" 
the one good feature in the structures ; 
letting light and air at last into the subter- 
raneous basements where men and women 
had swarmed, and bred, and died, like 
wolves in their lairs ; and emerging from 
clouds of choking dust, each man a colony 
of vermin. But there were rooms which 
the wreckers no jack-a-dandies, neither 
flatly refused to enter ; and nothing 
would make them but much coaxing, the 
promise of extra pay, and the certainty of 
much immediate beer. 



XVIII 

Mr. Grinder kept a shop in the Bethnal 
Green Road. It was announced in bril- 
liant lettering as an " oil, colour and Italian 
warehouse," and there, in addition to the 
oil and the colour, and whatever of Italian 
there might have been ; he sold pots, pans, 
kettles, brooms, shovels, mops, lamps, 
nails, and treacle. It was a shop ever too 
tight for its stock, which burst forth at every 
available opening, and heaped so high on 
the paving that the window was half buried 
in a bank of shining tin. Father Sturt 
was one of the best customers : the oil, 
candles and utensils needed for church and 
club all coming from Mr. Grinder's. Mr. 
Grinder was losing his shop-boy, who had 
found a better situation ; and Father Sturt 
determined that could the oilman but be 
 



 

persuaded, Dicky Perrott should be the 
new boy. Mr. Grinder was persuaded. 
Chiefly, perhaps, because the vicar under- 
took to make good the loss, should the 
experiment end in theft ; partly because it 
was policy to oblige a good customer ; and 
partly, indeed, because Mr. Grinder was 
willing to give such a boy a chance in life, 
for he was no bad fellow, as oil-and-colour 
men go, and had been an errand-boy 
himself. 

So that there came a Monday morning 
when Dicky, his clothes as well mended 
as might be (for Hannah Perrott, no more 
than another Jago, could disobey Father 
Sturt),and a cut-down apron of his mother's 
tied before him, stood by Mr. Grinder's 
bank of pots and kettles, in an eager agony 
to sell something, and near blind with the 
pride of the thing. He had been waiting 
at the shop-door long ere Mr. Grinder 
was out of bed ; and now, set to guard 
the outside stock a duty not to be neg- 
 



 

lected in that neighbourhood he brushed 
a tin pot here and there with his sleeve, 
and longed for some Jago friend to pass 
and view him in his new greatness. The 
goods he watched over were an unfailing 
source of interest ; and he learned by 
much repetition the prices of all the sauce- 
pans, painted in blue distemper on the tin, 
and ranging from eightpence-halfpenny, on 
the big pots in the bottom row, to three- 
halfpence on the very little ones at the 
top. And there were long ranks of little 
paraffin lamps at a penny the sort that 
had set fire to a garret in Half Jago Street 
a month since, and burnt old Mother Leary 
to a greasy cinder. With a smaller array 
of superior quality at fourpence-halfpenny 
just like the one that had burst at Jerry 
Gullen's, and burnt the bed. While over 
his head swung doormats at one-and- 
eightpence, with penny mousetraps dang- 
ling from their corners. When he grew 
more accustomed to his circumstances, he 
 



 

bethought him to collect a little dirt, and 
rub it down the front of his apron, to give 
himself a well-worked and business-like 
appearance; and he greatly impeded 
women who looked at the saucepans and 
the mousetraps, ere they entered the shop, 
by his anxiety to cut them off from Mr. 
Grinder and serve them himself. He re- 
membered the boy in the tin-shop in Bish- 
opsgate Street, years ago, who had chased 
him through Spitalfields ; and he wished 
that some lurching youngster would snatch 
a mousetrap, that he might make a chase 
himself. 

At Mr. Grinder's every call Dicky was 
prompt and willing ; for every new duty 
was a fresh delight, and the whole day a 
prolonged game of real shopkeeping. And 
at his tea he was to have tea each day in 
addition to three-and-sixpence every Satur- 
day he took scarce five minutes. There 
was a trolley just such a thing as porters 
used at railway stations, but smaller 
 



 

which was his own particular implement, 
his own to pack parcels on for delivery to 
such few customers as did not carry away 
their own purchases: and to acquire the 
dexterous management of this trolley was 
a pure joy. He bolted his tea to start the 
sooner on a trolley-journey to a public- 
house two hundred yards away. 

His enthusiasm for work as an amuse- 
ment cooled in a day or two, but all his 
pride in it remained. The fight with Dove 
Lane waxed amain, but Dicky would not 
be tempted into more than a distant inter- 
est in it. In his day-dreams he saw him- 
self a tradesman, with a shop of his own 
and the name u R. Perrott," with a gold 
flourish, over the door. He would employ 
a boy himself then ; and there would be 
a parlour, with stuff-bottomed chairs and a 
shade of flowers, and Em grown up and 
playing on the piano. Truly Father Sturt 
was right : the hooks were fools, and the 
straight game was the better. 
 



 

Bobby Roper, the hunchback, went 
past the shop once, and saw him. Dicky, 
minding his new dignity, ignored his enemy, 
and for the first time for a year and more, 
allowed him to pass without either taunt 
or blow. The other, astonished at Dicky's 
new occupation, came back and back again, 
staring from a safe distance, at Dicky and 
the shop. Dicky, on his part, took no more 
notice than to assume an ostentatious vigi- 
lance : so that the hunchback, baring his 
teeth in a snigger of malice, at last turned 
on his heel and rolled off. 

Twice Kiddo Cook passed, but made no 
sign of recognition beyond a wink ; and 
Dicky felt grateful for Kiddo's obvious 
fear of compromising him. Once old 
Beveridge came by, striding rapidly, his 
tatters flying, and the legend, u Hard Up," 
chalked on his hat, as was his manner in 
his town rambles. He stopped abruptly 
at sight of Dicky, stooped, and said : 
" Dicky Perrott ? Hum hum hey ?" 

 



 

Then he hurried on, doubtless conceiving 
just such a fear as Kiddo Cook's. As for 
Tommy Rann, his affections were alienated 
by Dicky's outset refusal to secrete treacle 
in a tin mug for a midnight carousal ; and 
he did not show himself. So matters went 
on for a week. 

But Mr. Weech missed Dicky sadly. 
It was rare for a day to pass without a 
visit from Dicky, and Dicky had a way of 
bringing good things. Mr. Weech would 
not have sold Dicky's custom for ten shil- 
lings a week. So that when Mr. Weech 
inquired, and found that Dicky was at work 
in an oil-shop, he was naturally annoyed. 
Moreover, if Dicky Perrott got into that 
way of life, he would have no fear for 
himself, and might get talking incon- 
veniently among his new friends about the 
business affairs of Mr. Aaron Weech. 
And at this reflection that philanthropist 
grew thoughtful. 



 



XIX 

Dicky had gone on an errand, and Mr. 
Grinder was at the shop door, when there 
appeared before him a whiskered and 
smirking figure, with a quick glance each 
way along the street, and a long and smil- 
ing one at the oil-man's necktie. 

" Good mornin', Mr. Grinder, good 
mornin' sir." Mr. Weech stroked his 
left palm with his right fist and nodded 
pleasantly. " I 'm in business myself, 
over in Meakin Street name of Weech : 
p'r'aps you know the shop ? I I jist 
'opped over to ask" Grinder led the way 
into the shop " to ask (so 's to make 
things quite sure, y' know, though no doubt 
it's all right) to ask if it 's correct you're 
awfferin' brass roastin'-jacks at a shillin* 
each." 

 



 

" Brass roastin'-jacks at a shillin' ? " 
exclaimed Grinder, shocked at the notion. 
"Why, no!" 

Mr. Weech appeared mildly surprised. 
" Nor yut seven-poun' jars o' jam an* 
pickles at sixpence ? " he pursued, with 
his eye on those ranged behind the coun- 
ter. 

" No ! " 

" Nor door-mats at fourpence ? " 

u Fourpence ? Cert 'nly not ! " 

Mr. Weech's face fell into a blank 
perplexity. He pawed his ear with a 
doubtful air, murmuring absently : " Well, 
I 'm sure he said fourpence : an' sixpence 
for pickles, an' bring 'em round after the 
shop was shut. But there," he added, 
more briskly, " there 's no 'arm done, an' 
no doubt it 's a mistake." He turned as 
though to leave, but Mr. Grinder restrained 
him. 

" But look 'ere," he said, " I want to 
know about this. Wotjer mean? 'Oo 
 



 

was goin' to bring round pickles after the 
shop was shut ? ' Oo said fourpence for 
door-mats ? " 

" Oh, I expect it 's just a little mistake, 
that 's all," answered Weech, making ano- 
ther motion toward the door ; u an' I do n't 
want to git nobody into trouble." 

" Trouble ? Nice trouble I 'd be in if 
I sold brass smoke-jacks for a bob ! 
There 's somethink 'ere as I ought to know 
about. Tell me about it straight." 

Weech looked thoughtfully at the oil- 
man's top waistcoat button for a few 
seconds, and then said : " Yus, p Vhaps I 
better. I can feel for you, Mr. Grinder, 
'avin' a feelin' 'art, an' bein' in business 
meself. Where 's your boy ? " 

" Gawn out." 

" Comin' back soon ? " 

" Not yut. Come in the back-par- 
lour." 

There Mr. Weech, with ingenuous 
reluctance, assured Mr. Grinder that 
 



 

Dicky Perrott had importuned him to buy 
the goods in question at the prices he had 
mentioned, together with others readily 
named now that the oil-man swallowed so 
freely and that they were to be delivered 
and paid for at night when Dicky left 
work. But, perhaps, Mr. Weech con- 
cluded, parading an obstinate belief in 
human nature, perhaps the boy being new 
to the business, had mistaken the prices, 
and was merely doing his best to push his 
master's trade. 

"No fear o' that," said Grinder, shaking 
his head gloomily. u Not the least fear o' 
that. 'E knows the cheapest door-mats I 
got 's one an' six I 'card him tell custo- 
mers so outside a dozen times; an' anyone 
can see the smoke-jacks is ticketed five 
an' nine " as Mr. Weech had seen, when 
he spoke of them. U I thought that boy 
was too eager an* willin' to be quite 
genavin," Dicky's master went on. " *E 
ain't 'ad me yut, that 's one comfort : if 
 



 

anythin' 'ud bin gawn I 'd V missed it. But 
out 'e goes as soon as 'e comes back : you 
can take yer davy o' that ! " 

"Ah," replied Mr. Weech, " it 's fear- 
ful the wickedness there is about, ain't it ? 
It 's enough to break yer 'art. Sich a 
neighbVood too ! W'y, if it was known 
as I 'd give you this 'ere little friendly in- 
formation, bein' in business meself an* 
knowin' wot- it is, my life would n't be safe 
a hower. It would n't Mr. Grinder." 

"Would n't it?" said Mr. Grinder. 
" You mean them in the Jago, I s'pose." 

" Yus. They 're a awful lot, Mr. Grin- 
der you 've no idear. The father o' this 
'ere boy as I 've warned you aginst, 'e 's in 
with a desprit gang, an* they 'd murder me 
if they thought I 'd come an' told you hon- 
est, w'en you might 'a' bin robbed, as is 
my nature to. They would indeed. So 
o' course you won't say wot I told yer, nor 
'oo give you this 'ere honourable, friendly 
warnin' not to nobody." 
 



 

"That's awright," answered the simple 
Grinder, " I won't let on. But out 'e 
goes, promp*. I 'm obliged to yer, Mr. 
Weech. Er r wot ' yer take ? " 

Weech put away the suggestion with a 
virtuous palm : " Nothink at all, Mr. 
Grinder, thanks all the same. I never 
touch nothink ; an' I 'm glad to to do any 
moral job, so to speak, as comes in my 
way. c Scatter seeds o' kindness ' you 
know, as the the Psalms says, Mr. Grin- 
der. Your boy ain't back, is 'e ? " 

And after peering cautiously, Mr. Weech 
went his way. 



XX 

Dicky completed his round, and pushed 
his unladen trolley Grinder-ward with a 
a fuller sense of responsibility than ever. 
For he carried money. A publican had 
paid him four and threepence, and he had 
taken two and tenpence elsewhere. He 
had left his proud signature, pencilled large 
and black, on two receipts, and he stopped 
in a dozen doorways to count the money 
over again, and make sure that all was 
right. Between the halts he added four 
and three to two and ten mentally, and 
proved his sum correct by subtracting each 
in turn from seven and a penny, and at 
last he stood his trolley on end by the 
bank of sauce-pans and entered the shop. 

" Walkers is paid, an* Wilkins is paid," 
 



 

said Dicky, putting down the money. 
" Two an* ten an* four an' three 's seven 
an* a penny." 

Mr. Grinder looked steadily and sourly 
at Dicky, and counted. He pitched the 
odd penny into the till and shook the rest 
of the coins in his closed hand, still staring 
moodily in the boy's face. " It 's three 
an* six a week you come 'ere at," he said. 

" Yus sir," Dicky replied, since Grin- 
der seemed to expect an answer. The 
supreme moment when he should take his 
first wages had been the week's beacon to 
him, reddening and brightening as Satur- 
day night grew nearer. 

" Three an' six a week an' yer tea." 

Dicky wondered. 

" So as if I found out anythink about 
say Brass Roastin'-jacks for instance I 
could give ye yer three an' six an' start y' 
auf, unless I did somethin* wuss." 

Dicky was all incomprehension; but 
something made him feel a little sick. 
 






 

" But s'posin' I did n't find out any- 
think about say Seven-pun* Jars o' Pick- 
les an' s'pose I was n't disposed to sus- 
pect anythink in regard to say Door-mats; 
then I could either give ye a week's notice 
or pay ye a week's money an' clear y' out 
on the spot, without no more trouble." 

Mr. Grinder paused, and still looked at 
Dicky with calm dislike. Then he added, 
as though in answer to himself, " Yus." . . 

He dropped the money slowly from his 
right hand to his left. Dicky's mouth 
was dry, and the drawers and pickle-jars 
swam before him at each side of Grinder's 
head. What did it mean ? 

" 'Ere y' are," cried Mr. Grinder, with 
sudden energy, thrusting his hand across 
the counter. " Two three-and-sixes is 
seven shillin's, an' you can git yer tea at 
'ome with yer dirty little sister. Git out 
o' my shop ! " 

Dicky's hand closed mechanically on 
the money, and after a second's pause he 
 



 

found broken speech. "W w wot 
for, sir ? " he asked, huskily. u I ain't 
done nothink ! " 

"No, an* you sha'n't do nothink, that 's 
more. Out ye go ! If I see ye near the 
place agin I ' have ye locked up ! " 

Dicky slunk to the door. He felt the 
sobs coming, but he turned at the threshold 
and said with tremulous lips : " Woncher 
gimme a chance, sir? S'elp me, I done 
me best. I " 

Mr. Grinder made a short rush from 
the back of the shop, and Dicky gave up 
and fled. 

It was all over. There could never be 
a shop with " R. Perrott " painted over it, 
now; there would be no parlour with stuff- 
bottomed chairs and a piano for Em to 
play. He was cut off from the trolley for 
ever: Dicky was thirteen, and at that 
age the children of the Jago were past 
childish tears; but tears he could not 
smother, even till he might find a hiding- 
 



 

place: they burst out shamefully in the 
open street. 

He took dark turnings, and hid his head 
in doorways. It was very bitter. At 
last, when the sobs grew fewer, he remem- 
bered the money gripped in his wet fist. 
It was a consolation. Seven shillings was 
a vast sum in Dicky's eyes ; until that 
day he had never handled so much in his 
life. It would have been handsome re- 
compense, he thought, for any trouble in 
the world but this. He must take it 
home, of course; it might avail to buy 
sympathy of his father and mother. But 
then, to think he might have had as much 
every fortnight of his life, a good tea every 
day, and the proud responsibility, and the 
trolley ! At this his lips came awry again, 
his eyes sought his sleeve, and he turned 
to another doorway. 

His glance fell on the white apron, now 
smudged and greased in good earnest. It 
made him feel worse ; so he untied it and 
 



 

stuffed it away under his jacket. He 
wondered vaguely what had occurred to 
irritate Mr. Grinder, and why he talked of 
pickles and door-mats; but the sorrow of 
it all afflicted him to the extinction of such 
minor speculation. And in this misery he 
dragged his reluctant feet toward the Oid 
jago. 



XXI 

He handed his father the seven shillings, 
and received a furious belting for losing 
his situation. He cried quietly, but it was 
not because of the strap. All he feared 
now was to meet Father Sturt. He had 
rather fifty beltings than Father Sturt's 
reproaches; and, having disgraced him- 
self with Mr. Grinder in some mysterious 
way which it was beyond his capacity to 
understand, what but reproaches could he 
expect from the vicar ? The whole world 
was against him. As for himself, he was 
hopeless : plainly, he must have some in- 
comprehensible defect of nature, since he 
offended, do as he might, and could neither 
understand or redeem his fault. He won- 
dered if had been so with little Neddy 
Wright, who had found the world too 
 



 

ruthless for him at ten ; and had tied a 
brick to his neck, as he had seen done 
with needless dogs, and let himself timidly 
down into the canal at Haggerstone 
Bridge. 

So he shuffled through Jago Row, when 
a hand came on his shoulder and a hoarse 
voice said : u Wot *s the matter, Dicky ! " 

He turned, and saw the mild, coarse face 
of Pigeony Poll, the jaw whereof was 
labouring on something tough and sticky. 
Poll pulled from her pocket a glutinous 
paper, clinging about a cohesive lump of 
broken toffee the one luxury of her mon- 
eyed times. "'Ave a bit?" she said. 
" Wot 's the matter ? " 

But Dicky thrust the hand away and 
fled, for he feared another burst of tears. 
His eyes were bad enough as it was, and 
he longed to hide himself in some hole. 

