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Sue, A Little Heroine, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 26. Two Cups Of Coffee |
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_ CHAPTER XXVI. TWO CUPS OF COFFEE When Harris parted from Giles and Connie--on the very same day that Connie had gone to tea with Ronald, on the very same day that Ronald had visited Giles--he was as troubled and miserable as man could be. There was but one brave thing for him to do--he ought to confess his sin. Where Sue could be he had not the faintest idea. Why was she absent? It was days now since she had left her home--Sue, of all people--Sue, with a little delicate brother like Giles. It was unlike her to go. There could be but one reason. Harris had taken means to ascertain whether poor Sue had been up before the magistrates. He knew enough about the law, and about crime generally, to know that she would be taken up for theft to Bow Street; but beyond doubt she had never gone there. Where in all the world could she be? Harris was by no means sufficiently sorry to give himself up for conscience's sake; but he was in a state of nervousness and great distress of mind. As he walked down a side-street, his hands in his pockets, his rough fur cap--which he generally wore slouched--well off his eyes, he was suddenly accosted by a red-haired boy, who looked at him with a very innocent face and inquired meekly "ef he were lookin' for a job." "None o' yer sauce, youngster," said Harris, passing on. "I don't mean the least sauce in life, master," said the red-haired boy, still in the most humble and gentle tone. "I only thought ef we were goin' in the same direction we might p'rhaps cheer each other up." "You're a likely youngster, you ere," he said, looking down at him with the grimmest of smiles. "Yus, my mother says as I'm well grown for my hage," replied Pickles; and then, keeping pace with the tall man, he began to whistle softly. Harris returned to his interrupted thoughts, and soon forgot the small boy, who had to run to keep up with his long strides. Suddenly the little boy exclaimed in a shrill, eager treble: "I say, mister!" "Wot now, young 'un?" "You ain't of a wery obleeging turn, be yer? You couldn't help me, now, ter find a guilty party?" "You seems a wery rum chap," said Harris rather crossly. "I don't know nothink 'bout yer guilty parties. There, be off, can't yer!" "I'll be off in a twinkle, master. I ain't rum a bit; my mother allers said as I wor a real quiet boy; but when my heart is full to bustin' it seems a relief to talk to a body, and you, tho' yer puts on bein' fierce, have a kind nature." "Now, what hever do yer mean by that?" "Master, you must furgive a wery timid and heasily repulsed boy; but it ain't possible, even fur one so known to be frightened as me, to be feared of yer. I reads yer kindness in yer heyes, master, and so I makes bold to tell my tale o' woe." "Well, tell away," said Harris, who could not help laughing and looking a little less gruff than before. "You wouldn't be inclined, now, that we should have hour talk hover a pint of hot coffee? There's a heatin-house where the young man have took down the shutters and is dusting away in a manner as his real appetizing. I has fourpence in my pocket. You wouldn't mind my treating yer, jest fer once, would yer?" "Not in the least, youngster. I think it'll be a wery sensible use to put yer money to, and a deal more prudent than spending it in marbles or street plays." "Master, my mother don't allow me to play at marbles, or to hindulge in street wanities, so I has the money and can afford ter be generous. Now let's enter. I smells the coffee a-grinding hup fur hour breakfasts halready." So Harris and Pickles went in to the eating-house, where in a moment or two, over two steaming cups of excellent coffee, Pickles proceeded to unburden himself of his story. "It is only a few days agone, master, as the occurrence as distresses me happened. I wor walking along a certain street wot shall be nameless. I wor walking along bravely, as is my wont, and thinking of my mother, when I see'd a young gel a-flying past me. She wor a wery short, stout gel, and her legs they quite waggled as she ran. I never see'd a gel run so wery hard afore, and I pricked hup my senses to guess wot it hall meant. Soon wor the mystery explained. I heerd ahind of her the cry of 'Stop thief!' and a number of men and boys were a-giving of her chase. I thought as I'd run wid 'em and see what it hall meant. "Presently we shall come up wid the gel. There she wor in the arms of a policeman. He wor a-clutching of her, and trying to find hout wot wor the matter; but she wor so blown she couldn't speak fur a good bit. Then hup comes a man wot said as he had a pawnshop, and that inter the pawnshop had come a man and a gel ter buy a ring, and when they come hout there wor a diamond locket missing. He said as either the gel or the man 'ad tuk the locket; and as the man could not be found, he must get the policeman to search the gel. The poor fat gel, she looked quite scared, and said as she hadn't done it; but the nipper said as she must be searched, and he put in his hand inter her pocket and drew hout the diamond locket. She said as she had never put it there. But, in course, it worn't ter be expected as they'd believe her, so she were tuk orf ter prison. She wor tuk orf ter prison--I see'd her myself." Here Pickles paused. Nothing could have been more refined and delicate than the use he had made of his eyes during this narrative; only very quick and fleeting glances did he bestow upon his companion. When Harris at the commencement of his tale started and changed color, Pickles dropped a piece of bread, and stayed under the table looking for it until the man had quite recovered his composure. When his short story had come to an end he paused; then he said, still without bestowing more than the swiftest side-glance on Harris, "The poor fat gel were tuk orf to the lock-hup. But 'tis borne bin on me, master--'tis borne him on me, and I can't get no rest day nor night--as that yer gel were hinnercent. I believe as she never tuk the locket, and I think that ef ye're as kind-hearted as yer looks yer'll help me ter find that other guilty party." Harris rose to his feet. "Don't be a fool, lad," he said angrily. "I have no time ter give ter sech nonsense. I'm soory fur the gel, but ef she had the locket, of course she tuk the locket. There! I can waste no time. I'll pay fur my hown coffee. Good-morning." "Good-morning, master, and thank yer. I'm glad as ye're sorry fur the gel; she have a lame brother as must miss her, and her case 'ull go heavy, I fear. It seems as it might be a good work ter find the guilty party. I think as it wor the man as went with her inter the shop. I mean ter attend the trial, and I'll mention, ef permitted, my suspicions. But I won't keep yer longer. Sorry again as yer won't oblige me, I'll go home now and consult my mother." All the way back to Great Anvill Street, where Mrs. Price lived, Pickles danced a hornpipe. "I've nailed him at last," he said, chuckling and laughing and dancing all in one breath. "Now to put on the torture screw until he confesses! Oh Pickles, my boy, _wot_ a treasure you'll prove yerself in Scotland Yard!" _ |
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