Act II

Scene.⁠—A street in Mayfair. Mrs. Clifford’s house. A pastrycook’s shop. Boys looking in at the window.

Bill I say, Jim, ain’t it a lot o’ grub? If I wos a pig now⁠—
Jack I likes to hear Bill a supposin’ of hisself. Go it, Bill!⁠—There ain’t nothink he can’t suppose hisself, Jim.⁠—Bein’ as you ain’t a pig. Bill, you’ve got yer own trotters, an’ yer own tater-trap.
Bill Vereupon blue Bobby eccosts me with the remark, “I wants you, Bill;” and seein’ me too parerlyzed to bolt, he pops me in that ’ere jug vithout e’er a handle.
Jack Mother kep’ a pig once.
Jim What was he like, Jack?
Jack As like any other pig as ever he could look; accep’ that where other pigs is black he wor white, an’ where other pigs is white he wor black.
Jim Did you have the milk in your tea, Jack?
Jack Pigs ain’t got no milk, Jim, you stupe!
Bill Pigs has milk, Jack, only they don’t give it to coves.⁠—I wish I wos the Lord Mayor!
Jack Go it again, Bill. He ought ha’ been a beak, Bill ought. What ’ud you do, Bill, supposin’ as how you wos the Lord Mayor?
Bill I’d take all the beaks, an’ all the peelers, an’ put their own bracelets on ’em, an’ feed ’em once a day on scraps o’ wittles to bring out the hunger: a cove can’t be hungry upon nuffin at all.
Jim He gets what mother calls the squeamishes.
Jack Well, Bill?
Bill Well, the worry moment their bellies was as long an’ as loose as a o’-clo’-bag of a winter’s mornin’, I’d bring ’em all up to this ’ere winder, five or six at a time⁠—with the darbies on, mind ye⁠—
Jim And I’m to be there to see, Bill⁠—ain’t I?
Bill If you’re good, Jim, an’ don’t forget yer prayers.
Jack My eye! it’s as good as a penny gaff! Go it, Bill.
Bill Then I up an’ addresses ’em: “My Lords an’ Gen’lemen, ’cos as how ye’re all good boys, an’ goes to church, an’ don’t eat too many wittles, an’ don’t take off your bracelets when you goes to bed, you shall obswerve me eat.”
Jim Go it, Bill! I likes you, Bill.
Bill No, Jim; I must close. The imagination is a ’ungry gift, as the cock said when he bolted the pebbles. Let’s sojourn the meetin’.
Jack Yes; come along. ’Tain’t a comfable corner this yere: the wind cuts round uncommon sharp. Them pies ain’t good⁠—leastways not to look at.
Bill They ain’t disgestible. But look ye here, Jack and Jim⁠—hearkee, my kids. Puts an arm round the neck of each, and whispers first to one and then to the other.
Enter Mattie and Susan.
Susan Now, Mattie, we’re close to the house, an’ I don’t want to be seen with you, for she’s mad at me.
Mattie You must have made her mad, then, Sue.
Susan She madded me first: what else when she wouldn’t believe a word I said? She’d ha’ sworn on the gospel book, we sent the parcel up the spout. But she’ll believe you, an’ give you something, and then we’ll have a chop!
Mattie How can you expect that, Sue, when the work’s lost?
Susan Never mind; you go and see.
Mattie I shan’t take it, Susan. I couldn’t.
Susan Stuff and nonsense! I’ll wait you round the corner: I don’t like the smell o’ them pastry things.
Exit. Mattie walks past the window.
Mattie I don’t like going. It makes me feel a thief to be suspected.
Bill Lor! it’s our Mattie! There’s our Mattie!⁠—Mattie! Mattie!
Mattie Ah, Bill! you’re there⁠—are you?
Bill Yes, Mattie. It’s a tart-show. You walks up and takes yer chice;⁠—leastways, you makes it: somebody else takes it.
Mattie Wouldn’t you like to take your choice sometimes, Bill?
Bill In course I would.
Mattie Then why don’t you work, and better yourself a bit?
Bill Bless you, Mattie! myself is werry comf’able. He never complains.
Mattie You’re hungry sometimes⁠—ain’t you?
Bill Most remarkable ’ungry, Mattie⁠—this werry moment. Odd you should ask now⁠—ain’t it?
Mattie You would get plenty to eat if you would work.
Bill Thank you⁠—I’d rayther not. Them as ain’t ’ungry never enj’ys their damaged tarts. If I’m ’appy, vere’s the odds? as the cat said to the mouse as wanted to be let off the engagement. Why should I work more’n any other gen’leman?