He turned into New Jago street. Hither 
it was that Jerry Gullen had betaken him- 
self with his family and the Canary, after 
 



 

the great eviction. Dicky slackened his 
pace, loitered at Jerry's doorway, and pres- 
ently found himself in the common pas- 
sage. It was long since he had had a private 
interview with Jerry Gullen's canary ; for, 
indeed, he was thirteen he was no longer 
a child, in fact ! and it was not well that 
he should indulge in such foolish weak- 
ness. Nevertheless he went as far as the 
back door. There stood the old donkey, 
mangy and infirm as ever, but apparently 
no nearer the end. The wood of the fence 
was bitten in places, but it was not, as yet, 
gnawed to the general whiteness and round- 
ness of that in Canary's old abode. Canary, 
indeed, was fortunate to-day, for at the 
sound of Dicky's step he lifted his nose 
from a small heap of straw, dust, and 
moldy hay, swept into a corner. Dicky 
stepped into the yard, and put his hand on 
Canary's neck; presently he glanced guiltily 
at the windows above. Nobody was look- 
ing. And in five minutes Dicky, all aged 
 



 

as he was, had told Canary his troubles, 
while new tears wetted the ragged crest 
and dropped into the dusty straw. 

Now his grief lost some of its edge. 
Ashamed as he was, he had a shapeless, 
unapprehended notion that Canary was the 
sole creature alive that could understand 
and feel with him. And Canary poked his 
nose under the old jacket and sniffed in 
sympathy, as the broken lining tickled him. 
Dicky's intellectuals began to arrange them- 
selves. Plainly Mr. Weech's philosophy 
was right after all. He was of the Jago, 
and he must prey on the outer world, as 
all the Jago did ; not stray foolishly off the 
regular track in chase of visions and fall 
headlong. Father Sturt was a creature 
of another mould. Who was he, Dicky 
Perrott, that he should break away from 
the Jago habit and strain after another 
nature ! What could come of it but defeat 
and bitterness ? As old Beveridge had 
said, the Jago had got him. Why should 
 



 

he fight against the inevitable, and bruise 
himself? The ways out of Jago old 
Beveridge had told him, years ago. Gaol, 
the gallows, and the High Mob. There 
was his chance, his aspiration, his goal : 
the High Mob. To dream of oil-shops or 
regular wages was foolishness. His bed 
was made in the Jago, and he must lie on it. 
His hope in life, if he might have a hope 
at all, was to be of the High Mob. Spare 
nobody, stop at nothing, do his devilmost : 
old Beveridge had said that years ago. The 
task was before him, and he must not balk 
at it. As for gaol and the gallows, well ! 
There they were, and he could not help it ; 
ill ways out of the Jago, both, but still 
ways out. 

He rubbed his face carefully with his 
sleeve, put away his foolish ambitions, and 
went forth with a brave heart : to accom- 
plish his destiny for well or ill, a Jago rat. 
To do his devilmost. But to avoid Father 
Sturt. 

 



 

Out he went into Shoreditch High street, 
and there he prowled the evening away; 
there and in Norton Folgate. But he 
touched for nothing nothing at all. He 
feared lest his week's honesty had damaged 
his training. Even an apple on a stall he 
failed at, and had to run. And then he 
turned into Bethnal Green Road. 

But here a thought checked him sud- 
denly. What of Mr. Grinder ? He had 
threatened to have Dicky locked up if he 
came near the shop again. But a child of 
Jago knew too much to be frightened by 
such a threat as that. He went on. He 
felt interested to see how his late employer 
was getting along without him, and who 
was minding the goods outside the shop. 
Probably there was nobody : and this gave 
Dicky an idea. 

He had forgotten his smudgy apron, 

folded and tucked away in the lining of 

his jacket. Now he pulled it out, and 

fastened it before him once more. He 

 



 

knew Mr. Grinder's habits in the shop, 
and if he could seize a fitting opportunity 
he might be able, attired in his apron, to 
pick up or reach down any article that 
struck his fancy, fearless of interference 
from passers-by ; for he would seem to be 
still shop boy. 

With that he hastened, for it was near 
closing time at Grinder's. He took the 
opposite side of the road, the better to 
observe unseen in the darkness. But Mr. 
Grinder had already begun to carry things 
in from the pavement. As Dicky looked 
he came out with a long pole wherewith 
he unhooked from above a clattering 
cluster of pails and watering pots, and a 
bunch of door-mats. The door-mats he let 
fall on the flags, while he carried in the 
pots and pails. Dicky knew that these 
pots and pails were kept at night in a shed 
behind the house; so he scuttled across 
the road, opening the blade of his old 
knife as he ran. He cut the string that 
 



 

held the mats together, selected a thick 
one, rolled it under his arm, and edged off 
into shadow. Then he ran quietly across 
to the nearest turning. 

Presently Mr* Grinder came out, hook- 
ed his finger in the string around the 
mats, and pulled up nothing. He stooped 
and saw that the string was cut. He 
looked about him suspiciously, flung the 
mats over, and counted them. Then he 
stood erect; stared up the street, down 
the street, and across the road, with his 
mouth open, and made short rushes left 
and right into the gloom. Then he re- 
turned to the mats and scratched his head. 
Finally, he gave another glance about the 
street, picked up the mats in his arms and 
carried them in, counting them as he 
went. And, the mats bestowed, when 
he came forth for a fresh armful of sauce- 
pans, he stood and gazed doubtfully 
now this way, now that, about the Beth- 
nal Green Road. 

 



 

Mr. Aaron Weech was pushing his 
last shutter into its place when " Clean 
the knives," said Dicky Perrott in per- 
functory repetition of the old formula. 

Mr. Weech seemed taken aback. 
"Wot, that?" he asked, doubtfully, 
pointing at the door-mat. Then, after a 
sharp look about the almost deserted 
street, he ran to Jago Row corner, twenty 
yards away, and looked down there. No- 
body was hiding, and he came back. He 
led the way into the shop, and closed the 
door. Then, looking keenly in Dicky's 
face, he suddenly asked : " 'Oo toldjer to 
bring that 'ere ?" 

u Told me ? " Dicky answered, sullen- 
ly. "Nobody told me. Don'cher want it ? " 

" 'Ow much did 'e tell ye t' ask for it ?" 

"Tell me? 'Oo?" 

" You know. 'Ow much didjer say 'e 
said ? " 

Dicky was mystified. " Dunno wotcher 
mean," he replied. 

 



 

Mr. Weech suddenly broke into a loud 
laugh, but kept his keen look on the boy's 
face nevertheless. " Ah, it 's a good 
joke, Dicky, ain't it ? " he said, and laugh- 
ed again. " But you can't 'ave me, ye 
know ! Mr. Grinder's an old friend o' 
mine, an* I know 'is little larks. Wot 
did 'e tell you to do if I would n't 'ave 
that door-mat ? " 

" Tell me ? " asked Dicky, plainly more 
mystified than ever. " W'y 'e never told 
me nothink. 'E gimme the sack this 
afternoon, an' chucked me out." 

" Then wotcher got yer apron on now 
for?" 

" Oh," said Dicky, looking down at it, 
u I jest put it on agin o' purpose." And 
he glanced at the mat. 

Mr. Weech understood, and grinned 
a genuine grin this time. u That's right, 
Dicky," he said, " never let yer wits go 
a-ramblin*. A sharp boy like you 's a lot 
too good for a shop boy, slavin* away from 
H 



 

mornin* till night, an* treated ungrateful. 
Wot did 'e sack ye for?" 

"I dunno. Took a fit in 'is 'ead, I 
s'pose. Wotcher goin' ter give me for 
this mat ? It 's a two an* three mat." 

" Want somethink to eat, doncher ? " 
suggested Mr. Weeeh, glancing at a heap 
of stale cake. 

" No, I do n't," Dicky answered, with 
sulky resolution. " I want money." 

"Awright," said Mr.Weech, resignedly. 
"You ain't 'ad much to eat an* drink 
'ere for a long time, though. But I Ml do 
the 'an'some, seein* you 're bin treated 
ungrateful by Grinder. ' Ere 's two- 
pence." 

But Dicky held to the mat. " Two- 
pence ain't enough," he said. " I want 
fourpence." He meant to spare nobody 
not even Mr. Weech. 

"Wot? Fourpence?" gasped Mr 
Weech, indignantly. " W'y, you 're mad 
Take it away." 

 



 

Dicky rolled the mat under his arm and 
turned to the door. 

"'Ere," said Mr. Weech, seeing him 
going, " I ' make it thrippence, seem' 
you 're bin treated so bad. Thrippence 
and a slice o' cake," he added, perceiving 
that Dicky did not hesitate. 

"  do n't want no cake," Dicky an- 
swered doggedly. " I want fourpence, 
an* I won't take no less." 

The good Weech was unwilling that 
Dicky should find another market after 
all, so he submitted to the extortion. 
" Ah, well," he said, with a sigh, pulling 
out the extra coppers, " jist for this once, 
then. You ' 'ave to make it up next 
time. Mindjer, it 's only 'cos I 'm sorry 
for ye bein' treated ungrateful. Don't 
you go an' treat me ungrateful, now." 

Dicky pocketed his pence and made for 
home, while Mr. Weech, chuckling 
gently at his morning prophecy of a door- 
mat for fourpence, carried the plunder to 
 



 

the room reserved for new and unused 
stock ; promising himself, however, a peep 
at Grinder's shop in the morning, to make 
quite sure that Dicky had really left. 

So ended Dicky's dealings with the 
house of Grinder. When Father Sturt 
next saw the oil-man, and inquired of 
Dicky's progress, he was met with solemn 
congratulations that no larcenies were to 
pay for. Mr. Grinder's sagacity, it seem- 
ed, had enabled him to detect and crush 
at the outset Dicky's plans for selling 
stock wholesale on his own account. Out 
of consideration for the vicar's recommen- 
dation he had refrained from handing the 
boy over to the police, but had paid him 
a week in advance and dismissed him. 
Father Sturt insisted on repaying the 
money, and went his way with a heavy 
heart. For if this was what came of the 
promising among his flock, what of the 
others ? For some while he saw nothing 
of Dicky j and the incident fell back 
 



 

among a crowd of others in his remem- 
brance, for Dicky was but one among 
thousands, and the disappointment was but 
one of many hundreds. 

Lying awake that night, but with closed 
eyes, Dicky heard his mother, talking 
with his father, suggest that perhaps an 
enemy had earwigged Grinder, and told 
him a tale that had brought about Dicky's 
dismissal, somebody, perhaps, who wanted 
the situation for somebody else. Josh 
Perrott did no more than grunt at the 
guess, but it gave a new light to Dicky. 
Clearly that would account for Grinder's 
change. But who could the mischief- 
maker be ? 

The little clock on the mantelpiece 
ticked away busily in the silence, and 
Dicky instantly thought of the hunchback. 
He it must have been, without a doubt. 
Who else ? Was he not hanging about 
the shop, staring and sneering, but a day 
or two back ? And was it not he who 
 



 

had pursued him with malice on every 
occasion, in school and out ? Had not 
Bobby Roper this very trick of lying tales ? 
Where was the gratuitous injury in all 
these four years that had not been Bobby 
Roper's work? Dicky trembled with 
rage as he lay, and he resolved on condign 
revenge. The war with Dove Lane was 
over for the time being, but that made it 
easier for him to catch his enemy. 



XXII 

The feud between the Jago and Dove 
Lane was eternal, just as was that between 
the Ranns and the Learys ; but, like the 
Rann and Leary feud, it had its paroxysms 
and its intervals. And in both cases the 
close of a paroxysm was signalized by a 
great show of amity between the factions. 
Bob Rann and Billy Leary would drink 
affably from the same pot, and Norah 
Walsh and Sally Green would call each 
other " mum "; while Jagos and Dove- 
Laners would mingle in bars and lend 
pinches of tobacco, and call each other 
" matey." A paroxysm in the war had 
now passed, and reconciliation was due. 
The Dove-Laners had been heavily 
thrashed : their benjamins and kicksies had 
 



 

been impounded in Meakin street, and 
they had ceased from buying. Dove 
Lane itself had been swept from end to 
end by the victorious Jago, and the popu- 
lations of both were dotted thickly with 
bandaged heads. This satisfactory state 
of things achieved, there was little reason 
left for fighting. Moreover, if fighting 
persisted too long at a time, the police 
were apt to turn up in numbers, subjecting 
the neighborhood to much inconvenient 
scrutiny, and very often coming across 
Jagos or even Dove-Laners " wanted" 
on old accounts. So peace was declared ; 
and, as a visible sign thereof, it was deter- 
mined that the Dove-Laners should visit 
the Jago in a body, there to join in a sing- 
song at Mother Gapp's. Mother Gapp's 
was chosen, not only because it was 
Mother Gapp's an important considera- 
tion but also because of the large room 
behind the bar, called the " club-room," 
which had long ago been made of two 
 



 

rooms and a big cupboard, by the cutting 
away of crazy partitions from the crazy 
walls. 

Scarce was it dark when the Dove- 
Laners, in a succession of hilarious groups 
but withal a trifle suspicious began to 
push through Mother Gapp's doors. Their 
caps pulled down to their ears, their hands 
in their pockets, their shoulders humped, 
and their jackets buttoned tight, they 
lurched through the Jago, grinning with 
uneasy affability at the greetings that met 
them, being less practiced than the Jagos 
in the assumption of elaborate cordiality. 

In the club-room of the Feathers there 
were but three or four of the other party, 
though the bar was packed. The three 
or four, of whom Josh Perrott was one, 
were by way of a committee of stewards 
deputed to bid the Dove-Laners welcome, 
and to help them to seats. The Jagos 
were in some sort in the situation of hosts, 
and it had been decided after debate that 
* 



 

it would ill become them to take their 
places till their guests were seated. The 
punctilio of the Jago on such occasions 
was a marvel. 

So Josh Perrott stood at one side of 
the club-room door and Billy Leary at the 
other, shaking hands with all who entered, 
and strenuously maintaining cheerful grins. 
Now, the Jago smile was a smile by itself, 
unlike the smiles in other places. It faded 
suddenly, and left the face the Jago 
face drawn and sad and startling by con- 
trast, as of a man betrayed into mirth in 
the midst of great sorrow. So that a per- 
sistent grin was known for a work of 
conscious effort. 

The Dove-Laners came in still larger 
numbers than had been expected, and be- 
fore long it was perceived that there would 
be little space in the club-room, if any at 
all, for the Jagos. Already the visitors 
seemed to fill the place, but they still kept 
coming, and found places by squeezing. 



 

There was some doubt as to what had 
best be done. Meanwhile the sing-song 
began, for at least a score were anxious to 
" oblige " at once, and every moment 
fresh volunteers arose. Many Dove- 
Laners stood up, and so made more room ; 
but more came, and still more, till the 
club-room could hold not another, and 
the very walls were like to burst. Under 
the low ceiling hung a layer of smoke that 
obscured the face of the man standing on 
the table at the end to sing ; and under 
the smoke was a close-packed array of 
heads, hats, and clay pipes, much diver- 
sified by white bandages and black eyes. 

Such Dove-Laners as came in now 
were fain to find places in the bar, if they 
could  and a crowd of Jagos, men and 
women, hung about the doors of the 
Feathers. More fortunate than other boys, 
Dicky, who would go anywhere to hear 
what purported to be music, had succeeded 
in worming himself through the bar and 
 



 

almost to the door of the club-room, but 
he could get no farther, and now he stood 
compressed, bounded on the face by Cocko 
Harnwell's coat-tails and on the back of 
the head by Fluffy Pike's moleskin waist- 
coat, with pearlies down the front and the 
artful dodge over the pockets. Pud Pal- 
mer one of the reception committee 
was singing. He accompanied his chorus 
by a step dance, and all the company 
stamped in sympathy : 

" She 's a fighter, she 's a biter, she 's a 

swearer, she 's a tearer, 
The gonophs down aar alley they calls 'er 

Rorty Sal; 

But as Pm a pertikiler sort c? bloke, I calls 
'er Rorty SAIRER, 



Crack! CRASH! 

Dicky clung to Cocko HarnwelPs coat- 
tails lest he were trampled to death j and 
for a while he was flung about, crushed 



 

and bruised, among rushing men, like a 
swimmer among breakers, while the air 
was rent with howls and the smash of 
glass. For the club-room floor had given 
way. 

It had been built but slightly in the 
beginning, as floor for two small rooms 
and a cupboard, with little weight to carry. 
Old and rotten now, and put to the strain 
of a multitude, stamping in unison, it had 
failed utterly, and had let down a strug- 
gling mob of men five feet onto the bar- 
rels in the cellar, panic-stricken and 
jumbled with tables, pots, wooden forms, 
lighted pipes and splintered joinery. 

From the midst of the stramash a Dove- 
Laner bawled aloud that it was a trap, and 
instantly Jagos and Dove-Laners were at 
each others' throats, and it was like to go 
hard with the few Jagos among the ruins. 
Billy Leary laid about him desperately 
with a ragged piece of flooring, while Josh 
Perrott and Pud Palmer battered Dove- 
 



 

Laners with quart pots. Then it was 
shouted without that the Dove-Laners 
were exterminating the Jagos within, and 
a torrent of Jagos burst through the doors, 
poured through the bar, and over the 
club-room threshold into the confusion 
below. 

Dicky, bruised, frightened and flung 
like a rag this way and that, at last made 
shift to grasp a post, and climb up on the 
bar counter. Mother Gapp, a dishevelled 
maniac, was dancing amid pots and broken 
glass, black in the face, screaming in- 
audibly. Dicky stumbled along the coun- 
ter, climbed over the broken end of a par- 
tition, and fell into the arms of Kiddo 
Cook, coming in with the rush. " Put 
the boy out ! " yelled Kiddo, turning and 
heaving him over the heads behind him. 
Somebody caught Dicky by a leg and an 
arm, his head hit the door post, the world 
turned a double-somersault about him, and 
he came down with a crash. He was on 
 



 

the flags of Old Jago Street, with all his 
breath driven out of him. 

But he was quickly on his feet again. 
A crowd beat against the front of Mother 
Gapp's, and reinforcements came running 
from everywhere, with the familiar rally- 
ing-cry, " Jago ! Jago 'old tight ! " Dove 
Lane had abused the Jago hospitality ; 
woe to the Dove-Laners ! 

