Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished - Robert Michael Ballantyne (best ebook reader txt) 📗

who ought to know everything about the force. That we fulfil the conditions required of us not so badly is proved by the fact that last year, out of the whole 12,000 there were 215 officers and 1225 men who obtained rewards for zeal and activity, while only one man was discharged, and four men were fined or imprisoned. I speak not of number one--or, I should say Number 666. For myself I am ready to admit that I am the most insignificant of the force."

"O Giles! what a barefaced display of mock modesty!"

"Nay, Molly, I can prove it. Everything in this world goes by contrast, doesn't it? then, is there a man in the whole force except myself, I ask, whose wife is so bright and beautiful and good and sweet that she reduces him to mere insignificance by contrast?"

"There's something in that, Giles," replied Molly with gravity, "but go on with your lecture."

"I've nothing more to say about the force," returned Giles; "if I have not said enough to convince you of our importance, and of the debt of gratitude that you and the public of London owe to us, you are past conviction, and--"

"You are wrong, Giles, as usual; I am never past conviction; you have only to take me before the police court in the morning, and any magistrate will at once convict me of stupidity for having married a Scotchman and a policeman!"

"I think it must be time to go on my beat, for you beat me hollow," said Number 666, consulting his watch.

"No, no, Giles, please sit still. It is not every day that I have such a chance of a chat with you."

"Such a chance of pitching into me, you mean," returned Giles. "However, before I go I would like to tell you just one or two facts regarding this great London itself, which needs so much guarding and such an army of guardians. You know that the Metropolitan District comprises all the parishes any portion of which are within 15 miles of Charing Cross--this area being 688 square miles. The rateable value of it is over twenty-six million eight hundred thousand pounds sterling. See, as you say you've a good head for _figures_, there's the sum on a bit of paper for you--26,800,000 pounds. During last year 26,170 new houses were built, forming 556 new streets and four new squares--the whole covering a length of 86 miles. The total number of new houses built during the last _ten_ years within this area has been 162,525, extending over 500 miles of streets and squares!"

"Stay, I can't stand it!" cried Molly, dropping her sock and putting her fingers in her ears.

"Why not, old girl?"

"Because it is too much for me; why, even _your_ figure is a mere nothing to such sums!"

"Then," returned Giles, "you've only got to stick me on to the end of them to make my information ten times more valuable."

"But are you quite sure that what you tell me is true, Giles?"

"Quite sure, my girl--at least as sure as I am of the veracity of Colonel Henderson, who wrote the last Police Report."

At this point the chat was interrupted by the juvenile policeman in the crib under Sir Robert Peel. Whether it was the astounding information uttered in his sleepy presence, or the arduous nature of the duty required of him in dreams, we cannot tell, but certain it is that when Number 666 uttered the word "Report" there came a crash like the report of a great gun, and Number 2 of the A Division, having fallen overboard, was seen on the floor pommelling some imaginary criminal who stoutly refused to be captured.

Giles ran forward to the assistance of Number 2, as was his duty, and took him up in his arms. But Number 2 had awakened to the fact that he had hurt himself, and, notwithstanding the blandishments of his father, who swayed him about and put him on his broad shoulders, and raised his curly head to the ceiling, he refused for a long time to be comforted. At last he was subdued, and returned to the crib and the land of dreams.

"Now, Molly, I must really go," said Giles, putting on his uniform. "I hope Number 2 won't disturb you again. Good-bye, lass, for a few hours," he added, buckling his belt. "Here, look, do you see that little spot on the ceiling?"

"Yes,--well?" said Molly, looking up.

Giles took unfair advantage of her, stooped, and kissed the pretty little face, received a resounding slap on the back, and went out, to attend to his professional duties, with the profound gravity of an incapable magistrate.

There was a bright intelligent little street-Arab on the opposite side of the way, who observed Giles with mingled feelings of admiration, envy, and hatred, as he strode sedately along the street like an imperturbable pillar. He knew Number 666 personally; had seen him under many and varied circumstance, and had imagined him under many others-- not unfrequently as hanging by the neck from a lamp-post--but never, even in the most daring flights of his juvenile fancy, had he seen him as he has been seen by the reader in the bosom of his poor but happy home.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN.


MRS. FROG SINKS DEEPER AND DEEPER.