Mattie A gentleman that don’t work is a curse to his neighbours, Bill.
Bill Bless you, Mattie! I ain’t a curse⁠—nohow to nobody. I don’t see as you’ve got any call to say that, Mattie. I don’t go fakin’ clies, or crackin’ cribs⁠—nothin’ o’ the sort. An’ I don’t mind doin’ of a odd job, if it is a odd one. Don’t go for to say that again, Mattie.
Mattie I won’t, then, Bill. But just look at yourself!⁠—You’re all in rags.
Bill Rags is the hairier, as the Skye terrier said to the black-an’-tan.⁠—I shouldn’t object to a new pair of old trousers, though.
Mattie Why don’t you have a pair of real new ones? If you would only sweep a crossing⁠—
Bill There ain’t, a crossin’ but what’s took. Besides, my legs ain’t put together for one place all day long. It ain’t to be done, Mattie. They can’t do it.
Mattie There’s the shoeblack business, then.
Bill That ain’t so bad, acause you can shoulder your box and trudge. But if it’s all the same to you, Mattie, I’d rayther enj’y life: they say it’s short.
Mattie But it ain’t the same to me. It’s so bad for you to be idle, Bill!
Bill Not as I knows on. I’m tollable jolly, so long’s I gets the browns for my bed.
Mattie Wouldn’t you like a bed with a blanket to it?
Bill Well, yes⁠—if it was guv to me. But I don’t go in for knocking of yourself about, to sleep warm.
Mattie Well, look here, Bill. It’s all Susan and I can do to pay for our room, and get a bit of bread and a cup of tea. It ain’t enough.⁠—If you were to earn a few pence now⁠—
Bill Oh golly! I never thought o’ that. What a hass I wur, to be sure! I’ll go a shoeblackin’ to-morror⁠—I will.
Mattie Did you ever black a shoe, Bill?
Bill I tried a boot oncet⁠—when Jim wor a blackin’ for a day or two. But I made nothink on it⁠—nothink worth mentionin’. The blackin’ or som’at was wrong. The gen’leman said it wur coal-dust, an he’d slog me, an’ adwised me to go an’ learn my trade.
Mattie And what did you say to that?
Bill Holler’d out “Shine yer boots!” as loud as I could holler.
Mattie You must try my boots next time you come.
Bill This wery night, Mattie. I’ll make ’em shine like plate glass⁠—see then if I don’t. But where’ll I get a box and brushes?
Mattie You shall have our brushes and my footstool.
Bill I see! Turn the stool upside down, put the brushes in, and carry it by one leg⁠—as drunken Moll does her kid.⁠—Here you are, sir! Black your boots, sir?⁠—Shine your trotters, sir? Bawling.
Mattie That’ll do; that’ll do, Bill! Famous! You needn’t do it again holding her ears. Would you like a tart?
Bill Just wouldn’t I, then!⁠—Shine your boooooots!
Mattie Laughing. Do hold your tongue, Bill. There’s a penny for a tart.
Bill Thank you, Mattie. Thank you.
Exit into the shop.
Jack and Jim Touching their supposed caps. Please, ma’am! Please, ma’am! I likes ’em too. I likes ’em more ’n Bill.
Mattie I’m very sorry, but⁠—feeling in her pocket I’ve got a ha’penny, I believe. No⁠—there’s a penny! You must share it, you know. Gives it to Jack. Knocks at Mrs. Clifford’s door.
Jack and Jim Thank you, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.
Exit Mattie into Mrs. Clifford’s.
Jim Now, Jack, what’s it to be?
Jack I believe I shall spend it in St. Martin’s Lane.
Jim A ha’p’orth on it’s mine, you know, Jack.
Jack Well, you do put the stunners on me!
Jim She said we wos to divide it⁠—she did.
Jack ’Taint possible. It beats my ivories. He pretends to bite it. Jim flies at him in a rage.
Reenter Bill, with his mouth full.
Bill Now what are you two a squabblin’ over? Oh! Jack’s got a yennep, and Jim’s iookin’ shirty.
Jim She told him to divide it, and he won’t.
Bill Who told him?
Jim Mattie.
Bill You dare, Jack? Hand over.
Jack Be hanged if I do.
Bill Then do and be hanged. A struggle. There, Jim! Now you go and buy what you like.
Jim Am I to give Jack the half?
Bill Yes, if our Mattie said it.
Jim All right, Bill. Goes into the shop.
Jack I owe you one for that, Bill.