There were scuffles here and there, 
where Dove-Laners, who had never 
reached the club-room, or who had been 
crowded out of it, made for escape. 
Dicky was shaken and sore, but he pulled 
himself together resolutely. He had seen 
a few Dove Lane boys about before he 
had got into the Feathers, and plainly it 
was his duty to find them and bash them. 
Moreover, he wondered what had become 
of his father. He hastened through the 
dark passage of the house next to Mother 
Gapp's, into the back yard, and through 
the broken fence. There was a door in 
 



 

the club-room wall, and through this he 
thought to see what was going forward. 

The cellar at any rate, at the farther 
end was a pit of writhing forms, and 
the din rose loud as ever. A short figure 
stood black against the light, and held by 
the doorpost, looking down at the riot. 
Dicky knew it. He sprang at Bobby 
Roper, pulled him by the arm, and^struck 
at him furiously. The hunchback, whim- 
pering, did his best to retaliate and to get 
away j but Dicky, raging at the remem- 
brance of his fancied injury, struck sav- 
agely, and struck again, till Bobby Roper 
tripped backward over the projecting end 
of a broken floor-board, and pitched head- 
long into the cellar. He struck a barrel 
and rolled over, falling into the space be- 
tween that and two other barrels. Dicky 
looked, but the hunchback did not move. 
Then some of the Dove-Laners flung pots 
at the lamps hanging against the club-room 
walls. Soon they were smashed and fell, 
 



 

and there was a darkness ; and under cover 
thereof the aliens essayed flight. 

Dicky was a little frightened at what he 
had done, but he felt that with Bobby 
Roper anything was justifiable. Some 
Dove-Laners escaped by the back door 
the cellar was low, and there was not five 
feet between the barrels and the broken 
joists and these Dicky avoided by getting 
back through the fence. In the end, most 
of the enemy struggled away by one means 
or another, and when lights were brought 
at last the Jagos were found pummeling 
each other savagely in the gloom. 

Father Sturt, apprised of something un- 
common by the exodus of members from 
the club, finally locked the doors and came 
to investigate. He arrived as the Jagos 
were extricating themselves from the 
cellar, and it was he who lifted the little 
hunchback from among the barrels and 
carried him into the open air ; he also who 
carried him home. No bone was broken, 
 



 

and no joint was disturbed, but there was 
a serious shock, many contusions, and a 
cut on the scalp. So said the surgeon 
whom Father Sturt took with him to Dove 
Lane. And Bobby Roper lay a fortnight 
in bed. 

More plaster than ever embellished the 
heads of Dove Lane and the Jago that 
night ; but for the Jagos there was com- 
pensation. For down among the barrels 
lay many a packet of tobacco, many a 
pair of boots, and many a corner stuffed 
with mixed property of other sorts, which 
Mother Gapp had fenced for many a month 
back. So that it happened to more than 
one warrior to carry home again some- 
thing with which he had run between the 
" Posties " long before, and had sold to 
Mother Gapp for what she would give. 

The ground floor of the Feathers stood 

a battered shell. The damage four years 

ago was inconsiderable compared to this. 

With tears and blasphemy Mother Gapp 

 



 

invaded the hoard of her long iniquity to 
buy a new floor ; but it was the larceny 
the taking of the tobacco and the boots, 
and the many other things from among the 
barrels that cut her to the soul. A 
crool a crool thing was such robbery 
sheer robbery, said Mother Gapp. 

Josh Perrott got a bad sprain in the 
cellar, and had to be helped home. More, 
he took with him not a single piece of 
plunder, such was his painful disablement. 



XXIII 

For more than a week Josh Perrott 
could not walk about. And it was a bad 
week. For some little while his luck had 
been but poor, and now he found himself 
laid up with a total reserve fund of four- 
teenpence. A coat was pawned with old 
Poll Rann (who kept a leaving shop in a 
first floor back in Jago Row) for ninepence. 
Then Josh swore at Dicky for not being 
still at Grinder's, and told him to turn out 
and bring home some money. Dicky had 
risen almost too sore and stiff to stand on 
the morning after the fight at the Feathers, 
and he was little better now. But he had 
to go, and he went, though he well knew 
that a click was out of the question, for his 
joints almost refused to bend. But he 
 



 

found that the fat's a-running boys were 
contemplating business, and he scouted for 
them with such success as to bring home 
sevenpence in the evening. Then Kiddo 
Cook, who had left Mother Gapp's with a 
double armful on the night of the sing- 
song, found himself rich enough, being a 
bachelor, to lend Josh eighteenpence. And 
a shawl of Hannah Perrott's was pawned. 
That, though, was redeemed the next day, 
together with the coat. For Dicky 
brought home a golden sovereign. 

It had been an easy click scarce a 
click at all, perhaps, strictly speaking. 
Dicky had tramped into the city, and had 
found a crowd outside St. Paul's a well- 
dressed crowd, not being moved on : for 
something was going forward in the cathe- 
dral. He recognised one of the High 
Mob, a pogue-hunter that is a pickpocket 
who deals in purses. Dicky watched this 
man's movements, by way of education ; 
for he was an eminent practitioner, and 
 



 

worked alone, with no assistant to cover 
him. Dicky saw him in the thick of the 
crowd, standing beside and behind one lady 
after another; but it was only when his 
elbow bent to slip something into his own 
pocket that Dicky knew he had u touched.'* 
Presently he moved to another part of the 
crowd, where mostly men were standing, 
and there he stealthily let drop a crumpled 
newspaper, and straightway left the crowd. 
He had " worked " it as much as he judged 
safe. Dicky wriggled toward the crumpled 
paper, slipped it under his jacket, and 
cleared away also. He knew that there was 
something in the paper besides news : that 
in fact, there were purses in it purses, 
emptied and shed as soon as might be, be- 
cause nobody can swear to money, but 
strange purses lead to destruction. Dicky 
recked little of this danger, but made his 
best pace to a recess in a back street, there 
to examine his pogues; for though the 
uxter was gone from them, they might yet 
 



 

bring a few coppers from Mr. Weech, if 
they were of good quality. They were a 
fairly sound lot. One had a large clasp 
that looked like silver, and another was 
quite new; and Dicky was observing with 
satisfaction the shop-shininess of the lining, 
when he perceived a cunning pocket at the 
back, lying flat against the main integu- 
ment and in it was a sovereign! He 
gulped at the sight. Clearly the pogue- 
hunter, emptying the pogues in his pocket 
by sense of touch, had missed the flat 
pocket. Dicky was not yet able to run 
with freedom, but he never ceased from 
trotting till he reached his own staircase 
in Old jago Street. And so the eight or 
nine days passed, and Josh went out into 
the Jago with no more than a tenderness 
about his ankle. 

Now, he much desired a good click ; so 
he went across High Street Shoreditch, to 
Kingsland Railway Station and bought a 
ticket for Canonbury. 
 



 

Luck was against him, it was plain. He 
tramped the northern suburbs from three 
o'clock till dark, but touched for nothing. 
He spent money, indeed, for he feared to 
overwork his ankle, and for that reason 
rested in divers public-houses. He peeped 
in at the gates of quiet gardens, in the hope 
of garden-hose left unwatched, or tennis- 
rackets lying in a handy summer-house. But 
he saw none. He pried about the doors 
of private stable-yards, in case of absent 
grooms and unprotected bunches of har- 
ness ; but in vain. He inspected quiet 
areas and kitchen entrances in search of 
unguarded spoons even descended into 
one area, where he had to make an awk- 
ward excuse about buying old bottles, in 
consequence of meeting the cook at the 
door. He tramped one quiet road after 
another on the lookout for a dead 'un a 
house furnished, but untenanted. But 
there was never dead 'un, it seemed, in all 
the northern district. So he grew tired 
 



 

and short-tempered, and cursed himself 
for that he had not driven off with a 
baker's horse and cart that had tempted 
him in the early afternoon. 

It grew twilight and then dark. Josh 
sat in a public-house, and took a long rest 
and some bread and cheese. It would 
never do to go home without touching, and 
for some time he considered possibilities 
with regard to a handful of silver money, 
kept in a glass on a shelf behind the bar. 
But it was out of reach, and there were too 
many people in the place for any attempt 
by climbing on the counter. Josh grew 
savage and soured. Plastering itself was 
not such troublesome work; and at least 
the pay was certain. It was little short 
of  o'clock when he left the public- 
house and turned back toward Canonbury. 
He would have something on the way, he 
resolved, and he would catch the first 
train home. He would have to knock 
somebody over in a dark street, that was 
 



 

all. It was nothing new, but he would 
rather have made his click another way 
this time, because his tender ankle might 
keep him slow, or even give way alto- 
gether ; and to be caught in a robbery with 
violence might easily mean something 
more than mere imprisonment ; it might 
mean a dose of the "cat" : and the "cat" was 
a thing the thought or the mention where- 
of sent the shudders through the Old Jago. 
But no : nobody worth knocking down 
came his way. Truly luck was out to- 
night. There was a spot by the long 
garden wall of a corner house that would 
have suited admirably, and as Josh lingered 
there, and looked about him, his eye fell 
on a ladder, reared nearly upright against 
the back wall of that same corner house, 
and lashed at the roof. It passed by the 
side of the second floor window, whereof 
the top sash was a little open. That 
would do. It was not his usual line of 
work, but it looked very promising. 
 



 

He stuck his stick under his waistcoat 
by way of the collar, and climbed the wall 
with gingerly care, giving his sound foot 
all the hard work. The ladder offered no 
difficulty, but the bottom sash of the win- 
dow was stiff, and he cracked a pane of 
glass in pushing at the frame with his 
stick. The sash lifted, however, in the 
end, and he climbed into the dark room, 
being much impeded by the dressing- 
table. All was quiet in the house, and 
the ticking of a watch on the dressing- 
table was distinct in the ear. Josh felt 
for it and found it, with a chain hanging 
from the bow. 

The house was uncommonly quiet. 
Could it possibly be a dead *un after all ? 
Josh felt that he ought to have inspected 
the front windows before climbing the 
wall, but the excitement of the long- 
delayed chance had ruined his discretion. 
At any rate he would reconnoitre. The 
door was ajar and the landing was dark. 
 



 

Down in the drawing-room a gross, 
pimply man, in shirt-sleeves and socks, 
sat up on the sofa at the sound of an 
opened window higher in the house. He 
took a drink from the glass by his side, 
and listened. Then he arose, and went 
softly upstairs. 

Josh Perrott came out on the landing. 
It was a long landing, with a staircase at 
the end, illuminated from somewhere be- 
low : so that it was not a case of a dead 
'un after all. He tiptoed along to take a 
look down the stairs, nevertheless. Then 
he was conscious of a loud breathing, as 
of an over-gorged cow, and up behind the 
stair-rails rose a fat head, followed by a 
fat trunk between white shirt-sleeves. 

Josh sank into the shadow. The man 
had no light, but discover him he must, 
sooner or later, for the landing was nar- 
row. Better sooner, and suddenly. As 
the man's foot was on the topmost stair, 
Josh sprang at him with a straight left- 
 



 

bander that took him on the broad chin, 
and sent him downstairs in a heap, with a 
crash and a roar. Josh darted back to the 
room he had just left, scrambled through 
the window, and slid down the ladder, as 
he had slid down many another when he 
was a plasterer's boy. He checked him- 
self short of the bottom, sprang at the 
wall-coping, flung himself over, and ran 
up the dark by-street, with the sound of 
muffled roars and screams faint in his 
ears. 

He ran a street or two, taking every 
corner as he came to it, and then fell into a 
walk. In his flight he had not spared his 
ankle, and now it was painful. More- 
over, he had left his stick behind him, in 
the bedroom. But he was in Highbury, 
and Canonbury Road Station was less 
than half a mile away. He grinned silently 
as he went, for there was something in 
the aspect of the overfed householder, and 
in the manner of his downfall, that gave 
 



 

the adventure a comic flavor. He took a 
peep at his spoil as he passed under a street 
lamp, for all watches and chains are the 
same in the dark, and the thing might be 
a mere Waterbury on a steel guard. But 
no : both were gold, and heavy : a red clock 
and slang if ever there was one. And so 
Josh Perrott hobbled and chuckled his 
way home. 



XXIV 

But indeed, Josh Perrott's luck was 
worse than he thought. For the gross, 
pimply man was a High Mobsman 
- so very high a mobsman that it 
would have been slander and libel, and a 
very great expense, to write him down a 
mobsman at all. He paid a rent of a 
hundred and twenty pounds a year, and 
heavy rates, and put half a crown into the 
plate at a very respectable chapel every 
Sunday. He was, in fact, the King of 
High Mobsmen, spoken of among them 
as the Mogul. He did no vulgar thiev- 
ery : he never screwed a chat, nor claimed 
a peter, nor worked the mace. He sat 
easily at home, and financed (sometimes 
planned) promising speculations : a large 
swindle requiring much ground-baiting and 
 



 

preliminary outlay ; or a robbery of specie 
from a mail train ; or a bank fraud needing 
organization and funds. When the re- 
sults of such speculations consisted of 
money he took the lion's share. When 
they were expressed in terms of imprison- 
ment, they fell to active and intelligent 
subordinates. So that for years the Mo- 
gul had lived an affluent and a blameless 
life, far removed from the necessity of 
injudicious bodily exercise, and character- 
ized by every indulgence consistent with a 
proper suburban respectability. He had 
patronized, snubbed, or encouraged High 
Mobsmen of more temerarious habit, had 
profited by their exploits, and had read of 
their convictions and sentences with placid 
interest in the morning papers. And after 
all this, to be robbed in his own house and 
knocked downstairs by a casual buster was 
an outrage that afflicted the Mogul with 
wrath infuriate. Because that was a sort 
of trouble that had never seemed a possi- 
 



 

bility, to a person of his eminence: and 
because the angriest victim of dishonesty 
is a thief. 

However, the burglar had got clean 
away, that was plain; and he had taken 
the best watch and chain in the house, 
with the Mogul's initials on the back. So 
that respectable sufferer sent for the police, 
and gave his attention to the alleviation 
of bumps and the washing away of blood. 
In his bodily condition a light blow was 
enough to let a great deal of blood no 
doubt with benefit ; and Josh Perrott's 
blows were not light ones in any case. 

So it came to pass that not only were 
the police on the lookout for a man with 
a large gold watch with the Mogul's mon- 
ogram on the back ; but also the word 
was passed as by telegraph through under- 
ground channels, till every fence in London 
was warned that the watch was the Mo- 
gul's, and ere noon next day there was not 
one but would as lief have put a scorpion 
 



 

in his pocket as that same toy and tackle 
that Josh Perrott was gloating over in his 
back room in Old Jago Street. 

As for Josh, his ankle was bad in the 
morning, and swelled. He dabbed at it 
perseveringly with wet rags, and rubbed it 
vigorously, so that by one o'clock he was 
able to lace up his boot and go out. He 
was anxious to fence his plunder without 
delay, and he made his way to Hoxton. 
The watch seemed to be something espe- 
cially good, and he determined to stand 
out for a price well above the usual figure. 
For the swag of common thieves com- 
manded no such prices as did that of the 
High Mob. All of it was bought and 
sold on the simple system first called into 
being seventy years back and more by the 
prince of fences, Ikey Solomons. A 
breast-pin brought a fixed sum, good or 
bad, and a roll of cloth brought the fixed 
price of a roll of cloth, regardless of 
quality. Thus a silver watch fetched six 
 



 

shillings, never more and never less ; a 
gold watch was worth twice as much ; an 
uncommonly good one a rich man's 
watch would bring as much as eighteen 
shillings, if the thief were judge enough of 
its quality to venture the demand. And, 
as it commonly took three men to secure 
a single watch in the open street one to 
" front," one to snatch, and a third to 
take from the snatcher the gains of the 
toy-getting trade were poor, except to the 
fence. This time Josh resolved to put 
pressure on the fence, and to do his best 
to get something as near a sovereign as 
might be. And as to the chain, so thick 
and heavy, he would fight his best for the 
privilege of sale by weight. Thus turn- 
ing the thing in his mind, he entered the 
familiar doorway of the old clothes shop. 
"Vot is id?'* asked the fence, holding 
out his hand with the customary air of 
contempt for what was coming, by way of 
discounting it in advance. This particular 
 



 

fence, by the bye, never bought anything 
himself. He inspected whatever was 
brought on behalf of an occult friend ; and 
the transaction was completed by a shabby 
third party in an adjoining court. But he 
had an amazingly keen regard for his 
friend's interests. 

Josh put the watch into the extended 
hand. The fence lifted it to his face, 
turned it over, and started. He looked 
hard at Josh, and then again at the watch, 
and handed it hastily back, holding it 
gingerly by the bow. " Do n' vant dot" 
he said ; "nod me nod 'im, I mean. No, 
no." He turned away, shaking his hand 
as though to throw off contamination. 
" Take id avay." 

"Wot 's the matter ?" Josh demanded, 
astonished. " Is it 'cos o' the letters on 
the back ? You can easy send it to 
church, can't ye ? " 

A watch is " sent to church " when it 
is put into another case. But the fence 
 



 

waved away the suggestion. "Take id 
avay I tell you," he said. " I 'e von't 
'ave nodden to do vid id." 

"Wot 's the matter with the chain, 
then ?" asked Josh. But the fence walked 
away to the back of the shop, wagging his 
hands desperately, like a wet man seeking 
a towel, and repeating only : "Nodden 
to do vid id take id avay nodden to do 
vid it." 

Josh stuffed his prize back into his 
pocket, and regained the street. He was 
confounded. What was wrong with 
Cohen ? Did he suspect a police trick to 
entrap him ? Josh snorted with indigna- 
tion at the thought. He was no nark ! 
But perhaps the police were showing a 
pressing interest in Cohen's business con- 
cerns just now, and he had suspended 
fencing for awhile. The guess was a 
lame one, but he could think of none bet- 
ter at the moment, as he pushed his way 
to the Jago. He would try Mother Gapp. 
 



