"Does your aunt allow you to let the fire out on nights like this--hey?

You're a charming young lady, _you_--and this young gentleman, in manners and appearance, everything the proudest aunt could desire; but I'm curious to know whether either one or the other is of the slightest earthly use; and secondly, whether she keeps a birch-rod in that closet--hey?--and now and then _flogs_ you--ha, ha, ha! The expense of the rod is trifling, the pain not worth mentioning, and soon over, but the moral effects are admirable, better and more durable--take my word for it--than all the catechisms in Paternoster Row."

The old gentleman seemed much tickled by his own pleasantries, and laughed viciously as he eyed the children.

"You did not tell me a fib, I hope, my dear, about your aunt? She's a long time about coming; and, I say, do put a little coal on the fire, will you?"

"Coal's locked up, please sir," said the child, who was growing more afraid of him every minute.

"'Gad, it seems to me that worthy woman's afraid you'll carry off the bricks and plaster. Where's the poker? Chained to the wall, I suppose.

Well, there's a complaint called kleptomania--it comes with a sort of irritation at the tips of the fingers, and I should not be surprised if you and your friend Jemmie, there, had got it."

Jemmie looked at his fingers' ends, and up in the gentleman's face, in anxious amazement.

"But there's a cure for it--essence of cane--and if that won't do, a capital charm--nine tails of a gray cat, applied under competent direction. Your aunt seems to understand that disorder--it begins with an itching in the fingers, and ends with a pain in the back--ha, ha, ha!

You're a pair of theologians, and, if you've read John Bunyan, no doubt understand and enjoy an allegory."

"Yes, sir, please, we will," answered poor Lucy Maria, in her perplexity.

"And we'll be very good friends, Miss Maria Louise, or whatever your name is, I've no doubt, provided you play me no tricks and do precisely whatever I bid you; and, upon my soul, if you don't, Til take the devil out of my pocket and frighten you out of your wits, I will--ha, ha, ha!--so sure as you live, into _fits_!"

And the old gentleman, with an ugly smile on his thin lips, and a frown between his white eyebrows, fixed his glittering gaze on the child and wagged his head.

You may be sure she was relieved when, at that moment, she heard her aunt's well-known step on the lobby, and the latch clicked, the door opened, and Miss Rumble entered.

CHAPTER VII.

MR. DINGWELL MAKES HIMSELF COMFORTABLE.

"AH!--_ho!_ you are Miss Rumble--hey?" said the old gentleman, fixing a scrutinising glance from under his white eyebrows upon Sally Rumble, who stood in the doorway, in wonder, not unmixed with alarm; for people who stand every hour in presence of Giant Want, with his sword at their throats, have lost their faith in fortune, and long ceased to expect a benevolent fairy in any stranger who may present himself dubiously, and antic.i.p.ate rather an enemy. So, looking hard at the gentleman who stood before the little fire, with his hat on, and the light of the solitary dipt candle shining on his by no means pleasant countenance, she made him a little frightened courtesy, and acknowledged that she was Sally Rumble, though she could not tell what was to follow.

"I've been waiting; I came here to see you--pray, shut the door--from two gentlemen, Jews whom you know--_friends_--don't be uneasy--friends of _mine_, friends of _yours_--Mr. Goldshed and Mr. Levi, the kindest, sweetest, sharpest fellows alive, and here's a note from them--you can _read_?"

"Read! Law bless you--yes, sir," answered Sally.

"Thanks for the blessing: read the note; it's only to tell you I'm the person they mentioned this morning, Mr. Dingwell. Are the rooms ready?

You can make me comfortable--eh?"

"In a humble way, sir," she answered, with a courtesy.

"Yes, of course; I'm a humble fellow, and--I hear you're a sensible young lady. These little pitchers here, of course, have ears: I'll say all that's necessary as we go up: there's a fellow with a cab at the door, isn't there? Well, there's some little luggage of mine on it--we must get it up stairs; give the Hamal something to lend a hand; but first let me see my rooms."

"Yes, sir," said Sally, with another courtesy, not knowing what a Hamal meant. And Mr. Dingwell, taking up his bag and stick, followed her in silence, as with the dusky candle she led the way up the stairs.

She lighted a pair of candles in the drawing-room. There was some fire in the grate. The rooms looked better than he had expected; there were curtains, and an old Turkish carpet, and some shabby, and some handsome, pieces of furniture.