Bill Owe it me then, Jack. I do like fair play⁠—always did eating.
Jack You ain’t a sharin’ of your yennep, Bill.
Bill Mattie didn’t say I was to. She knowed one wouldn’t break up into three nohow. ’Tain’t in natur’, Jack.
Jack You might ha’ guv me a bite, anyhow, Bill.
Bill It ain’t desirable, Jack⁠—size o’ trap dooly considered. Here comes your share.
Reenter Jim. Gives a bun to Jack.
Jim I tell you what, Bill⁠—she ain’t your Mattie. She ain’t nobody’s Mattie; she’s a hangel.
Bill No, Jim, she ain’t a hangel; she ’ain’t got no wings, leastways outside her clo’es, and she ’ain’t got clo’es enough to hide ’em. I wish I wos a hangel!
Jack At it again, Bill! I do like to hear Bill a wishin’ of hisself! Why, Bill?
Bill Acause they’re never ’ungry.
Jack How do you know they ain’t?
Bill You never sees ’em loafin’ about nowheres.
Jim Is Mattie your sister, Bill?
Bill No, Jim; I ain’t good ’nough to have a sister like she.
Jack Your sweetheart, Bill? Ha! ha! ha!
Bill Dry up, Jack.
Jim Tell me about her, Bill. I didn’t jaw you.
Bill She lives in our court, Jim. Makes shirts and things.
Jack Oh! ho!

Bill hits Jack. Jack doubles himself up.

Bill Jim, our Mattie ain’t like other gals; I never see her out afore this blessed day⁠—upon my word and honour, Jim, never!
Jack Wiping his nose with his sleeve. You don’t know a joke from a jemmy, Bill.
Bill I’ll joke you!⁠—A hangel tips you a tart, and you plucks her feathers! Get on t’other side of the way, you little dirty devil, or I’ll give you another smeller⁠—cheap too. Off with you!
Jack No, Bill; no, please. I’m wery sorry. I ain’t so bad’s all that comes to.
Bill If you wants to go with Jim and me, then behave like a gen’leman.
Jim I calls our Mattie a brick!
Bill None o’ your jaw, Jim! She ain’t your Mattie.
Enter Thomas.
Thomas Childer, dun yo know th’ way to Paradise⁠—Row, or Road, or summat?
Bill Dunnow, sir. You axes at the Sunday-school.
Thomas Wheer’s th’ Sunday-school, chylt?
Bill Second door round the corner, sir.
Thomas Second dur reawnd th’ corner! Which corner, my man?
Bill Round any corner. Second door’s all-ways Sunday-school. Takes a sight. Exeunt boys.

Thomas sits down on a doorstep.

Thomas Eh, but aw be main weary! Surely th’ Lord dunnot be a forsakin’ ov mo. There’s that abeawt th’ lost ship. Oop yon, wheer th’ angels keep greight flocks ov ’em, they dunnot like to lose one ov ’em, an’ they met well be helpin’ ov mo to look for mo lost lamb i’ this awful plaze! What has th’ shepherd o’ th’ sheep himsel’ to do, God bless him! but go look for th’ lost ones and carry ’em whoam! O Lord! gie mo mo Mattie. Aw’m a silly ship mosel, a sarchin’ for mo lost lamb. Boys begin to gather and stare. She’s o’ the world to me. O Lord, hear mo, and gie mo mo Mattie. Nea, aw’ll geet oop, and go look again. Rises.
First Boy Ain’t he a cricket, Tommy?
Second Boy Spry, ain’t he? Prod him, and see him jump. General insult.
Thomas Why, childer, what have aw done, that yo cry after mo like a thief?
First Boy Daddy Longlegs! Daddy Longlegs!
They hustle and crowd him. Reenter Bill. Thomas makes a rush. They run. He seizes Bill. They gather again.
Thomas Han yo getten a mother, lad?
Bill No, thank ye. ’Ain’t got no mother. Come of a haunt, I do.
First Boy Game!⁠—ain’t he?
Thomas Well, aw’ll tak yo whoam to yor aunt⁠—aw wull.
Bill Will you now, old chap? Wery well. Squats.
Thomas Holding him up by the collar, and shaking his stick over him. Tell mo wheer’s por aunt, or aw’ll breyk every bone i’ yor body.
Bill Wriggling and howling and rubbing his eyes with alternate sleeves. Let me go, I say. Let me go and I’ll tell ye. I will indeed, sir.
Thomas Letting go. Wheer then, mo lad?