 

Mother Gapp would not even take the 
watch in her hands ; her eyes were good 
enough at that distance. "Lor, Josh Per- 
rott," she said, " wot V 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 parti- 
tions ; and two of them had been " gone 
over " ruinously on their way to work, and 
now they came and went with four police- 
men. 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. u It 's 
reely a wonderful article. *Ow they do 
git 'em up, to be sure ! Cost a lot of 
money, too, I ' be bound. Might you 
be thinking of 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 must n't be too 'ard on me. 
Shall we say four pounds for the little 
lot ?" 

It more than doubled Josh's wildest 
hopes, but he wanted all he could get. 
u Five," he said, doggedly. 

Weech gazed at him with tender rebuke. 
"Five pound 's a awful lot o' money, 
Mr. Perrott," he said. u 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 'aggie. But I ain't got 
all that money in the 'ouse now. I never 
 



 

keep so much money in the 'ouse sich 
a neighbYood, Mr. Perrott ! Bring it 
round to-morrer morning at eleven." 

" A wright, I ' 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 treat- 
ing, 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 sup- 
per, brought from Walker's cookshop 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 con- 
stable 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 sta- 
tion/' 

Me ? Wot for ?" 

" O, well, come along ; pVaps it ain't 
anything unless there 's a gold watch an* 
chain on you, from Highbury. It J s just 
a turnin' over." 

" Awright," replied Josh, resignedly. 
" It 's a fair cop. I ' 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 ' go quiet 
now. I ain't got nothin* agin you" 



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 misfor- 
tune, 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 man- 
ner 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 Po- 
lice 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 morn- 
ing found Dicky trudging moodily along 
the two miles of flags to Stoke Newing- 
ton Road ; while his mother and three 
sympathising friends, who foresaw an op- 
portunity for numerous tiny drops with 
interesting circumstances to flavour them, 
took a penny cast on the way in a tram- 
car. 

Dicky, with some doubt as to the dis- 
position of the door-keeping policeman 
toward ragged boys, waited for the four 
 



 

women, and contrived to pass in unob- 
served among them. Several Jagos were 
in the court, interested not only in Josh's 
adventure, but in one of Cocko Harn- 
well'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 lurch- 
ed composedly into the dock, in the man- 
ner of one who knew the routine. The 
police gave evidence of arrest, in conse- 
quence of information received, and of 
finding the watch and chain in Josh's 
trousers pocket. The prosecutor, with 
his head conspicuously bedight with stick- 
ing-plaster, puffed and grunted up into 
the witness box, kissed the book, and was 
a " retired commission agent." He posi- 
tively identified the watch and chain, and 
he no 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 com- 
mission 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 leaned easily on the rail before 
him while evidence was being given, and 
said u No, yer worship," whenever he was 
asked if he desired to question a witness. 
He knew better than to run the risk of 
incriminating himself by challenging the 
prosecutor's well-coloured evidence ; and, 
as it was-a certain case of committal for 
trial, it would have been useless in any 
event. He made the same reply when 
he was asked if he had anything to say 
before being committed ; and straightway 
was " fullied." He lurched serenely out of 
the dock, waving his cap at his friends in 
the court, and that was all. The Jagos 
waited till Cocko Harnwell got his three 
months and then retired to neighbouring 
public-houses ; but Dicky remembered 
his little sister, and hurried home. 

The month's session at the Old Bailey 
had just begun, so that Josh had no long 
 



 

stay at Holloway. Among the Jagos it 
was held to be a most creditable circum- 
stance that Josh was to take his trial with 
full honours at the Old Bailey, and not 
at mere County Sessions at Clerkenwell, 
like a simple lob-crawler or peter-claimer. 
For Josh's was a case of burglary with 
serious violence, such as was fitting for 
the Old Bailey, and not even a High 
Mobsman could come to trial with greater 
glory. " As like as not it 's laggin' dues, 
after 'is other convictions,'* said Bill Rann. 
And Jerry Gullen thought so too. 

Dicky went, with his mother and Em, 
to see Josh at Newgate. They stood 
with other visitors, very noisy, before a 
double iron railing covered with wire 
netting, at the farther side whereof stood 
Josh and other prisoners, while a scream- 
ing hubbub of question and answer filled 
the air. Josh had little to say. He 
lounged against the farther railing with his 
hands in his pockets, asked what Cocko 
 



 

Harnwell had got, and sent a message to 
Bill Rann, while his wife did little more 
than dolefully look through the wires, and 
pipe : " O, Josh, wotever shall I do ?" at 
intervals, with no particular emotion; 
while Em pressed her smudgy little face 
against the wires, and stared mightily ; and 
while Dicky felt that if he had been young- 
er he would have cried. When time was 
up Josh waved his hand and slouched off, 
and his family turned out with the rest : 
little Em carrying into later years a mem- 
ory of father as a man who lived in a 
cage. 

In such a case as this, the Jago would 
have been forever disgraced if Josh Per- 
rott's pals had neglected to get up a 
" break " or subscription to pay for his de- 
fence. Things were never very flourish- 
ing in the Jago. But this was the sort of 
break a Jago could not shirk, lest it were 
remembered against him when his own 
turn came. So enough was collected to 
 



 

brief an exceedingly junior counsel, who 
did his useless best. But the facts were 
too strong even for the most experienced 
advocate  the evidence of the prosecutor 
was nowhere to be shaken and the jury 
found a verdict of guilty without leaving 
the box indeed, with scarce the formality 
of collecting their heads together over the 
rails. Then Josh's past was most un- 
pleasantly raked up before him. He had 
been convicted of larceny, of assaulting 
the police, and of robbery with violence. 
There were two sentences of six months' 
imprisonment recorded against him, one of 
three months, and two of a month. Be- 
sides fines. The Recorder considered it 
a very serious offence. Not deterred by 
the punishments he had already received, 
the prisoner had proceeded to a worse 
crime burglary; and with violence. It 
was plain that lenience was wasted in such 
a case, and simple imprisonment was not 
enough. There must be an exemplary 
 



 

sentence. The prisoner must go into 
penal servitude for five years. 

Lagging dues it was, as Bill Rann had 
anticipated. That Josh Perrott agreed 
with him was suggested by the fact that 
from the very beginning he described him- 
self as a painter; because a painter in prison 
is apt to be employed at times in painting 
a lighter and a more desirable task than 
falls to the lot of his fellows in other 
trades. 

In a room by the court Josh saw his 
wife, Dicky, and Bill Rann (Josh's brother- 
in-law for the occasion) before his ride to 
Holloway, his one stopping place on the 
way to Chelmsford Gaol. Little Em had 
been left sprawling in the Jago gutters. 
This time Hannah Perrott wept in good 
earnest, and Dicky, notwithstanding his 
thirteen years, blinked very hard at the 
wall before him. The arrangement of 
Josh's affairs was neither a long nor a dif- 
ficult labour. " S'pose you ' 'ave to do 
 



 

wot you can with rush bags, an* sacks, and 
match-boxes, an' wot not," he said to his 
wife, and she assented. Josh nodded : 
"An* if you 'ave to go in the 'ouse," he 
meant the work-house, " well, it can't 
be 'elped. You won't be no wuss auf 'n 
me." 

" Oh, she '// be awright," said Bill Rann, 
jerking his thumb cheerfully toward the 
missis. "Wot about you? Think they 
' make it Parkhurst?" 

Josh shook his head moodily. Park- 
hurst^ being the prison reserved for con- 
victs of less robust habit, he had little 
hope of enjoying its easier condition. 
Presently he said : " I bin put away this 
time fair put away." 

"Wot ?" answered Bill, "narkin' dues 
is it ? " 

Josh nodded. 

"'Oo done it then ? 'Oo narked? " 

Josh shook his head. " Never mind," 
he said, "I do n't want 'im druv out o' the 
 



 

Jago 'fore I come out. I 'd be sorry to 
miss 'im. / know 'im that 's enough." 
And then time was up. Josh suffered 
the missis to kiss him, and shook hands 
with Bill Rann. " Good luck to all you 
Jagos," he said. Dicky shook hands too, 
and said " Good-bye, father ! " in a voice 
of such laboured cheerfulness that a grin 
burst for a moment amid Josh's moody 
features as he was marched away, and so 
departed for the place in Jago idiom 
where the dogs do n't bite. 



XXVI 

It was Father Sturt's practice to visit 
every family in his parish in regular order. 
But small as the parish was insignificant, 
indeed, in mere area its population ex- 
ceeded eight thousand : so that the round 
was one of many months, for visiting was 
one among innumerable duties. But Josh 
Perrott's lagging secured his family a spe- 
cial call. Not that the circumstances 
were in any way novel or at all uncom- 
mon ; nor even that the vicar had any hope 
of being able to help. He was but the one 
man who could swim in a howling sea of 
human wreckage. In the Jago, wives like 
Hannah Perrott, temporarily widowed by 
the absence of husbands c in the country/ 
were to be counted in scores, and most 
were in worse case than she, in the matter 
 



 

of dependent children. Father Start's 
house list revealed the fact that in Old 
Jago Street alone, near seventy of the males 
were at that moment on ticket-of-leave. 

In the Perrott case, indeed, the sufferers 
were fortunate, as things went. Mrs. Per- 
rott had but herself and the child of two to 
keep, for Dicky could do something, 
whether good or bad, for himself. The 
vicar might try to get regular work for 
Dicky, but it would be a vain toil, for he 
must tell an employer what he knew of 
Dicky's past and of that other situation. He 
could but give the woman the best coun- 
sel at his command, and do what he might 
to quicken any latent spark of energy. 
So he did his best, and that was all. The 
struggle lay with Hannah Perrott. 

She had been left before, and more than 
once ; but then the periods had been shorter, 
and, as a matter of fact, things had fallen 
out so well, that scarce more than a meal 
here and there had had to be missed, 
 



 

though, when they came, the meals were 
apt to be but of crusts. And now there was 
more trouble ahead ; for though she began 
her lonely time with but one small child 
on hand, she knew that ere long there 
would be two. 

Of course, she had worked before ; not 
only when Josh had been " in " but at 
other times, to add to the family resources. 
She was a clumsy needlewoman : else she 
might hope to earn some ninepence or a 
shilling a day at making shirts, by keeping 
well to the needle for sixteen hours out of 
the twenty-four j and from the whole sum 
there would be no deductions except for 
needles and cotton, and what the frugal 
employer might choose to subtract for work 
to which he could devise an objection. 
But, as it was, she must do her best to get 
some sack-making. They paid one and 
sevenpence a hundred for sacks. With 
speed and long hours she could make a 
hundred in four days. Rush bag-making 
 



 

would bring even more, and would be de- 
sirable, considering the three-and-sixpence 
a week for rent, which, with the payments 
for other rooms, made the rent of the 
crazy den in Old Jago Street about equal, 
space for space, to that of a house in Onslow 
Square. Then there was a more lucrative 
employment still, but one to be looked for 
at intervals only ; one not to be counted on 
at all, in fact, for it was a prize and many 
sought after it. This was the making of 
match-boxes. For making one hundred 
and forty-four outside cases with paper 
label and sandpaper, and the same number 
of trays to slide into them a gross of 
complete boxes, or two hundred and eighty- 
eight pieces in all one got twopence 
farthing ; indeed, for a special size one 
even got a farthing a gross more ; and all 
the wood and labels and the sandpaper were 
provided free : so that the fortunate oper- 
ative lost nothing out of the twopence 
farthing but the cost of the paste, and the 
 



 

string for tying up the boxes into regular 
numbered batches, and the time employed 
in fetching the work and taking it back 
again. And if seven gross were to be got, 
and could be done in a day and it was 
really not very difficult for the skillful hand 
who kept at work long enough the 
day's income was one and threepence 
three farthings, less expenses : still better 
that than the shirts. But the work was 
hard to get. As the public-spirited manu- 
facturers complained : people would buy 
Swedish matches, whereas if people would 
support home industries and buy no matches 
but theirs they would be able to order 
many twopence-farthings worth of boxes 
more. 

There might be collateral sources of 
income, but these were doubtful and ir- 
regular. Probably Dicky would bring in 
a few coppers now and again. Then 
judicious attendance at churches, chapels 
and prayer-meetings beyond the Jago bor- 
 



 

ders was rewarded by coal tickets, boots 
and the like. It was necessary to know 
just where and when to go and what to 
say, else the sole result might be loss of 
time. There was a church in Bethnal 
Green, for instance, which it would be 
foolish to enter before the end of the Lit- 
any, for then you were in good time to get 
your half-quarter hundredweight of coals ; 
but at other places they might object to so 
late an appearance. Above all, one must 
know the ropes. There were several 
women in the Jago who made almost a 
living in this way alone. They were ex- 
perts ; they knew every fund, every meet- 
ing-house, all the comings and goings of 
the gullible ; insomuch that they would 
take black umbrage at any unexpected 
difficulty in getting what they demanded. 
" Wy," one would say, "I 'ad to pitch sich 
a bleedV 'oly tale I earned it twice over." 
But these were the proficient, and pro- 
ficiency in the trade was an outcome of 
<> 



 

long experience working on a foundation 
of natural gifts; and Hannah Perrott 
could never hope to be among them. 

Turning these things in her mind, she 
addressed herself to her struggle. She 
managed to get some sacks, but for a week 
or two she could make nothing like twenty- 
five a day, though Dicky helped. Her 
fingers got raw ; but she managed to 
complete a hundred within the first week. 
They might have been better done, as the 
employer said when he saw them. But 
she got her full one and sevenpence. She 
pawned her boots for fourpence, and wore 
two old odd ones of Josh's ; and she got 
twopence on a petticoat. Dicky also 
helped a little ; and at the end of a fort- 
night there came a godsend in the shape 
of material for matchboxes. Mrs. Perrott 
was slow with them at first ; but Dicky 
was quick, and even little Em began to 
learn to spread paste. 



 



XXVII 

Dicky grew slighter and lanker, dark 
about the eyes, and weaker. He was 
growing longitudinally, and that made his 
lateral wasting the quicker and the more 
apparent. A furtive, frighted look hung 
over his face, a fugitive air about his 
whole person. His mother's long face 
was longer than ever, and blacker under 
the eyes than Dicky's own, and her weak, 
open mouth, hung at the corners as that 
of a woman faint with weeping. Little 
Em's knees and elbows were knobs in the 
midst of limbs of unnatural length. Rarely 
could a meal be seen ahead j and when it 
came it made Dicky doubtful whether or 
not hunger were really caused by eating. 
But his chief distress was to see that little 
Em cried not like a child, but silently, as 
 



A CHILD OF THE JAGG 

she strove to thread needles or to smear 
match-box labels. And when good fortune 
brought match-boxes, there was an undue 
loss on the twopence farthing in the 
matter of paste. The stuff was a foul 
mess, sour and faint, and it was kept in a 
broken tea-cup, near which Dicky had 
detected his sister sucking her fingers ; for, 
in truth, little Em stole the paste. 

On and off, by one way and another, 
Mrs. Perrott made enough to keep the rent 
paid with indifferent regularity, and some- 
times there was a copper or so left over. 
She did fairly well, too, at the churches 
and prayer- meetings ; people saw her con- 
dition, and now and again would give her 
something beyond the common dole ; so 
that she learned the trick [of looking more 
miserable than usual at such places. 

The roof provided, Dicky felt that his 
was the task to find food. Alone, he 
might have rubbed along clear of starva- 
tion, but there were his mother and his 
o 



 

sister. Lack of victuals shook his nerve 
and made him timid. Moreover, his terror 
grew greater than ever at the prospect of 
being caught in a theft. He lay awake at 
night and sweated to think of it. Who 
would bring in things from the outer world 
for mother and Em then? And the dan- 
ger was worse than ever. He had felt the 
police-court birch, and it was bad, very 
bad. But he would take it every day, 
and take it almost without a tear, rather 
than the chance of a reformatory. Magis- 
trates were unwilling to send boys to re- 
formatories while both father and mother 
were at hand to control them, for that were 
relieving the parents of their natural re- 
sponsibility ; but in a case like Dicky's, a 
u schooling " was a very likely thing. So 
that Dicky, as he prowled, was torn be- 
tween implacable need- and the fear of being 
cut off from all chances of supplying it. 

It was his rule never to come home 
without bringing something, were it no 
 



 

more than a mildewed crust. It was a 
resolve impossible to keep at times, but at 
those times it was two in the morning ere 
he would drag himself, pallid and faint, 
into the dark room where the others might 
be probably were lying awake and 
unfed. Rather than face such a home- 
coming he had sometimes ventured on a 
more difficult feat than stealing in the outer 
world : he had stolen in the Jago. Sam 
Cash, for instance, had lost a bloater. 

Dicky never ate at Weech's now. 
Rarely, indeed, would he take payment in 
kind, unless it was for something of smaller 
value than the average of his poor pilfer- 
ings ; and then he carried the food home. 
But cheaper things could be bought else- 
where, so that more usually he insisted on 
money payments : to the grief of Mr. 
Weech, who set forth the odiousness of 
ingratitude at length ; though his homilies 
had no sort of effect on Dicky's morals. 

Father Sturt saw that Hannah Perrott 
 



 

gained no ground in her struggle, and 
urged her to apply for outdoor parish re- 
lief, promising to second her request with 
the guardians. But with an odd throwback 
to the respectability of her boiler-making 
ancestry, she disliked the notion of help 
from the parish, and preferred to remain as 
she was ; for there, at least, her ingrained 
inertness seemed to side with some phan- 
tom of self-respect. To her present posi- 
tion she had subsided by almost impercep- 
tible degrees, and she was scarce conscious 
of a change. But to parish relief there 
was a distinct and palpable step : a step 
that, on the whole, it seemed easier not to 
take. But it was with eagerness that she 
took a Maternity Society's letter, where- 
with the vicar had provided himself on her 
behalf. For her time was drawing near. 