"Nobody cares," said poor Mrs Frog, one raw afternoon in November, as she entered her miserable dwelling, where the main pieces of furniture were a rickety table, a broken chair, and a heap of straw, while the minor pieces were so insignificant as to be unworthy of mention. There was no fire in the grate, no bread in the cupboard, little fresh air in the room and less light, though there was a broken unlighted candle stuck in the mouth of a quart bottle which gave promise of light in the future--light enough at least to penetrate the November fog which had filled the room as if it had been endued with a pitying desire to throw a veil over such degradation and misery.

We say degradation, for Mrs Frog had of late taken to "the bottle" as a last solace in her extreme misery, and the expression of her face, as she cowered on a low stool beside the empty grate and drew the shred of tartan shawl round her shivering form, showed all too clearly that she was at that time under its influence. She had been down to the river again, more than once, and had gazed into its dark waters until she had very nearly made up her mind to take the desperate leap, but God in mercy had hitherto interposed. At one time a policeman had passed with his weary "move on"--though sometimes he had not the heart to enforce his order. More frequently a little baby-face had looked up from the river with a smile, and sent her away to the well-known street where she would sit in the familiar door-step watching the shadows on the window-blind until cold and sorrow drove her to the gin-palace to seek for the miserable comfort to be found there.

Whatever that comfort might amount to, it did not last long, for, on the night of which we write, she had been to the palace, had got all the comfort that was to be had out of it, and returned to her desolate home more wretched than ever, to sit down, as we have seen, and murmur, almost fiercely, "Nobody cares."

For a time she sat silent and motionless, while the deepening shadows gathered round her, as if they had united with all the rest to intensify the poor creature's woe.

Presently she began to mutter to herself aloud--

"What's the use o' your religion when it comes to this? What sort of religion is in the hearts of these," (she pursed her lips, and paused for an expressive word, but found none), "these rich folk in their silks and satins and broadcloth, with more than they can use, an' feedin' their pampered cats and dogs on what would be wealth to the likes o' me! Religion! bah!"

She stopped, for a Voice within her said as plainly as if it had spoken out: "Who gave you the sixpence the other day, and looked after you with a tender, pitying glance as you hurried away to the gin-shop without so much as stopping to say `Thank you'? She wore silks, didn't she?"

"Ah, but there's not many like that," replied the poor woman, mentally, for the powers of good and evil were fighting fiercely within her just then.

"How do you know there are not many like that?" demanded the Voice.

"Well, but _all_ the rich are not like that," said Mrs Frog.

The Voice made no reply to that!

Again she sat silent for some time, save that a low moan escaped her occasionally, for she was very cold and very hungry, having spent the last few pence, which might have given her a meal, in drink; and the re-action of the poison helped to depress her. The evil spirit seemed to gain the mastery at this point, to judge from her muttered words.

"Nothing to eat, nothing to drink, no work to be got, Hetty laid up in hospital, Ned in prison, Bobby gone to the bad again instead of goin' to Canada, and--nobody cares--"

"What about baby?" asked the Voice.

This time it was Mrs Frog's turn to make no reply! in a few minutes she seemed to become desperate, for, rising hastily, she went out, shut the door with a bang, locked it, and set out on the familiar journey to the gin-shop.

She had not far to go. It was at the corner. If it had not been at that corner, there was one to be found at the next--and the next--and the next again, and so on all round; so that, rushing past, as people sometimes do when endeavouring to avoid a danger, would have been of little or no avail in this case. But there was a very potent influence of a negative kind in her favour. She had no money! Recollecting this when she had nearly reached the door, she turned aside, and ran swiftly to the old door-step, where she sat down and hid her face in her hands.

A heavy footstep sounded at her side the next moment. She looked quickly up. It was a policeman. He did not apply the expected words--"move on." He was a man under whose blue uniform beat a tender and sympathetic heart. In fact, he was Number 666--changed from some cause that we cannot explain, and do not understand--from the Metropolitan to the City Police Force. His number also had been changed, but we refuse to be trammelled by police regulations. Number 666 he was and shall remain in this tale to the end of the chapter!

Instead of ordering the poor woman to go away, Giles was searching his pockets for a penny, when to his intense surprise he received a blow on the chest, and then a slap on the face!

Poor Mrs Frog, misjudging his intentions, and roused to a fit of temporary insanity by her wrongs and sorrows, sprang at her supposed foe like a wildcat. She was naturally a strong woman, and violent passion lent her unusual strength.

Oh! it was pitiful to witness the struggle that