"Done?" said he, as I sat back in my chair.

"Yes; lock the door," said I.

I must beg the reader's pardon if I do not lay before them the whole of the two lucubrations. They must be content with a few impartially chosen selections.

My chapter began with a poetical description of London in early morning.

"London in the morning! What a scene! The whistle of the workmen's trains sounds, and the noise of vegetable carts going to Covent Garden Market, give the place an animated appearance. Very few people are awake, and those that are look sleepy.

"In such a scene as this a hideous-looking woman, about fifty years old, with a long nose and a shabby barrel-organ, wended her way from some of the slums near Farringdon Street Station in the direction of Euston Square.

"It was not a very pretty walk. There were no birds twittering in the trees, or cuckoos. You could not hear the gentle roar of the ocean, and what flowers there were, were in pots on the window-sills.

"The ugly woman chose the road where there were most public-houses, and I am sorry to say that any one who had walked close beside her would have heard her talking to herself in very bad language."

Here followed the description of a few of the public-houses and their natural beauties, and my narrative proceeded--

"In this way the wicked woman reached Euston Square. She was greatly intoxicated, and not able to play the tunes on her organ correctly.

n.o.body gave her anything, which was not surprising, and the police moved her on all round the square.

"At last it was plain she would have to do something to get some money.

"After thinking over all the different things, she thought she would steal a baby and get money that way. So, seeing a baby lying on a seat close by, whose nurse had gone off to see a militia band marching towards Gower Street, she stole it and went off as fast as she could.

"There was a cradle hanging on to the organ, and when people saw the baby in it the wicked woman got as much money as she liked.

"My reader will have guessed by this time that the baby, which was of the feminine gender, is the heroine.

"She was really high-born.

"Her father was a retired coal merchant. He was a very little man and dropped his h's.

"Her mother was what the vulgar would call a `whopper.' Let not the reader think she whopped her baby or her husband. On the contrary, she was kind, but big.

"They lived at Highbury, and the nurse always took the baby out for walks before breakfast."

It was at this point that it had suddenly flashed across me that I had left out the joke allotted to Chapter One, and as the narrative was well advanced, I ought to work up for it without delay. So I proceeded.

"We left Alicia, for that was the name of our heroine, being wheeled back on the organ to Hatton Garden. It was an unpleasant journey. The bad woman called at a lot more public-houses, and left Alicia and the organ outside in the rain.

"It was a wonder Alicia was not stolen again. She began to cry. People who came by couldn't make out what it was, for she was hidden under the quilt, and some thought instead of an organ it must have been some strange animal.

"An organ that cried like a child would be a very queer animal, nearly as queer as an author whose tale comes out of his head; and some of the people said so."

I was hot and tired by the time I had worked off this piece of humour, and began to wish I saw my way to the end of my twelve sheets. Two more I occupied with a picture of the organ-grinder's quarters in Hatton Garden, and concluded with the following poetical pa.s.sage:--

"Little thought the wicked Vixen as she huddled her stolen infant into a damp corner of the filthy room, how much would happen before Alicia and her poor parents next met.

"We know very little of what is going to happen, and perhaps it is a good job. At any rate it was a good job for Alicia as she lay fast asleep.

"The world is all before the little baby--It doesn't know what's all in store for it--If it did know, it seems to me that maybe it wouldn't like the prospect--not a bit.

"End of Chapter One."

Harry looked a little uncomfortable as I finished reading my chapter aloud. I concluded he felt rather out of it, and I was not surprised.

For on the whole it read well, and in some respects I flattered myself it had rather a pull on _Nicholas Nickleby_.

Harry wisely reserved his criticisms until he had read his own chapter, which I awaited with a smile of brotherly resignation.

"You know," explained he, before he began, "I tried to get more incident than you, that's why I left out the scenery."

Aha! my scenery had fetched him, then! I wondered what his incident would be like.

"Fire away!" said I.

"Her name was Sarah Vixen--[I'm beginning now]--Her name was Sarah Vixen. She was a horrid old maid. One morning she went and played her organ in Euston Square. She played `Wait till the clouds roll by,' and `Sweethearts' waltz', and the `Ma.r.s.eillaise,' one after the other, after which she paused and watched a tennis match which was going on in the square.

"It was a four-handed match between two rather good-looking boys who wore red and green ribbons on their straws--[those were the Denhamby colours]--and two big London fellows. The schoolboys won the toss, and the fair one served first. He put in a very hot service just over the net, which broke sharp as it fell, and bothered the Londoners completely. The dark hand-in played close up to the net, and was very neat in the way he picked up b.a.l.l.s and smashed them over."

Harry paused and looked doubtfully at me for a moment, and then went on.

"The schoolboys pulled off the first three games, and then the Londoners scored a game, owing to the wind. A large crowd collected to see the match, and shouts of `Well put over!' greeted the schoolboys on every hand. The Londoners didn't score another game in the first set, and scored nothing in the second.

"The crowd became thicker and thicker every moment. In the last game the fair schoolboy spun a ball into the far left-hand corner, which the Londoner could not reach, and the match ended in a glorious victory for the two schoolboys, who, apparently unaware of the cheers of the crowd, walked home arm-in-arm as if nothing had happened.

"On their way they met a runaway horse, and loud cries of `Take care!'

`Get out of the way!' met them on all sides. A nursemaid was wheeling a child across the road at that moment, and quick as thought the fair boy sprang at the horse and brought him to a standstill just in time. The crowd seeing it, rushed with a great cheer to the young hero, but he seeing it, took his friend's arm and walked on as if nothing had happened.

"`What are you so pale for?' asked his friend.

"`Oh, nothing very much. I have broken my arm; but it really doesn't matter much.'

"While he spoke he fainted, and if it had not been for his friend, might have fallen.

"Meanwhile the baby, left to herself in the perambulator in the middle of the road, began to cry, which attracted the notice of Vixen, who, seeing she was a nice child, went and lifted her out of her perambulator, and put her in her cradle on her organ while n.o.body was looking, and took her to her home."

"`Whose home?' I asked.

Harry did not condescend to notice this interruption. He may have guessed I was jealous. All that about the heroic fair boy had been taking an unfair advantage of me, and I think he knew it. For I was of a dark complexion! His narrative went on to describe a fight in the organ-grinder's lodgings, and a burglary, followed by a fire at the residence of the parents of the lost child. As a matter of course, the fair boy with his broken arm turned up on the fire-engine, and brought most of the family down the escape with his sound arm. Then by a sudden transition the scene changed back to the organ-grinder's "cottage," on the ground floor of which in another cradle slept another infant, a boy, fair, of course, and beautifully made, showing great promise of physical force and heroism of disposition.

"He was older than Alicia, and could speak a little. There was no one in the room, and as he sat up in his cradle he felt very sad. Presently two young organ-grinders came into the room. One was dark and vicious, the other was fair [of course] and had a pleasant expression. They took no notice of the baby, but sat and smoked and asked riddles of one another. The fair one [of course!] was far the cleverer of the two, and caused much laughter by his wit.

"`Can you tell me,' said he, in a pleasant silvery voice very unlike an organ-grinder, `why an author is a queer animal?'

"`Give it hup,' said the vulgar one, who always put his `h's' wrong.

"`Because his tale comes out of his head!'