XXVIII 

Josh Perrott well understood the ad- 
vantages of good prison- behaviour, and 
after six months in his Chelmsford cell he 
had earned the right to a visit from friends. 
But none came. He had scarcely ex- 
pected that anybody would, and asked for 
the order merely on the general principle 
that a man should take all he can get, 
useful or not. For there would have been 
a five-shilling fare to pay for each visitor 
from London, and Hannah Perrott could as 
easily have paid five pounds. And indeed 
she had other things to think of. 

Kiddo Cook had been less observed of 

late in the Jago. In simple fact, he was 

at work. He found that a steady week 

of porterage at Spitalfields market would 

 



 

bring him sixteen shillings and perhaps a 
little more ; and he had taken Father 
Sturt's encouragement to try another week, 
and a week after that. Father Sturt, too, 
had cunningly stimulated Kiddo's ambi- 
tions : till he cherished aspirations to a 
fruit and vegetable stall, with a proper 
tarpaulin cover for bad weather; though 
he cherished these in secret, confident that 
they were of his own independent con- 
ception. Perhaps the Perrotts saw as 
much of Kiddo as did anybody at this 
time. For Kiddo, seeing how it went 
with them (though indeed it went as 
badly with others, too), laboriously built 
up a solemn and most circumstan- 
tial Lie. There was a friend of his, 
a perfect gentleman, who used a beer- 
shop by Spitalfields Market, and who 
had just started an extensive and com- 
plicated business in the general provision 
line. He sold all sorts of fruit and vege- 
tables fresh, and all sorts of meat, car- 
" 



A CHILD >F THE JAGO 

rots, cabbages, saveloys, fried fish and 
pease-pudding cooked. His motto was : 
" Everything of the best." But he had the 
misfortune to be quite unable to judge 
whether his goods were really of the best 
or not, in consequence of an injury to his 
palate, arising from a blow on the mouth 
with a quart pot, inflicted in the heat of 
discussion by a wealthy acquaintance. So 
that he, being a perfect gentleman, had 
requested Kiddo Cook, out of the friend- 
ship he bore him, to drop in occasionally 
and test his samples. " Take a good, big 
whack, you know," said he, " and get the 
advice of a friend or two, if you ain't 
sure." So Kiddo would take frequent and 
handsome whacks accordingly, to the per- 
fect gentleman's delight ; and, not quite 
knowing what to do with all the whacks, 
or being desirous of an independent opinion 
on them (there was some confusion be- 
tween these two motives) he would bring 
Mrs. Perrott samples, from time to time, 
 



 

and hope it would n't inconvenience her. 
It never did. 

It was late in the dusk of a rainy day 
that Kiddo Cook stumped into Old Jago 
Street with an apple in his pocket for Em. 
It was not much, but money was a little 
short, and at any rate the child would be 
pleased. As he climbed the stairs he grew 
conscious of sounds of anguish, muffled by 
the Perrott's door. There might have 
been sobs, and there seemed to be groans ; 
certainly little Em was crying, though but 
faintly, and something perhaps boot- 
heels scraped on the boards. Kiddo 
hesitated a little, and then knocked softly. 
The knock was unnoticed, so in the end 
he pushed the door open. 

The day had been a bad one with the 
Perrotts. Dicky had gone out early, and 
had not returned. His mother had tramped 
unfed to the sackmakers, but there was 
no work to be got. She tried the rush 
bag people, with a like result. Nor was 
* 



 

any match-box material being given out. 
An unregarded turnip had rolled from a 
shop into the gutter, and she had seized it 
stealthily. It was not in nature to take 
it home whole, and once a corner was 
cleared she dragged herself Jago-ward, 
gnawing the root furtively as she went. 
And so she joined Em at home late in the 
afternoon. 

Kiddo pushed the door open and went in. 
At his second step he stood staring, and 
his chin dropped. " Good Gawd ! " said 
Kiddo Cook. 

He cleared the stairs in three jumps. 
He stood but an instant on the flags be- 
fore the house, with a quick glance each 
way, and then dashed off through the mud. 

Pigeony Poll was erratic in residence, 
but just now she had a room by the roof 
of a house in Jago Row, and up the stairs 
of this house Kiddo ran, calling her by 
name. 



 

"Go over to Perrott's, quick!" he 
shouted from the landing below as Poll 
appeared at her door. " Run, for Gawd's 
sake, or the woman ' croak ! I 'm auf 
to Father's." And he rushed away to the 
vicar's lodgings. 

Father Sturt emerged at a run, and 
made for a surgeon's in Shoreditch High 
Street. And when the surgeon reached 
Hannah Perrott he found her stretched on 
her ragged bed, tended, with anxious clum- 
siness, by Pigeony Poll; while little Em, 
tearful and abashed, sat in a corner and 
nibbled a bit of turnip. 

Hannah Perrott had anticipated the op- 
eration of the Maternity Society letter, and 
another child of the Jago had come un- 
consenting into its black inheritance. 

Father Sturt met the surgeon as he 
came away in the later evening, and asked 
if all were well. The surgeon shrugged 
his shoulders. " People would call it so," 
he said. " The boy 's alive, and so is the 



 

mother. But you and I may say the 
truth. You know the Jago far better 
than I. Is there a child in all this place 
that would n't be better dead still better 
unborn ? But does a day pass without 
bringing you just such a parishioner ? 
Here lies the Jago, a nest of rats, breeding, 
breeding as only rats can ; and we say it is 
well. On high moral grounds we uphold the 
right of rats to multiply their thousands, 
sometimes we catch a rat. And we keep 
it a little while, nourish it carefully, and put 
it back into the nest to propagate its kind." 
Father Sturt walked a little way in 
silence. Then he said : "You are right, 
of course. But who ' listen, if you shout 
it from the housetops ? I might try to 
proclaim it myself, if I had time and en- 
ergy to waste. But I have none I must 
work  and so must you. The burden 
grows day by day, as you say. The thing's 
hopeless, perhaps, but that is not for me 
to discuss. I have my duty." 
 



 

The surgeon was a young man, but 
Shoreditch had helped him over most of his 
enthusiasms. " That 's right," he said, 
" quite right. People are so very genteel, 
are n't they ? " He laughed, as at a droll 
remembrance. " But, hang it all, men 
like ourselves need n't talk as though the 
world was built of hardbake. It 's a mighty 
relief to speak truth with a man who 
knows a man not rotted through with 
sentiment. Think how few men we trust 
with the power to give a fellow creature a 
year in gaol, and how carefully we pick 
them ! Even damnation is out of fashion, 
I believe, among theologians. But any 
noxious wretch may damn human souls to 
the Jago,one after another, year in year out, 
and we respect his right : his sacred right." 

At the " Posties " the two men sepa- 
rated. The rain, which had abated for a 
space, came up on a driving wind, and 
whipped Dicky Perrott home to meet his 
new brother. 



XXIX 

Things grew a little easier with the 
Perrotts. Father Sturt saw that there was 
food while the mother was renewing her 
strength, and he had a bag of linen sent. 
More ; he carried his point as to parish re- 
lief by main force. It was two shillings 
and three quartern loaves a week. Unfor- 
tunately, the loaves were imprinted with 
the parish mark, or they might have been 
sold at the chandler's, in order that the 
whole measure of relief might be passed on 
the landlord (a very respectable man, with a 
chandler's shop of his own) for rent. As it 
was, the bread perforce was eaten, and the 
landlord had the two shillings, as well as 
eighteenpence which had to be got in some 
other way. Of course, Hannah Perrott 
 



 

might have "taken in lodgers" in the 
room, as others did, but she doubted her 
ability to bully the rent out of them, or to 
turn them out if they did not pay. What- 
ever was pawnable had gone already, of 
course, except the little nickel-plated 
clock. That might have produced as much 
as sixpence, but she had a whim to keep 
it. She regarded it as a memorial of Josh, 
for it was his sole contribution to the 
family appointments. 

Dicky, with a cast-off jacket from the 
vicar's store, took to hanging about Liver- 
pool Street Station in quest of bags to 
carry. Sometimes he got bags, and cop- 
pers for carrying them j sometimes he got 
kicks from porters. An hour or two of 
disappointment in this pursuit would send 
him off on the prowl to " find " new stock 
for Mr. Weech. He went farther afield 
now j to the market-places in Mile End 
and Stepney, and to the riverside, where 
there were many chances guarded jeal- 
 



 

ously, however, by the pirate boys of the 
neighbourhood, who would tolerate no 
interlopers at the wharves. In the very 
early morning, too, he practised the sand- 
bag fake, in the Jago. For there were 
those among the Jagos who kept (two 
even bred) linnets and such birds, and 
prepared them for julking, or singing 
matches at the Bag of Nails. It was the 
habit of the bird fanciers to hang their 
little wooden cages on nails out of win- 
dow, and there they hung through the 
night : for it had been noticed, as a sur- 
prising peculiarity in linnets, that a bird 
would droop and go off song after a dozen 
or so of nights in a Jago room, in company 
with eight, ten, or a dozen human sleepers, 
notwithstanding the thoughtful shutting 
of windows. So that any early riser pro- 
vided with a little bag packed with a 
handful or so of sand, could become an 
opulent bird-owner in half an hour. Let 
but the sand-bag be pitched with proper 
 



 

skill at the bottom of a cage, and that 
cage would leave the nail, and come 
tumbling and fluttering down into the 
ready hands of the early riser. The sand- 
bag brought down the cage and fell 
quietly on the flags, which was why it 
was preferred before a stone. The sand- 
bag fakir was moved by no particular love 
of linnets. His spoil was got rid of as 
soon as the bird-shops opened in Club 
Row. And his craft was one of danger. 
Thus the months went with Dicky, and 
the years. There were changes in the 
Jago. The baby was but three months 
old when Father Sturt's new church was 
opened, and the club set going in new 
buildings ; and it was at that time that 
Josh Perrott was removed to Portland. 
Even the gradual removal of the Old Jago 
itself was begun. For the County 
Council bought a row of houses at the 
end of Jago Row, by Honey Lane, with 
a design to build big barrack dwellings on 
 



 

the site. The scenes of the Jago Court 
eviction were repeated, with less governed 
antics. For the County Council knew 
not Jago ways ; and when deputations 
came forth weeping, protesting the im- 
possibility of finding new lodgings, and 
beseeching a respite, they were given 
six weeks more, and went back delighted 
into free quarters. At the end of the six 
weeks a larger deputation protested a little 
louder, wept a great deal more, and poach- 
ed another month ; for it would seem an 
unpopular thing to turn the people into 
the street. Thus, in the end, when the 
unpopular thing had to be done, it was 
with sevenfold trouble, loud cursing of 
the County Council in the public street, 
and many fights. But this one spot of 
the Jago cleared, the County Council 
began to creep along Jago Row and into 
Half Jago street ; and after long delay the 
crude yellow brick of the barrack dwell- 



 



 

ings rose above the oft-stolen hoardings, 
and grew, storey by storey. Dicky was 
fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. If Josh Perrott 
had only earned his marks, he would soon 
be out now. 



XXX 

Josh Perrott earned his marks, and in 
less than four years from his conviction 
he came away from Portland. It was a 
mere matter of hours ere his arrival in 
London, when Dicky, hands in pockets, 
strolled along Old Jago Street, and by the 
"Posties" to High Street. 

Dicky was almost at his seventeenth 
birthday. He had grown his utmost, and 
stood five feet two. He wore a cap with 
a cloth peak and ear-laps tied at the top 
with strings, slap-up kicksies, cut saucy, 
and a bob-tail coat of the out-and-out de- 
scription; though all these glories were 
torn and shabby, and had been bought 
second-hand. He was safe from any 
risk of the reformatory now, being well 
 



 

over the age ; and he had had the luck 
never to have been taken by the police 
since his father's lagging though there 
were escapes too narrow to be thought 
about with comfort. It was a matter 
for wonderment and he spoke of it with 
pride. Here he was, a man of long ex- 
perience, and near seventeen years old, 
yet he had never been in prison. Few, 
very few of such an age, could say that. 

Sometimes he saw his old enemy, the 
hunchback, who worked at a shoemaker's, 
but he saw him with unconcern. He cared 
nothing for tale-bearing now. The 
memory of old injuries had dulled, and, 
after all, this was a merely inconsiderable 
hunchback, whom it were beneath his 
dignity to regard with anything but toler- 
ant indifference. Bob Roper steered 
clear at such encounters, and showed his 
teeth, like a cat, and looked back malev- 
olently. It did n't matter. 

Dicky was not married, either in the 
 



 

simple Jago fashion or in church. There 
was little difference, as a matter of fact, 
so far as facility went. There was a 
church in Bethnal Green where you 
might be married for sevenpence if you 
were fourteen years old, and no questions 
asked or at any rate they were questions 
answers whereunto were easy to invent. 
You just came in, drunk if possible, with 
a batch of some scores, and rowdied 
about the church with your hat on, and 
the curate worked off the crowd at one 
go, calling the names one after another. 
You sang, or you shouted, or you drank 
out of a bottle, or you flung a prayer-book 
at a friend, as the fancy took you; and 
the whole thing was not a bad joke for 
the money, though after all sevenpence is 
half-a-gallon, and not to be wasted. But 
Dicky had had enough to do to look after 
his mother and Em and little Josh as 
Hannah Perrott had called the baby. 
Dicky, indeed, had a family already. More : 
 



 

the Jago girls affected him with an odd 
feeling of repulsion. Not of themselves, 
perhaps, though they were squalid drabs 
long ere they were ripe for the sevenpenny 
church: but by comparison with the 
clean, remote shop-girls who were visible 
through the broad windows in the outer 
streets. 

Dicky intended the day to be a holiday. 
He was not going * out,' as the word went, 
for ill-luck had a way of coming on 
notable days like this, and he might 
easily chance to ' fall ' before his father 
got home. He was almost too big now 
for carrying bags at Liverpool Street, 
because small boys looked cheaper than 
large ones not that there was anything 
especially large about Dicky, beyond his 
height of five feet two ; and at the 
moment he could think of nothing else 
that might turn a copper. He stood ir- 
resolute on the High Street footway, and 
as he stood, Kiddo Cook hove in sight, 
 



 

dragging a barrow-load of carrots and 
cabbages. Kiddo had not yet compassed 
the stall with the rain-proof awning. But 
it was almost in sight, for the barrow 
could scarce hold all that he could sell ; 
and there was a joke abroad that he was 
to be married in Father Sturt's church; 
some facetiously suggesting that Mother 
Gapp would prove a good investment com- 
mercially, while others maintained the 
greater eligibility of old Poll Rann. 

"'T cheer, Dicky!" said Kiddo, pulling 
up and wiping his cap-lining with a red 
cotton handkerchief. " Ol' man out to- 
day, ain't 'e ? " 

" Yus," Dicky answered. "'Spect 'im 
up to-night." 

Kiddo nodded and wiped his face. 
" S'pose the mob ' git up a break for 
'im," he said ; " but 'e ' 'ave a bit o' gilt 
from stir as well, won't 'e ? So 'e ' be 
awright." And Kiddo stuffed his hand- 
kerchief into his trousers pocket, pulled 
 



 

his cap tight, and bent to his barrow- 
handles. 

Dicky turned idly to the left, and 
slouched to the corner of Meakin Street. 
There he loafed for a little while, and then 
went as aimlessly up the turning. Meakin 
Street was much as ever. There were 
still the chandlers* shops, where tea and 
sugar were sold by the farthingsworth, and 
the barber's where hair was fashionably 
cut for three halfpence : though Jago hair 
was commonly cut in another place and re- 
ceived little more attention. There was 
still Walker's cook-shop, foggy with steam, 
its windows all a-trickle, and there was the 
Original Slap-up Tog Emporium, with its 
kicksies and its benjamins cut saucy as 
ever, and its double fakements still artful. 
At the "dispensary" there was another 
young student, but his advice and medicine 
were sixpence, just as his remote predeces- 
sor's had been for little Looey, long for- 
gotten. And farther down on the oppo- 
 



 

site side, Mr. Aaron Weech's coffee-shop, 
with its Sunday-school festival bills, main- 
tained its general Band-of-Hope air, and 
displayed its shrivelled bloaters, its doubt- 
ful cake and its pallid scones in an odour 
of respectability and stale pickles. Dicky 
glanced in as he came by the door, and 
met the anxious eye of Mr. Weech, whom 
he had not seen for a fortnight. For 
Dicky was no boy now, but knew enough 
to sell at Cohen's or elsewhere whenever 
possible, and to care not a rap for Mr. 
Weech. 

As that tradesman saw Dicky, he burst 
into an eager smile and came forward. 
" Good mornin' er " with a quick 
glance " Mr. Perrott ! Good mornin ' ! 
You 're quite a stranger, reely ! " 

Mister Perrott ! Mr. Weech was very 
polite. Dicky stopped and grunted a cau- 
tious salutation. 

" Do come in, Mr. Perrott. W'y, is 
the good noos right wot I 'ear, about yer 
 



 

father a-comin' 'ome from from the 
country ? " 

Dicky confirmed the news. 

" Well I am glad t' 'ear that now.'  Mr. 
Weech grinned exceedingly, though there 
was something lacking in his delight. 
" But there, wot ' you 'ave, Mr. Perrott ! 
Say any think in the 'ole shop, and wel- 
come ! It 's sich an 'appy occasion, Mr. 
Perrott, I could n't think o' chargin' you a 
'a'penny. 'Ave a rasher, now, do. There's 
one on at this very moment. Sairer ! ain't 
that rasher done yut ? " 

Dicky did not understand this liber- 
ality, but he had long since adopted the 
policy of taking all he could get. So he 
sat at a table, and Mr. Weech sat opposite. 

" Jist like ole times, ain't it ? " said Mr. 
Weech. " An' that reminds me I owe 
you a shillin'. It 's that pair o' noo boots 
you chucked over the back fence a fort- 
night ago. W'en I come to look at 'em, 
they was better 'n wot I thought, an' so I 
i 



 

says to meself, ' This won't do/ says I. 
c On'y ninepence for a pair o' boots like 
them ain't fair,' I says, c an' I 'd rayther be 
at a lawss on 'em than not be fair. Fair 's 
fair, as the apostle David says in the Pro- 
verbs, an' them boots is worth very near 
f-an'-nine. So I ' give Mr. Perrott 
another shillin',' I says, c the very next 
time I see 'im,' an' there it is." 