Bill Starting up. I’ the church-cellar, sir⁠—first bin over the left⁠—feeds musty, and smells strong. Ho! ho! ho! Takes a sight.

Thomas makes a dart. Bill dodges him.

First Boy Ain’t he a cricket now, Tommy?
Second Boy Got one leg too many for a cricket, Sam.
Third Boy That’s what he jerks hisself with, Tommy.
Thomas Boys, I want to be freens wi’ yo. Here’s a penny.
One of the boys knocks it out of his hand. A scramble.
Thomas Now, boys, dun yo know wheer’s a young woman bi th’ name ov Mattie⁠—somewheer abeawt Paradise Row?
First Boy Yes, old un.
Second Boy Lots on ’em.
Third Boy Which on em’ do you want, Mr. Cricket?
Fourth Boy You ain’t peticlar, I s’pose, old corner-bones?
First Boy Don’t you fret, old stilts. We’ll find you a Mattie. There’s plenty on ’em⁠—all nice gals.
Thomas I want mo own Mattie.
First Boy Why, you’d never tell one from t’other on ’em!
Third Boy All on ’em wery glad to see old Daddy Longlegs!
Thomas Oh dear! Oh dear! What an awful plaze this Lon’on do be! To see the childer so bad!
Second Boy Don’t cry, gran’pa. She’d chaff you worser ’n us! We’re only poor little innocent boys. We don’t know nothink, bless you! Oh no!
First Boy You’d better let her alone, arter all, bag o’ nails.
Second Boy She’ll have it out on you now, for woppin’ of her when she wor a kid.
First Boy She’s a wopper herself now.
Third Boy Mighty fine, with your shirt for a greatcoat. He! he! he!
Fourth Boy Mattie never kicks us poor innocent boys⁠—cos we ’ain’t got no mothers to take our parts. Boo hoo!
Enter Jack⁠—his hands in his pockets.
Jack What’s the row, Bill?
Bill Dunnow, Jack. Old chap collared me when I wasn’t alludin’ to him. He’s after some Mattie or other. It can’t be our Mattie. She wouldn’t never have such a blazin’ old parient as that.
Jack Supposin’ it was your Mattie, Bill, would you split, and let Scull-and-crossbones nab her?
Bill Would I? Would I ’and over our Mattie to her natural enemy? Did you ax it, Jack?
Jack Natural enemy! My eye, Bill! what words you fakes!
Bill Ain’t he her natural enemy, then? Ain’t it yer father as bumps yer ’ed, an’ cusses ye, an’ lets ye see him eat? Afore he gets our Mattie, I’ll bite!
Thomas Poor lad! poor lad! Dunnot say that! Her feyther’s th’ best freen’ hoo’s getten. Th’ moor’s th’ pity, for it’s not mich he can do for her. But he would dee for her⁠—he would.
Boys (all together). Go along, Daddy-devil! Pick yer own bones, an’ ha’ done. Bag-raker! Skin-cat! Bag o’ nails! Scull-an’-crossbones! Old Daddy Longlegs wouldn’t say his prayers⁠—Take him by his left leg, and throw him downstairs. Go along! Go to hell! We’ll skin you. Melt ye down for taller, we will. Only he ’ain’t got none, the red herrin’! They throw things at him. He sits down on the doorstep, and covers his head with his arms. Enter Col. Gervaise Boys run off.
Thomas Oh, mo Mattie! mo Mattie!
Col. Gervaise Poor old fellow! Are you hurt?
Thomas Eh! yo be a followin’ ov mo too!
Col. Gervaise What are you doing here?
Thomas What am aw doin’ yere! Thee knows well enough what aw’re a doin’ yere. It ’re o’ thy fau’t, mon.
Col. Gervaise Why, you’ve got a blow! Your head is cut! Poor old fellow!
Thomas Never yo mind mo yed.
Col. Gervaise You must go home.
Thomas Goo whoam, says to! Aw goo no-wheers but to th’ grave afoor aw’ve feawnd mo chylt.
Col. Gervaise Come along with me; I will do all I can to find her. Perhaps I can help you after all.
Thomas Aw mak nea deawbt o’ that, mon. And thae seems a gradely chap. Aw’m a’most spent. An’ aw’m sick, sick! Dunnot let th’ boys shove mo abeawt again.
Col. Gervaise I will not. They shan’t come near you. Take my arm. Poor old fellow! If you would but trust me! Hey! Cab there!
Exeunt. Enter Susan, peeping.
Susan I wonder whatever’s come to Mattie! It’s long time she was out again.
Enter Mattie, hurriedly.
Mattie Oh, Susan! Susan! Falls.