"It will do, it will do--ha, ha, ha! How like a p.a.w.nbroker's store it looks--no two things match in it; but it is not bad: those Jew fellows, of course, did it? All this stuff isn't yours?" said Mr. Dingwell.

"Law bless you, no, sir," answered Sally, with a dismal smile and a shake of her head.

"Thanks again for your blessing. And the bed-room?" inquired he.

She pushed open the door.

"Capital looking-gla.s.s," said he, standing before his dressing-table--"cap-i-tal! if it weren't for that great seam across the middle--ha, ha, ha! funny effect, by Jove! Is it colder than usual, here?"

"No, sir, please; a nice evening."

"Devilish nice, by Allah! I'm cold through and through my great coat.

Will you please poke up that fire a little? Hey! what a grand bed we've got! what ta.s.sels and ropes! and, by Jove, carved angels or _Cupids_--I hope Cupids--on the foot-board!" he said, running the tip of his cane along the profile of one of them. "They must have got this a wonderful bargain. Hey! I hope no one died in it last week?"

"Oh, la! sir; Mr. Levi is a very pitickler gentleman; he wouldn't for all he's worth."

"Oh! not he, I know; very particular."

Mr. Dingwell was holding the piece of damask curtain between his finger and thumb, and she fancied was sniffing at it gently.

"Very particular, but I'm more so. We, English, are the dirtiest dogs in the world. They ought to get the Turks to teach 'em to wash and be clean. I travelled in the East once, for a commercial house, and know something of them. Can you make coffee?"

"Yes, sir, please."

"Very strong?"

"Yes, sir, sure."

"_Very_, mind. As strong as the devil it must be, and as clear as--as your conscience." He was getting out a tin case, as he spoke. "Here it is. I got it in--I forget the name--a great place, near one of your bridges. I suppose it's as good as any to be had in this place. Of course it isn't _all_ coffee. We must go to the _heathen_ for that; but if they haven't ground up toasted skeletons, or anything dirty in it, I'm content. I'm told you can't eat or drink a mouthful here without swallowing something you never bargained for. Everything is drugged.

Look at our Caiquejees! You have no such men in your padded Horse-guards. And what do they live on? Why, a crust of brown bread and a melon, and now and then a dish of pilauf! But it's good--it's pure--it's what it calls itself. You d----d Christian cheats, you're an opprobrium to commerce and civilisation; you're the greatest oafs on earth, with all your police and spies. Why it's only to _will_ it, and you _don't_; you let it go on. We are a.s.suredly a beastly people!"

"Sugar, please, sir?"

"No, thank you."

"Take milk, sir?"

"Heaven forbid! Milk, indeed! I tell you what, Mrs.--What's your name?--I tell you, if the Sultan had some of your great fellows--your grocers, and bakers, and dairymen, and brewers, egad!--out there, he'd have 'em on their ugly faces and bastinado their great feet into custard pudding! I've seen fellows--and devilish glad I _was_ to see it, I can tell you--screaming like stuck pigs, and their eyes starting out of their heads, and their feet like bags of black currant jelly, ha, ha, ha!--for a good deal less. Now, you see, ma'am, I have high notions of honesty; and this tin case I'm going to give you will give me three small cups of coffee, as strong as I've described, six times over; do you understand?--six times three, eighteen; _eighteen_ small cups of coffee; and don't let those pretty little foxes' cubs down stairs meddle with it. Tell 'em I know what I'm about, and they'd better not, ha, ha, ha! nor with anything that belongs to me, to the value of a single piastre."

Miss Sarah Rumble was a good deal dismayed by the jubilant severity of Mr. Dingwell's morals. She would have been glad had he been of a less sharp and cruel turn of pleasantry. Her heart was heavy, and she wished herself a happy deliverance, and had a vague alarm about the poor little children's falling under suspicion, and of all that might follow. But what could she do? Poverty is so powerless, and has so little time to weigh matters maturely, or to prepare for any change; its hands are always so full, and its stomach so empty, and its spirits so dull.

"I wish those d----d curtains were off the bed," and again they underwent the same disgusting process; "and the bed-clothes, egad! They purify nothing here. You know _nothing_ about _them_ either, of course?

No--but they would not like to kill me. _No_;--that would not do. Knock their little game on the head, eh? I suppose it _is_ all right. What's prevalent here now? What sort of--I mean what sort of _death_--fever, small-pox, or scarlatina--eh? Much sickness going?"

"Nothink a'most, sir; a little measles among the children."

"No objection to that; it heads them down a bit, and does not trouble us. But what among the _grown_ people?"