He put the shilling on the table, and 
Dicky pocketed it, nothing loth. The 
thing might be hard to understand, but 
that concerned him not. There was the 
shilling. Likewise, there was the bacon, 
and the coffee that went with it, and Dicky 
went at them with a will, reckoning noth- 
ing of why they were there, and nothing 
of any matter which might make the giver 
anxious in the prospect of an early meet- 
ing with Josh. 

" Ah," Mr. Weech went on, " It ' be 
quite a pleasure to see yer father agin, that 
it will. Wot a blessed release ! * Free 
 



 

from the lor, O 'appy condition,' as the 
'ymn says. I 'ope 'e ' be well an' 'earty. 
An' if if there should be anythinkin the 
way of a friendly lead or a subscription or 
wot not, I 'ope remember this, Mr. 
Perrott, won'tcher ? I 'ope you ' let me 
'ave a chance to put down somethink good. 
Not as I can reely afford it, ye know, Mr. 
Perrott trade 's very pore, an* it 's sich a 
neighb'r'ood ! but I ' do it for yer 
father yus, if it 's me last copper. Ye 
won't forgit that, will ye ? An' if 'e 'd 
like any little relish w'en 'e comes 'ome 
sich as a 'addick or a bit o' 'am w'y, 
I ' wrop it up an' send it." 

This was all very handsome, and Dicky 
wished some notion of the sort had oc- 
curred to Mr. Weech on a few of the din- 
nerless days of the past four years. But 
he went away wondering if it might not be 
well to regard Mr. Weech with caution 
for a while. For there must be a reason 
for all this generosity. 
 



XXXI 

It was in Mother Gapp's that Josh 
Perrott and his family met. Hannah had 
started out with an idea of meeting him at 
Waterloo Station; but, finding herself an 
object of distinction and congratulation 
among the women she met, she . had 
lingered by the way, accepting many little 
drops, to prove herself not unduly proud, 
and so had failed of her intent. Josh, on 
his part, had not been abstinent. He had 
successfully run the gauntlet of Prisoners' 
Aid Societies and the like, professing to 
have c a job waiting for him* in Shore- 
ditch, and his way across London had 
been freely punctuated at public-houses; 
for his prison gratuity was a very pleasant 
and useful little sum. And now, when at 
 



 

last they met, he was not especially gra- 
cious. He wanted to know, not only why 
he had found nobody at home, but also 
why Hannah had never been to see him at 
Portland. As to the second question, the 
obvious and sufficient answer was that the 
return fare to Portland would have been 
some twenty-five shillings: a sum that 
Hannah had never seen together since 
Josh left her. As to the first, she pro- 
tested, with muddled vehemence, that she 
had gone to meet him, and had missed him 
by some mistake as to arrival platforms. 
So that at length, urged thereto by the 
rest of the hour's customers at the Feath- 
ers, Josh kissed her sulkily, and ordered 
her a drink. Em was distrustful at first, 
but drank her allowance of gin with much 
relish, tipping the glass again and again to 
catch the last drop ; and little Josh, now 
for the first time introduced to Josh the 
elder, took a dislike to his father's not 
particularly sober glare and grin, and roared 
 



 

aloud upon his knee, assailing him, be- 
tween the roars, with every curse familiar 
in the Jago, amid the genial merriment of 
the company. Dicky came in quietly and 
stood at his father's elbow with the pride 
natural to a dutiful son on such an occa- 
sion. And at closing-time they all helped 
each other home. 

In the morning Josh rose late. He 
looked all the better for his lagging, 
browner than ever in his face, smarter and 
stouter. In a corner he perceived a little 
heap of made match-boxes, and, hard by, 
the material for more. It was Em's work 
of yesterday morning. c Support 'ome 
indajteries,' said Josh, musingly. c Yus. 
Twopence-farden a gross.' And he kicked 
the heap to splinters. 

He strolled out into the street, to sur- 
vey the Jago. In the bulk it was little 
changed, though the County Council had 
made a difference in the north-east corner, 
and was creeping farther and farther still. 
 



 

The dispossessed Jagos had gone to infect 
the neighbourhoods across the border, and 
to crowd the people a little closer. They 
did not return to live in the new barrack- 
buildings ; which was a strange thing, for 
the County Council was charging very 
little more than double the rents which 
the landlords of the old Jago had charged. 
And so another Jago, teeming and villain- 
ous as the one displaced, was slowly grow- 
ing in the form of a ring, round about the 
great yellow houses. But the new church 
and its attendant buildings most took Josh's 
notice. They were little more than begun 
when last he walked Old Jago Street in 
daylight, and now they stood, large and 
healthy amid the dens about them, a won- 
der and a pride. As he looked, Jerry 
Gullen and Bill Rann passed. 

" Wayo, brother-in-law ! " sang out 
Bill Rann, who remembered the Old 
Bailey fiction of four years back, and 
thought it a capital joke. 
 



 

" Nice sort o' thing, ain't it ? " said 
Jerry Gullen, with indignant sarcasm, 
jerking his thumb toward the new church. 
lc The street 's clean ruined. Wot 's the 
good o' livin' 'ere now ? W'y, a man 
must n't even do a click, blimy ! " 

" An' doncher ? " asked Josh, with a 
grin. Hereat another grin broke wide on 
Jerry Gullen' s face, and he went his way 
with a wink and a whistle. 

" And so you 're back again, Josh Per- 
rott ! " said old Beveridge, seedier than 
ever, with the ' Hard Up ' fresh chalked 
on the changeless hat. " Back again ! 
Pity you could n't stay there, is n't it ? 
Pity we can't all stay there." 

Josh looked after the gaunt old figure 
with much doubt and a vague indignation ; 
for such a view was foreign to his under- 
standing. And as he looked Father Sturt 
came out of the church, and laid his hand 
on Josh's shoulder. 

" What ! " exclaimed the vicar, " home 
 



 

again without coming to see me ! But 
there, you must have been coming. I 
hope you have n't been knocking long ? 
Come in now, at any rate. You 're look- 
ing wonderfully well. What a capital 
thing a holiday is, is n't it a good long 
one ? " Taking Josh by the arm he 
hauled him, grinning, sheepish and almost 
blushing, toward the club door. And at 
that moment Sam Cash came hurrying round 
Luck Row corner, with his finger through 
a string, and on that string a bunch of 
grouse. 

" Dear me," said Father Sturt, turning 
back, but without releasing Josh's arm. 
u Here 's our dear friend, Sam Cash, taking 
home something for his lunch. Come, 
Sam, with such a fine lot of birds as that, 
I 'm sure you ' be proud to tell us where 
they came from. Eh? " 

For a moment Sam Cash was a trifle 
puzzled, even offended. Then there fell 
over his face the mask of utter inexpres- 
 



 

sion, which the vicar had learned to know 
well. Said Sam Cash, stolidly : " I bin 
'avin* a little shootin' with a friend." 

" Dear, dear, what a charming friend ! 
And where are his moors ? Nowhere 
about the Bethnal Green Road, I suppese, 
by the goods depot ? Come now, I 'm 
sure Josh Perrott would like to know. 
You did n't get any shooting in your little 
holiday, did you, Josh ? " Josh grinned, 
delighted, but Sam shuffled uneasily, with 
a hopeless, sidelong glance, as in search of 
a hole wherein to hide. u Ah, you see," 
Father Sturt said, " he doesn't want his 
friend's hospitality to be abused. Let me 
see two, four, six why, there must be 
nine or ten brace, and all at one shot, too ! 
Sam always makes his bag at one shot, 
you know, Josh, whatever the game is. 
Yes, wonderful shooting. And did you 
shoot the label at the same time, Sam ? 
Come, I should like to look at that 
label ! " 

 



 

But the wretched Sam was off at a bolt, 
faster than a police pursuit would have 
sent him, while Josh guffawed joyously. 
To be " rotted " by Father Sturt was the 
true Jago terror, but to the Jagos looking 
on it was pure delight. Theft was a piece 
of the Jago nature; but at least Father 
Sturt could wither the pride of it by such 
ridicule as the Jago could understand. 

" There he 's very bashful for a sports- 
man, is n't he, Josh ? " the vicar pro- 
ceeded. " But you must come and see 
the club at once. You shall be a mem- 
ber;' 

Josh spent near an hour in the new build- 
ings. Father Sturt showed him the club, 
the night shelter, the church, and his own 
little rooms. He asked, too, much about 
Josh's intentions for the future. Of 
course, Josh was " going to look for a 
job." Father Sturt knew he would say 
that. Every Jago had been going to look 
for a job ever since the vicar first came to 



 

the place. But he professed to take Josh's 
words seriously, and offered to try to get 
him taken on as a plasterer at some of the 
new County Council buildings. He flat- 
tered Josh by reminding him of his 
command of a regular trade. Josh was a 
man with opportunities, and he should be 
above the pitiable expedients of the poor 
untradesmanlike people about him. In- 
deed, he should leave the Jago altogether, 
with his family, and start afresh in a new 
place, a reputable mechanic. 

To these things Josh Perrott listened 
with fidgety deference, answering only, 
u Yus, Father," when it seemed to be 
necessary. In the end he promised to 
"think it over," which meant nothing, as 
the parson well knew. And in the mood 
in which Josh came away he would gladly 
have risked another lagging to serve 
Father Sturt's convenience ; but he would 
rather have suffered one than take Father 
Sturt's advice. 

  



 

He made the day a holiday. He had 
been told that he was in for a little excite- 
ment, for it was held that fitting time had 
arrived for another scrap with Dove Lane ; 
but the affair was not yet moving. Snob 
Spicer had broken a window with a Dove- 
Laner's head, it was true, but nothing 
had come of it, and etiquette demanded 
that the next card should be played by 
Dove Lane. For the present, the Jago 
was content to take thought for Josh's 
"friendly lead." Such a thing was every- 
body's right on return from a lagging, and 
this one was fixed for a night next week. 
All that day Mr. Weech looked out 
anxiously, but Josh Perrott never passed 
his way. 



XXXII 

Bill Rann called for Josh early the 
next morning, and they strolled down Old 
Jago Street in close communion. 

" Are you on for a job ?" asked Bill. 
" 'Cos I got one cut an* dried a topper, 
an* safe as 'ouses." 

" Wot sort o' job's this?" 

" W'y a bust unless we can screw it." 

This meant a breaking-in, with a pos- 
sibility of a quieter entrance by means of 
keys. It was unpleasantly suggestive of 
Josh's last exploit, but he answered : 
u Awright. Depends, o' course." 

"O, it's a good un." Bill Rann 
grinned for no obvious reason, and slap- 
ped his leg to express rapturous amuse- 
ment. " It's a good un you can take 
 



 

yer davy o* that. I bin a thinkin* about 
it for a fortnight, but it wants two. 
Damme, it's nobby!" And Bill Rann 
grinned again, and made two taps of a 
step-dance. " Wotjer think," he pursued, 
suddenly serious, " wotjer think o* screw- 
in* a fence ? " 

It was a novel notion, but in Josh's 
mind, at first flush, it seemed unsports- 
manlike. " Wot fence ? " asked Josh. 

Bill Rann's grin burst wild again. He 
bent low, with outstretched chin, and 
stuck his elbows out as he answered : 
W'y, ole Weech!" 

Josh bared his teeth but with no 
smile looking sharply in the other's 
upturned face. Bill Rann, bent nearly 
double, and with hands in pockets, flapped 
his arms in a manner of wings, chuckled 
aloud, and, jerking his feet back and forth, 
went elaborately through the first move- 
ment of the gallows-flap. " Eh ? eh ? " 
said he. " 'Ow 's that strike ye, ole cock? " 
 



 

Josh answered not, but his parted lips 
stretched wide, and his tongue-tip passed 
quickly over them while he thought. 

" It ' be a fair cop for 'im," Bill pur- 
sued, eagerly. " 'E 's treated us all pretty 
mean, one time or other. W'y, I bet 'e 
owes us fifty quid atween us, wot with all 
the times 'e 's squeeged us for a bit. It ' 
on'y be goin' to bring away our own stuff ! " 

" G-r-r-r ! " Josh growled, glaring 
fiercely ; " it was 'im as put me away 
for my laggin' ! Bleed'n' swine ! " 

Bill Rann stopped, surprised. " Wot 
'im?" he exclaimed. " Ole Weech 
narked ye ? ' Owjer know that ? " 

Josh told the tale of his negotiations in 
the matter of the Mogul's watch, and 
described Weech's terror at sight of his 
dash at the shop-door. u I 'm on," said 
Josh in conclusion. " It 's one way o' 
payin' 'im, an' it ' bring a bit in. On'y 
*e better not show 'isself w'ile I 'm abaat ! 
'E would n't git auf with a punch on the 
 



 

chin, like the bloke at 'ighbury ! " Josh 
Perrott ended with a tigerish snarl and a 
white spot at the curl of each of his 
nostrils. 

" Blimy ! " said Bill Rann ; u an* so it 
was 'im, was it ? I often wondered 'oo 
you meant. Well, flimpin' 'im 's the best 
way. Won't *e sing a bleed'n* 'ymn w'en 
'e finds 'is stuff weeded ! " Bill flung back 
his head, and laughed again. " But there, 
let 's lay it out." And the two men fell to 
the discussion of methods. 

Weech's back-fence was to be his un- 
doing. It was the obvious plan. The 
front shutters were impracticable in such a 
place as Meakin Street ; but the alleys in 
the rear were a perfect approach. Bill 
Rann had surveyed the spot attentively, 
and, after expert consideration, he had 
selected the wash-house window as the 
point of entrance. Old boxes and packing- 
wood littered the yard, and it would be 
easy to mount a selected box, shift the 
 



 

catch of the little window, and wriggle in, 
feet first, without noise. True, the door 
between the wash-house and the other 
rooms might be fastened, but it could be 
worked at under cover; and Bill Rann 
had a belief that there must be a good deal 
of " stuff" in the wash-house itself. There 
would be nobody in the house but Weech, 
because the wretched old woman, who 
swept the floors and cooked bloaters, was 
sent away at night ; so that every room 
must be unoccupied but one. 

As for tools, Josh had none, but Bill 
Rann undertook to provide them ; and in 
the matter of time it was considered that 
that same night would be as good as any. 
It would be better than most, in fact, for 
it was Wednesday, and Bill Rann had ob- 
served that Mr. Weech went to the bank 
in High Street, Shoreditch, pretty regularly 
on Thursday mornings. 

This day also Mr. Weech kept a careful 
watch for Josh Perrott, but saw him not. 
 



XXXIII 

Hannah Perrott did her best to keep 
Josh from going out that night. She did 
not explain her objections, because she did 
not know precisely what they were, though 
they were in some sort prompted by his 
manner ; and it was solely because of her 
constitutional inability to urge them with 
any persistence that she escaped forcible 
retort. For Josh was in a savage and self- 
centred mood. 

"W'y, wot's up?" asked Bill Rann, 
when they met, looking doubtfully in his 
pal's face. " You ain't bin boozin', 'ave 
ye ? " 

Josh repelled the question with a snarl. 
" No I ain't," he said. " Got the tools ? " 
There was a thickness in his voice, with a 
 



 

wildncss in his eye, that might well explain 
his partner's doubt. 

" Yus. Come under the light. I 
could n't git no twirls, an* we shan't want 
'em. 'Ere 's a screwdriver, an' two gim- 
lets, an' a knife for the winderketch, an' a 
little james, an' a neddy " 

" A neddy ! " Josh cut in, scornfully 
pointing his thumb at the instrument, 
which some call life-preserver. " A neddy 
for Weech ! G-r-r-r ! I might take a 
neddy to a man ! " 

" That 's awright," Bill replied. " But 
it *ud frighten 'im pretty well, would n't 
it ? Look 'ere. S'pose we can't find the 
oof. Wy should n't we wake up Mr. 
Weech very quiet an' respeckful, an' ask 
'im t' 'elp us ? 'E 's all alone, an' I 'm 
sure 'e ' be glad to 'blige, w'en 'e sees 
this 'ere neddy, without waitin' for a tap. 
W'y, blimy,  b'lieve 'e 'd be afraid to sing 
out any'ow, for fear o* bringin' in the 
coppers to find all the stuff 'e 's bought 
 



 

on the crook ! It 's all done, once we're 
inside ! " 

It was near midnight, and Bill Rann 
had observed Weech putting up his shut- 
ters at eleven. So the two Jagos walked 
slowly along Meakin Street, on the side op- 
posite Weech's, with sharp eyes for the 
windows. 

All was quiet ; there was no visible 
light none from the skylight over the shop 
door, none from the window above, none 
from the garret windows above that. They 
passed on, crossed the road, strolled back, 
and listened at the door ; there was no 
sound from within. The clock in a dis- 
tant steeple struck twelve, and was joined 
at the fourth stroke by the loud bell of St. 
Leonards, hard by ; and ere the last mild 
note had sounded from the farthest clock 
in the awakened chorus, Josh Perrott and 
Bill Rann had taken the next turning, and 
were pushing their way to the alleys be- 
hind Weech's. 



 

Foul rat-runs, these alleys, not to be 
traversed by a stranger. Josh and Bill 
plunged into one narrow archway after an- 
other, each of which might have been the 
private passage of a house, and came at last, 
stealthy and unseen, into the muddy yard. 

Weech*s back-fence was before them, 
and black house-backs crowded them 
round. There were but one or two lights 
in the windows, and those windows were 
shut and curtained. The rear of Weech's 
house was black and silent as the front. 
They peered over the fence. The yard 
was pitch dark, but faint angular tokens 
here and there told of heaped boxes and 
lumber. " We won't tip 'im the whistle 
this time,'* whispered Bill Rann, with a 
smothered chuckle. " Over ! *' 

He bent his knee, and Josh straddled 
from it over the rickety fence with quiet 
care, and lowered himself gingerly on the 
other side. " Clear 'ere," he whispered. 
" Come on.*' Since Bill's display of the 
 



 

tools Josh had scarce spoken a word. 
Bill wondered at his taciturnity, but re- 
spected it as a business-like quality in the 
circumstances. 

It was but a matter of four or five yards 
to the wash-house window, but they bent 
and felt their way. Josh took up an old 
lemonade-case as he went, and planted it 
on the ground below the window, stretch- 
ing his hand for the knife as he did so. 
And now he took command and foremost 
place. 

It was an old shoemaker's knife, with 
too long a handle ; for there was a skew- 
joint in the sash, and the knife would not 
bend. Presently Bill Rann, below, could 
see that Josh was cutting away the putty 
from the pane, and in five minutes the 
pane itself was put into his hand. He 
stooped, and laid it noiselessly on the soft 
ground. 

Josh turned the catch and lifteH the 
sash. There was some noise, but not 
much, as he pushed the frame up evenly, 
with a thumb at each side. They waited, 
but it was quiet still, and Josh, sitting on 
the sill, manoeuvred his legs, one at a time, 
through the narrow opening. Then, turn- 
ing over, he let himself down and beck- 
oned Bill Rann to follow. 

Bill Rann had a small tin box, with an 
inch of candle on the inside of one end, so 
that when the wick was lit the contrivance 
made a simple but an effective lantern, 
the light whereof shone in front alone, 
and could be extinguished at a puff. Now 
a match was struck, and a quick view 
taken of the wash-house. 

There was not much about; only 
cracked and greasy plates, jars, tins, pots 
and pans, and in a corner a miscellaneous 
heap, plainly cheap pilferings covered with 
a bit of old carpet. The air was offensive 
with the characteristic smell of Weech's 
- the smell of stale pickles. 

" There ain't nothin* to waste time 
over 'ere," said Josh aloud. " Come 
on!" 

" Shut up, you damn fool ! " exclaimed 
Bill Rann, in a whisper. " D'jer want to 
wake 'im ? " 

" Umph ! Why not ? " was the reply, 
still aloud. Bill began to feel that his 
pal was really drunk. But, silent once 
more, Josh applied himself to the door of 
the inner room. It was crank and old, 
worn and battered at the edges. Josh 
forced the wedge end of the jimmy 
through the jamb, splintering the perished 
wood of the frame, and, with a push, 
forced the striking-box of the lock off its 
screws. There was still a bolt at the 
top ; that at the bottom had lost its catch 
but this gave as little trouble as the 
lock. Bill Rann strained the door open 
from below, the jimmy entered readily, 
and in a few seconds the top bolt was in 
like case with the bottom. 

They entered the room behind the 
shop, and it was innocent and disappoint- 
ing. A loo table, four horse-hair-covered 
chairs, a mirror, three coloured wall-texts, 
two china figures and a cheap walnut side- 
board that was all. The slow step of 
a policeman without stopped, with a push 
at the shop-door, to test its fastenings, and 
then went on ; and stronger than ever was 
the smell of stale pickles. 

To try the shop would be mere waste 
of time. Weech's pocket was the till, 
and there could be no other prize. A 
door at the side of the room, latched sim- 
ply, gave on the stair. u Take auf yer 
boots,'* Bill whispered, unlacing his own, 
and slinging them across his shoulder by 
the tied laces. 

But Josh would not, and he said so, 
with an oath. Bill could not understand 
him. Could it be drink ? Bill wished 
him a mile away. " Awright," he whis- 
pered, " you set down 'ere w'ile I slip 
upstairs an' take a peep. I bet the 
stuff* s in the garret. Best on'y one goes, 
quiet." 

Josh sat, and Bill, taking his lantern, 
crept up the stairs noiselessly, save for one 
creak. He gained the stair-head, listened 
a moment, tip-toed along the small land- 
ing, and was half-way/ up the steep and 
narrow garret-stairs, when he heard a 
sound, and stopped. Somebody was on 
the lower flight. 

There was a heavy tread, with the kick 
of a boot against stair or skirting-board ; 
and then came noisy steps along the land- 
ing. Josh was coming up in his boots ! 
Bill Rann was at his wits' end. He 
backed down the garret-stair, and met Josh 
at the foot. " Are ye balmy ? " he hissed 
fiercely, catching Josh by the collar and 
pulling him into the turn of the stairs. 
" D'ye want another five stretch ? " 

A loud creak and a soft thump sounded 
from behind the door at the other end of 
the landing ; and then a match was struck. 
 
" Keep back on the stairs," Bill whispered. 
" 'E 's 'card you." Josh sat on a stair, 
perfectly still, with his legs drawn up out 
of sight from the door. Bill blew out his 
light. He would not venture open in- 
timidation of Weech now, with Josh half 
muzzy, lest some burst of lunacy bring 
in the police. 

A soft treading of bare feet, the squeak 
of a door-handle, a light on the landing, 
and Aaron Weech stood at his open door 
in his shirt, candle in hand, his hair 
rumpled, his head aside, his mouth a little 
open, his unconscious gaze upward; list- 
ening intently. He took a slight step 
forward. And then Bill Rann's heart 
turned over and over. 

For Josh Perrott sprang from the stair, 
and, his shoulders humped and his face 
thrust out, walked deliberately across the 
landing. Weech turned his head quickly ; 
his chin fell on his chest as by jaw-break ; 
there were but dots amid the white of his 
eyes ; his head lay slowly back, as the 
candle tilted and shot its grease on the 
floor. The door swung wider as his 
shoulder struck it, and he screamed, like 
a rabbit that sees a stoat. Then, with a 
wrench, he turned, letting drop the candle, 
and ran shrieking to the window, flung it 
open, and yelled into the black street. 
" 'Elp ! 'Elp ! P'lice ! Murder! Murder! 
Murder! Murder!" 

" Run, Josh run, ye blasted fool ! " 
roared Bill Rann, bounding across the 
landing, and snatching at his arm. 

" Go on go on ! I 'm comin' ! " Josh 
answered without turning his head. And 
Bill took the bottom flight at a jump. 
The candle flared as it lay on the floor, 
and spread a greasy pool about it. 

" Murder f Murder / Mu-r-r-r " 

Josh had the man by the shoulder, 
swung him back from the window, grip- 
ped his throat, and dragged him across the 
carpet as he might drag a cat, while 
Weech's arms waved uselessly, and his 
feet feebly sought a hold on the floor. 

" Now ! " cried Josh Perrott, glaring 
on the writhen face below his own, and 
raising his case-knife in the manner of a 
cleaver, u sing a hymn ! Sing the hymn 
as ' do ye most good ! You ' cheat 
me when ye can, an' when ye can't you ' 
put me five year in stir, eh ? Sing a 
hymn, ye snivellin* nark ! " 

From the street there came the noise 
of many hurrying feet and of a scattered 
shouting. Josh Perrott made an offer at 
slashing the slaty face, checked his arm, 
and went on. 

" You ' put down somethin' 'an'some 
at my break, will ye ? An' you ' starve 
my wife an' kids all to bones an' teeth 
four year ! Sing a hymn, ye cur !" 

He made another feint at slashing. 
Men were beating thunderously at the 
shop door, and there were shrill whistles. 

" Won't sing yer hymn? There ain't 
much time ! My boy was goin' straight, 
an' earnin' wages : someone got 'im 
chucked. A man 'as time to think things 
out, in stir ! Sing, ye son of a cow ! 
Sing! Sing!" 

Twice the knife hacked the livid face. 
But the third hack was below the chin ; 
and the face fell back. 

The bubbling Thing dropped in a 
heap, and put out the flaring candle. 
Without, the shouts gathered to a roar, 
and the door shook under heavy blows. 
" Open open the door ! " cried a deep 
voice. 

He looked from the open window. 
There was a scrambling crowd, and more 
people were running in. Windows 
gaped, and thrust out noisy heads. The 
flash of a bull's-eye dazzled him, and he 
staggered back. " Perrott ! Perrott ! " 
came a shout. He had but glanced out, 
but he was recognized. 

He threw down his knife, and made 
for the landing, slipping on the wet floor 
and stumbling against the Heap. There 
were shouts from behind the house now ; 
they were few, but they were close. He 
dashed up the narrow stairs, floundered 
through the back garret, over bags and 
boxes and heaps of mingled commodities, 
and threw up the sash. Men were 
stumbling invisibly in the dark yard be- 
low. He got upon the sill, swung round 
by the dormer-frame, and went, hands and 
knees, along the roof. Yells and loud 
whistles rose clamant in the air, and his 
own name was shouted to and fro. Then 
the blows on the shop-door ceased with a 
splintering crash, and there was a tramp- 
ling of feet on floor boards. 

The roofs were irregular in shape and 
height, and his progress was slow. He 
aimed at reaching the roof of Father 
Sturt's old club building, still empty. He 
had had this in mind from the moment he 
climbed from the garret-window ; for in 
the work of setting the drains in order an 
iron ventilating pipe had been carried up 
from the stable-yard to well above the 
roof. It was a stout pipe, close by the 
wall, to which it was clamped with iron 
attachments. Four years had passed 
since he had seen it, and he trusted to 
luck to find it still standing, for it seemed 
his only chance. Down below people 
scampered and shouted. Crowds had 
sprung out of the dark night, as by 
magic ; and the police they must have 
been lying in wait in scores. It seemed a 
mere matter of seconds since he had scaled 
the back fence; and now people were 
tearing about the house behind him, and 
shouting out of windows to those 
below. He hoped that the iron pipe 
might not be gone. 

Good it was there. He peered from 
the parapet down into the stable-yard, and 
the place seemed empty. He gripped the 
pipe with hands and knees, and descended. 
The alley had no back way : he must 
take his chance in Meakin Street. He 
peeped. At the street end there was a 
dark obstruction set with spots of light : a 
row of police. That way was shut ; he 
must try the Jago Luck Row was 
almost opposite, and no Jago would be- 
tray him. The hunters were already on 
the roofs. Men shouted up to them from 
the street, and kept pace with them, 
coming nearer. He took a breath and 
dashed across, knocking a man over at 
the corner. 

Up Luck Row, into Old Jago Street he 
ran, past his own home, and across to a 
black doorway, just as Father Sturt, roused 
by the persistent din, opened his window. 
The passage was empty, and for an instant 
he paused, breathless. But there were 
howls without, and the pelting of many feet. 
The man knocked over at the corner had 
given the alarm, and the hunt was up. 

Into the back-yard and over the fence ; 
through another passage into New Jago 
Street ; with a notion to gain the courts by 
Honey Lane and so away. But he was 
thinking of the Jago as it had been he 
had forgotten the demolishment. As he 
neared Jago Row the place of it lay sud- 
denly before him an open waste of 
eighty yards square, skirted by the straight 
streets and the yellow barracks, with the 
Board School standing dark among them. 
And along the straight streets more men 
were rushing, and more police. They 
were newcomers ; why not venture over ? 
He rubbed his cheek, for something like a 
film of gum clung to it. Then he remem- 
bered, and peered closely at his hands. 
Blood, sticking and drying and peeling ; 
blood on hands and 'face, blood on clothes, 
without a doubt. To go abroad thus were 
to court arrest, were he known or not 
known. It must be got off ; but how ? 
To go home was to give himself up. 
The police were there long since they 
swarmed the Jago through. Some half- 
dismantled houses stood at hand, and he 
made for the nearest. 

There were cellars under these houses, 
reached from the back-yards. Many a 
Jago had been born, had lived, and had 
died in such a place. A cellar would hide 
him for an hour, while he groped himself 
clean as he might. Broken brickwork 
littered the space that had been the back- 
yard. Feeling in the dark for the steps, 
which stood in a little pit, his foot turned 
on a stone, and he pitched headlong. 

The cellar itself was littered with rub- 
bish, and he lay among it a little while, 
breathless and bruised. When he tried to 
raise, he found his ankle useless. It was 
the old sprain, got at Mother Gapp's be- 
fore his lagging, and ever ready to assert 
itself. He sat among the brickbats to 
pull off the boot that was foul and 
sticky too and he rubbed the ankle. He 
had been a fool to think of the cellar : 
why not any corner among the walls 
above ? He had given away to the mere 
panic instinct to burrow, to hide himself 
in a hole, and he had chosen one where- 
from there was no second way of escape 
none at all but by the steps he had 
fallen in at. Far better to have struck out 
boldly across the streets by Columbia 
Market to the Canal: who could have 
seen the smears in the darkness ? And in 
the canal he might have washed the lot 
away, secure from observation, under a 
bridge. The thing might be possible, 
even now, if he could stand the pain. But 
no, the foot was useless when he tried it. 
He was trapped like a rat. He rubbed 
and kneaded the ankle diligently, and man- 
aged to draw the boot on. But stand on 
both legs he could not. He might have 
crawled up the steps on hands and knees, 
but what was the use of that ? So he sat, 
and waited. 

Knots of men went hurrying by, and he 
caught snatches of their talk. There had 
been a murder a man was murdered in 
his bed it was a woman a man had 
murdered his wife there were two mur- 
ders three the tale went every way, 
but it was always Murder, Murder, Mur- 
der. Everybody was saying Murder : till 
in the passing footsteps, in the vague 
shouts in the distance, and presently in 
the mere black about him he heard the 
word still Murder, Murder, Murder. 
He fell to contrasting the whispered fancy 
with the real screams in that bedroom. 
He wondered what Bill Rann thought of 
it all, and what had become of the James 
and the gimlets. He pictured the crowd 
in Old Jago Street, pushing it into his 
room, talking about him, telling the news. 
He wondered if Hannah had been asleep 
when they came, and what she said when 
they told her. And more people hurried 
past the ruined house, all talking Murder, 
Murder, still Murder. 

The foot was horribly painful. Was it 
swelling ? Yes, he thought it was ; he 
rubbed it again. What would Dicky do ? 
If only Dicky knew where he was ! That 
might help. There was a new burst of 
shouts in the distance. What was that ? 
Perhaps they had caught Bill Rann ; but 
that was unlikely. They knew nothing 
of Bill they had seen but one man. 
Perhaps they were carrying away the Heap 
on a shutter : that would be no nice job, 
especially down the steep stairs. There 
had been very little in the wash-house, and 
nothing in the next room ; the garrets 
were pretty full of odd things, but no 
doubt the money was in the bedroom. The 
smell of stale pickles was very strong. 

So his thoughts chased one another 
eager, trivial, crowded till his head ached 
with their splitting haste. To take heed 
for the future, to plan escape, to design ex- 
pedients these were merely impossible, 
sitting there inactive in the dark. He 
thought of the pipe he had slid down, what 
it cost, why they put it there, who the 
man was that he ran against at Luck 
Row, whether or not he hurt him, what 
the police would do with the bloaters and 
cake and bacon at the shop, and, again, of 
the smell of stale pickles. 

Father Sturt was up and dressed, stand- 
ing guard on the landing outside the Per- 
rotts' door. The stairs were full of Jagos 
mostly women constantly joined by 
new-comers, all anxious to batter the door 
and belabour the hidden family with noisy 
sympathy and sedulous inquiries : all, that 
is, except the oldest Mrs. Walsh in the 
Jago, who, possessed by an unshakable 
conviction that Josh's wife must have 
" druv *im to it," had. come in a shawl and 
a petticoat to give Hannah a piece of her 
mind. But all were driven back and sent 
grumbling away by Father Sturt. 

Every passage from the Jago was held 
by the police, and a search from house to 
house was begun. With clear consciences 
the Jagos all could deny any knowledge of 
Josh Perrott's whereabouts ; but a clear 
conscience was little valued in those parts, 
and one after another affirmed point blank 
that the man seen at the window was not 
Perrottat all, but a stranger who lived a long 
way off. This, of course, less by way of 
favouring the fugitive than of baffling the 
police : the Jago's first duty. But the 
police knew the worth of such talk, and 
the search went on. 

Thus it came to pass that in the grey 
of the morning a party in New Jago 
Street, after telling each other that the 
ruins must be carefully examined, climbed 
among the rubbish and were startled by a 
voice from underground : " Awright," 
cried Josh Perrott in the cellar. u I *m 
done ; it 's a cop. Come an* 'elp me out 
o' this *ole." 



' 



XXXIV 

The Lion and the Unicorn had been 
fresh gilt since he was there before, but 
the white-headed old gaoler in the dock 
was much the same. And the big sword 
what did they have a big sword for, 
stuck up there, over the red cushions, and 
what was the use of a sword six foot long ? 
But perhaps it was n't six foot after all 
it looked longer than it was; and no doubt 
it was only for show, and probably a 
dummy with no blade. There was a well- 
dressed black man sitting down below 
among the lawyers. What did he want ? 
Why did they let him in ? A nice thing 

to be made a show of for niggers ! 
And Josh Perrott loosened his neckcloth 
with an indignant tug of the forefinger, and 
went off into another train of thought. 
He had a throbbing, wavering headache, 
the outcome of thinking so hard about so 
many things. They were small things, 
and had nothing to do with his own busi- 
ness; but there were so many of them, 
and they all had to be got through at such 
a pace, and one thing led to another. 

Ever since they had taken him he nad 
been oppressed by this plague of galloping 
thought, with few intervals of rest when 
he could consider immediate concerns. 
But of these he made little trouble. The 
thing was done. Very well, then, he 
would take his gruel like a man. He 
had done many a worse thing, he said, that 
had been thought less of. 

The evidence was a nuisance. What 
was the good of it all ? Over and over 
and over again. At the inquest, at the 
police court, and now here. Repeated, 
laboriously taken down, and repeated again. 
And now it was worse than ever, for the 
judge insisted on making a note of every- 
thing, and wrote it down slowly, a word 
at a time. The witnesses were like 
barrel-organs, producing the same old 
tune mechanically, without changing a 
note. There was the policeman who was 
in Meakin Street at twelve-thirty on the 
morning of the fourth of the month, when 
he heard cries of Murder, and proceeded 
to the coffee-shop. There was the other 
policeman who also " proceeded " there, 
and recognised the prisoner, whom he 
knew, at the first-floor window. And there 
was the sergeant who had found him in 
the cellar, and the doctor who had made 
an examination, and the knife, and the 
boots, and all of it. It was Murder, Mur- 
der, Murder, still. Why ? Was n't it 
plain enough ? He felt some interest in 
what was coming in the sentence, and 
the black cap, and so on never having 
seen a murder trial before. But all this 
repetition oppressed him vaguely amid the 
innumerable things he had to think of, one 
thing leading to another. 

Hannah and Dicky were there, sitting 
together behind the glass partition that 
rose at the side of the dock. Hannah's 
face was down in har hands, and Dicky's 
face was thin and white, and he sat with 
his neck stretched, his lips apart, his head 
aside to catch the smallest word. His 
eyes, too, were red with strained, unwink- 
ing attention. Josh felt vaguely that they 
might keep a bolder face, as he did him- 
self. His sprained foot was still far from 
well, but he stood up, putting his weight 
on the other. He might have been al- 
lowed to sit if he had asked, but that would 
look like weakness. 

There was another judge this time, an 
older one, with spectacles. He had come 
solemnly in, after lunch, with a bunch of 
flowers in his hand, and Josh thought he 
made an odd figure in his long red gown. 
Why did he sit at the end of the bench, 
instead of in the middle, under the long 
sword ? Perhaps the old gentleman, who 
sat there for a little while and then went 
away, was the Lord Mayor. That would 
account for it. There was another room 
behind the bedroom at Weech's, which he 
had never thought about. Perhaps the 
money was there, after all. Could they 
have missed any hiding place in the shop 
parlour ? No : there was the round 
table, with the four chairs about it, and 
the little sideboard ; besides the texts on 
the wall, and two china figures on the 
mantelpiece that was all. There was 
a copper in the wash-house, but there was 
nothing in it. The garret was a very 
good place to keep things in ; but there 
was a strong smell of stale pickles. He 
could smell it now he had smelt it 
ever since. 

The judge stopped a witness to speak of 
a draught from a window. Josh Perrott 
watched the shutting of the window 
they did it with a cord. He had not 
noticed a draught himself. But pigeons 
were flying outside the panes and resting 
on the chimney-stacks. Pud Palmer 
tried to keep pigeons in Jago Row, but one 
morning the trap was found empty. A 
poulterer gave fourpence each for them. 
They were ticketed at eighteenpence a pair 
in the shop, and that was fivepence profit 
apiece for the poulterer. Tenpence a 
pair profit on eleven pairs was nearly ten 
shillings ten shillings all but tenpence. 
They would n't have given any more in 
Club Row. A man had a four-legged 
linnet in Club Row, but there was a show 
in Bethnal Green Road with a two-headed 
sheep. It was outside there that Ginger 
Stagg was pinched for lob-crawling. And 
so on, and so on, till his head buzzed 
again. 

His counsel was saying something. 
How long had he been talking ? What 
was the good of it ? He had told him 
that he had no defense. The lawyer was 
enlarging on the dead man's iniquities, 
talking of provocation, and the heat of 
passion, and the like. He was aiming 
desperately at a recommendation to mercy. 
That was mere foolery. 

But presently the judge began to sum 
up. They were coming to something at 
last. But it was merely the thrice-told 
evidence once more. The judge blinked 
at his notes, and went at it again ; the 
policeman with his whistle, and the other 
with his lantern, and the doctor, and the 
sergeant, and the rest. It was shorter 
this time, though. Josh Perrott turned 
and looked at the clock behind him, with 
the faces over it, peering from the gallery. 
But when he turned to face the judge 
again he had forgotten the time, and 
crowded trivialities were racing through 
the narrow gates of his brain once more. 

There was a cry for silence, and then a 
fresh voice spoke. " Gentlemen of the 
jury, have you agreed upon your ver- 
dict ? " 

" We have." The foreman was an 
agitated, colourless man, and he spoke in a 
low tone. 

"Do you find the prisoner at the bar 
guilty, or not guilty ? " 

" Guilty." 

Yes, that was right ; this was the real 
business. His head was clear and ready 
now. 

" And is that the verdict of you all ? " 

" Yes." 

Was that Hannah sobbing ? 

A pale parson in his black gown came 
walking along by the bench, and stood 
like a tall ghost at the judge's side, his eyes 
raised and his hands clasped. The judge 
took a black thing from the seat beside 
him, and arranged it on his head. It was 
a sort of soft mortarboard, Josh noted 
curiously, with a large silk tassel hanging 
over one side, giving the judge, with his 
wig and his spectacles and his red gown, a 
horribly jaunty look. No brain could be 
clearer than Josh Perrott's now. 

" Prisoner at the bar, have you anything 
to say why sentence of death should not 
be passed on you according to law ? " 

u No, sir I done it. On'y 'e was a 
worse man than me ! " 

The clerk of Arraigns sank into his 
place, and the judge spoke. 

" Joshua Perrott, you have been con- 
victed, on evidence that can leave no 
doubt whatever of your guilt in the 
mind of any rational person, of the hor- 
rible crime of wilful murder. The cir- 
cumstances of your awful offense there is 
no need to recapitulate, but they were of 
the most brutal and shocking character. 
You deliberately, and with preparation, 
broke into the house of the man whose 
death you have shortly to answer for in a 
higher court than this : whether you broke 
in with a design of robbery as well as of 
revenge by murder, I know not, nor is it 
my duty to consider : but you, there, with 
every circumstance of callous ferocity, 
sent the wretched man to that last account 
which you must shortly render for your- 
self. Of the ill-spent life of that miserable 
man, your victim, it is not for me to 
speak, nor for you to think. And I do 
most earnestly beseech you to use the 
short time yet remaining to you on this 
earth in true repentance, and in making 
your peace with Almighty God. It is my 
duty to pronounce sentence of that pun- 
ishment which not I, but the law of this 
country, imposes for the crime which you 
have committed. The sentence of the 
Court is: that you be taken to the place 
whence you came, and thence to a place of 
execution: and that you be there Hanged 
by the Neck till you be Dead : and may 
the Lord have Mercy on your Soul ! " 

" Amen ! " It was from the tall black 
figure. 

Well, well, that was over. The gaoler 
touched his arm. Right. But firs' he 
took a quick glance through the g *ss 
partition. Hannah was falling over or 
something a mere rusty, swaying bun- 
dle and Dicky was holding her up with 
both arms. Dicky's face was damp and 
grey, and twitching lines were in ^his 
cheeks. Josh took a step toward the 
partition, but they hurried him away. 



XXXV 

All this hard thinking would be over 
in half an hour or so. What was to come 
now did n't matter ; no more than a mere 
punch in the eye. The worst was over 
on Saturday, and he had got through that 
all right. Hannah was very bad, and so 
was Dicky. Em cried in a bewildered 
sort of way, because the others did. Lit- 
tle Josh, conceiving that his father was 
somehow causing all the tears, kicked and 
swore at him. He tried to get Hannah 
to smile at this, but it was no go; and 
they had to carry her out at last. Dicky 
was well-plucked though, bad as he was. 
He felt him shake and choke when he 
kissed him, but he walked out straight and 
steady, with the two children. Well, it 
was over. . . .  

He hoped they would get up a break in 
the Jago for Hannah and the youngsters. 
His own break had never come off they 
owed him one. The last break he was 
at was at Mother Gapp's, before the 
Dove-Laners fell through the floor. It 
must have cost Mother Gapp a deal of 
money to put in the new floor; but 
then she must have made a lot in her time, 
what with one thing and another. Some 
said she came of the gipsies that used to 
live at the Mount years ago. The Mount 
was a pretty thick place now, but not so 
thick as the Jago : the Jagos were thick 
as glue and wide as Broad Street. Bob 
the Bender fell in Broad Street, toy-getting, 
and got a stretch and a half. . . . 

Yes, yes, of course, they always tolled 
a bell. But it was rather confusing, with 
things to think about. 

Ah, they had come at last ! Come, there 
was nothing more to think about now; 
nothing but to take it game. Hold tight 
Jago, hold tight. . . . " No, thank you, 
sir nothing to say, special. On'ymuch 
obliged to ye, thank ye kindly, for the grub 
an' an* bein' kind an* wot not. Thanks 
all of ye, come to that. Specially you, 
sir." It was the tall black figure again. . . . 

What, this was the chap, was it ? Seedy- 
looking. Sort of undertaker's man to look 
at. All right straps. Not cords to tie, 
then. Waist ; wrists ; elbows ; more 
straps dangling below do them presently. 
This was how they did it, then. . . . This 
way ? 

" I am the resurrection and the life, saith 
the Lord : he that believeth in Me, though 
he were dead, yet shall he live : and who- 
soever liveth and believeth in Me shall 
never die." 

A very big gate, this, all iron, painted 
white. Round to the right. Not very 
far, they told him. It was dark in the 
passage, but the door led into the yard, 
where it was light and open, and sparrows 
were twittering. Another door : in a 
shed. 

This was the place. All white, every- 
where frame too ; not black, after all. 
Up the steps. . . . Hold tight: not much 
longer. Stand there ? Very well. 

" Man that is born of a woman hath 
but a short time to live, and is full of 
misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, 
like a flower : he fleeth as it were a shadow, 
and never continueth in one stay. 

" In the midst of life . 



XXXVI 

It was but a little crowd that stood at 
the Old Bailey corner while the bell tolled, 
to watch for the black flag. This was not 
a popular murder. Josh Perrott was not 
a man who had been bred to better 
things ; he did not snivel and rant in the 
dock ; and he had not butchered his wife 
nor his child, nor anybody with a claim on 
his gratitude or affection ; so that nobody 
sympathized with him, nor got up a peti- 
tion for pardon, nor wrote tearful letters 
to the newspapers. And the crowd that 
watched for the black flag was a small 
one, and half of it came from the Jago. 

While it was watching, and while the 
bell was tolling, a knot of people stood at the 
Perrotts* front-doorway, in Old Jago Street. 

Father Sturt went across as soon as the sleep- 
ers of the night had been seen away from 
the shelter, and spoke to Kiddo Cook, who 
stood at the stair-foot to drive off intruders. 

" They say she 's been sittin' up all 
night, Father," Kiddo reported in a hushed 
voice. " An' Poll 's jest looked in at the 
winder from Walsh's, and says she can 
see 'em all kneelin' round a chair with that 
little clock o' theirs on it. It's it's 
more 'n 'alf an hour yut." 

" I shall come here myself presently, 
and relieve you. Can you wait ? You 
must n't neglect trade, you know." 

" I ' wait all day, Father, if ye like. 
Nobody sha'n't disturb 'em." 

When Father Sturt returned from his 
errand, " Have you heard anything ? " he 
asked. 

" No, Father," answered Kiddo Cook. 
" They ain't moved." 

There were two faint notes from a dis- 
tant steeple, and then the bell of St. Leon- 
ards beat out the inexorable hour. 
 



XXXVII 

Kiddo Cook prospered. The stall was 
a present fact, and the awning was not far 
off; indeed, he was vigilantly in search of 
a second-hand one, not too much worn. 
But with all his affluence he was not often 
drunk. Nothing could be better than his 
pitch right out in the High Street, in the 
busiest part, and hard by the London and 
County branch bank. They called it 
Kiddo's bank in the Jago, and made jokes 
about alleged deposits of his. If you 
bought a penn'orth of greens from Kiddo, 
said facetious Jagos, he did n't condescend 
to take the money himself; he gave you a 
slip of paper, and you paid at the bank. 
And Kiddo had indulged in a stroke of 
magnificence that no other Jago would have 
thought of. He had taken two rooms in 
the new County Council dwellings. The 
secret was that Father Sturt had agreed to 
marry Kiddo Cook and Pigeony Poll. 
There would be plenty for both to do, 
what with the stall and the regular round 
with the barrow. 

The wedding-day came when Hannah 
Perrott had been one week a widow. For 
a few days Father Sturt had left her alone, 
and had guarded her privacy. Then seeing 
that she gave no sign, he went with what 
quiet comfort he might, and bespoke her 
attention to her concerns. He invented 
some charing work in his rooms for her. 
She did it very badly, and if he left her 
long alone, she would be found on the 
floor, with her face in a chair-seat, crying 
weakly. But the work was something 
for her to do and to think about, and by 
dint of bustling it and magnifying its im- 
portance, Father Sturt brought her to some 
degree of mindfulness and calm.  

Dicky walked that morning in a sort of 
numb, embittered fury. What should he 
do now ? His devilmost. Spare nobody 
and stop at nothing. Old Beveridge was 
right that morning years ago. The Jago 
had got him, and it held him fast. Now 
he went doubly sealed of the outcasts : a 
Jago with a hanged father. Father Sturt 
talked of work, but who would give him 
work ? And why do it in any case ? What 
came of it before ? No, he was a Jago and the 
world's enemy ; Father Sturt was the only 
good man in it ; as for the rest, he would 
spoil them when he could. There was 
something for to-morrow night, if he only 
could get calmed down enough by then. 
A builder's yard in Kingsland with an 
office in a loft, and money in a common 
desk. Tommy Rann had found it, and 
they must do it together ; if only he could 
get this odd numbness off him, and have 
his head clear. So much crying, perhaps, 
and so much trying not to, till his head 
was like to burst. Deep-eyed and pale, 
he dragged around into Edge Lane, and so 
into New Jago Street. 

Jerry Gullen's canary was harnessed to 
the barrow, and Jerry himself was piling 
the barrow with rags and bottles. Dicky 
stood and looked ; he thought he would 
rub Canary's head, but then he changed 
his mind, and did not move. Jerry Gullen 
glanced at him furtively once or twice, 
and then said : " Good ole moke for wear, 
ain't 'e ? " 

u Yus," Dicky answered moodily, his 
talk half random. " 'E ' peg out soon 
now." 

" 'Im ? Not 'im. W'y I bet 'e ' live 
longer 'n you will. 'E ain't goin' to die." 

" I think 'e 'd like to," said Dicky, and 
slouched on. 

Yes, Canary would be better off, dead. 
So would others. It would be a comfort- 
able thing for himself if he could die 
quietly then and there. But it would 
never do for mother and the children to be 
left helpless. How good for them all to 
go off easily together, and wake in some 
pleasant place, say a place like Father 
Sturt's sitting room, and perhaps find 
but there, what foolishness ! 

What was this unendurable stupor that 
clung about him like a net ? He knew 
everything clearly enough, but it was all 
in an atmosphere of dull heedlessness. 
There would be some relief in doing some- 
thing violent in smashing something to 
little pieces with a hammer. 

He came to the ruined houses. There 
was a tumult of yells, and a crowd of 
thirty or forty lads went streaming across 
the open waste, waving sticks. 

" Come on ! come on, Jago ! 'Ere 
they are ! " 

A fight ! Ah, what more welcome ! 
And Dove Lane, too Dove Lane that 
had taken to bawling the taunt, "Jago 
cut-throats," since . . . 
 
He was in the thick of the raid. 
" Come on, Jago ! Jago ! 'Ere they are ! " 
Past the Board School and through Honey 
Lane they went, and into Dove Lane ter- 
ritory. A small crowd of Dove-Laners 
broke and fled. Straight ahead the Jagos 
went, till they were suddenly taken in 
flank at a turning by a full Dove Lane 
mob. The Jagos were broken by the 
rush, but they fought stoutly, and the 
street was filled with a surge of combat. 

u J a g J a g hld tight ! " 

Thin, wasted and shaken, Dicky fought 
like a tiger. He had no stick till he 
floored a Dove-Laner and took his from 
him, but then he bludgeoned apace, callous 
to every blow, till he fought through the 
thick, and ;burst out at the edge of the 
fray. He pulled his cap tight, and swung 
back, almost knocking ver, but disre- 
garding, a leather-aproned, furtive hunch- 
back, who turned and came at his heels. 

" J a g J a g hold tight ! " yelled Dicky 
Perrott. " Come on, Father Sturt's 
boys!" 

He was down. Just a punch under the 
arm from behind. As he rolled, face 
under, he caught a single glimpse of the 
hunchback, running. But what was this 
all this? 

A shout went up. " Stabbed ! Chived ! 
They chived Dicky Perrott ! " 

The fight melted. Somebody turned 
Dicky on his back, and he moaned, and 
lay gasping. He lifted his dabbled hands, 
and looked at them, wondering. They 
tried to lift him, but the blood poured so 
fast that they put him down. Somebody 
had gone for a surgeon. 

" Take me *ome," said Dicky, faintly, 
with an odd gurgle in his voice. "Not 
'awspital." 

The surgeon came running, with police- 
men at his heels. He ripped away the 
clothes from about the wound, and shook 
his head. It was the lung. Water was 
brought, and cloths, and an old door. 
They put Dicky on the door, and carried 
him toward the surgery -  and two lads 
who stayed by him were sent to bring his 
friends. 

The bride and bridegroom, meeting the 
news on the way home, set off at a run, 
and Father Sturt followed. 

"Good Gawd, Dicky," cried Poll, 
tearing her way to the shutter as it stopped 
at the surgery door, " wot 's this ? " 

Dicky's eye fell on the flowered bonnet 
that graced the wedding, and his lip lifted 
with the shade of a smile. "Luck, 
Pidge ! " 

He was laid out in the surgery. A 
crowd stood about the door, while Father 
Sturt went in. The vicar lifted his eye- 
brows questioningly, and the surgeon shook 
his head. It was a matter of minutes. 

Father Sturt bent over and took 
Dicky's hand. "My poor Dicky," he 
said, " who did this ? " 
 
" Dunno, Fa'er." 

The lie the staunch Jago lie. Thou 
shalt not nark. 

" Fetch mother an' the kids. Fa'er ! " 

" Yes, my boy ! " 

" Tell Mist' Beveridge there 's 'nother 
way out better."