Susan Mattie! Mattie! Kneels beside her, and undoes her bonnet.
Enter Policeman.
Policeman What ails her? Goes to lift her.
Susan Leave her alone, will you? Let her head down. Get some water.
Policeman Drunk⁠—is she?
Susan Hold your tongue, you brute! If she’d a satin frock on, i’stead o’ this here poor cotton gownd, you’d ha’ showed her t’other side o’ your manners! Get away with you. You’re too ugly to look at.⁠—Mattie! Mattie! Look up, child.
Policeman She mustn’t lie there.
Mattie Susan!
Policeman Come, my girl.
Susan You keep off, I tell you! Don’t touch her. She’s none o’ your sort. Come, Mattie, dear.⁠—Why don’t you make ’em move on?
Policeman You’d better keep a civil tongue in your head, young woman.
Susan You live lobster!
Policeman I’ll have to lock you up, I see. One violent. T’other incapable.
Susan You’re another. Mattie, my dear, come along home.
Policeman That’s right; be off with you.
Mattie rises.
Mattie Let’s go. Sue! Let’s get farther off.
Susan You can’t walk, child. If I hadn’t been so short o’ wittles for a week, I could ha’ carried you. But it’s only a step to the cook-shop.
Mattie No money, Sue. Tries to walk.
Susan O Lord! What shall I do! And that bluebottle there a buzzin’ an’ a starin’ at us like a dead codfish!⁠—Boh!
Enter Bill.
Bill Our Mattie! Gracious! what’s the row, Susan?
Susan She ain’t well. Take her other arm, Bill, and help her out o’ this. We ain’t in no Christian country. Pluck up, Mattie, dear.
Bill Come into the tart-shop. I’m a customer.
They go towards the shop. Exit Policeman.
Mattie No, no, Sukey! I can’t abide the smell of it. Let me sit on the kerb for a minute. Sits down. Oh, father! father!
Bill Never you mind, Mattie! If he wor twenty fathers, he shan’t come near ye.
Mattie Oh, Bill! if you could find him for me! He would take me home.
Bill Now who’d ha’ thought o’ that? Axially wantin’ her own father! I’d run far enough out o’ the way o’ mine⁠—an’ farther if he wur a-axin’ arter me.
Mattie Oh me! my side!
Susan It’s hunger, poor dear! Sits down beside her.
Bill Aside. This won’t do, Bill! I’m a shamed o’ you, Bill! Exit.
Mattie No, Susan, it’s not hunger. It’s the old story, Sue.
Susan Mattie! I never! You don’t mean to go for to tell me you’re a breakin’ of your precious heart about him? It’s not your gentleman surely! It’s not him ye’re turnin’ sick about, this time o’ day?
Mattie nods her head listlessly.
Susan What’s up fresh, then? You was pretty bobbish when you left me. It’s little he thinks of you, I’ll be bound.
Mattie That’s true enough. It’s little he ever thought of me. He did say he loved me, though. It’s fifty times he did!
Susan Lies, lies, Mattie⁠—all lies!
Mattie No, Susan; it wasn’t lies. He meant it⁠—at the time. That’s what made it look all right. Oh dear! Oh dear!
Susan But what’s come to you now, Mattie? What’s fresh in it? You’re not turned like this all at once for nothink!
Mattie I’ve seen him!
Susan Seen him! Oh, my! I wish it had been me. I’d ha’ seen him! I’d ha’ torn his ugly eyes out.
Mattie They ain’t ugly eyes. They’re big and blue, and they sparkle so when he talks to her!
Susan And who’s “her?” Ye didn’t mention a “her.” Some brazen-faced imperence!
Mattie No. The young lady at Mrs. Clifford’s.
Susan Oho! See if I do a stitch for her!⁠—Shan’t I leave a needle in her shimmy, just!
Mattie What shall I do! All the good’s gone out of me! And such a pain here!
Susan Keep in yer breath a minute, an’ push yer ribs out. It’s one on ’em’s got a top o’ the other.
Mattie Such a grand creature! And her colour coming and going like the shadows on the corn! It’s no wonder he forgot poor me. But it’ll burn itself out afore long.
Susan Don’t ye talk like that, Mattie; I can’t abear it.
Mattie If I was dressed like her, though, and could get my colour back! But laws! I’m such a washed out piece o’ goods beside her!
Susan That’s as I say, Matilda! It’s the dress makes the differ.
Mattie No, Susan, it ain’t. It’s the free look of them⁠—and the head up⁠—and the white hands⁠—and the taper fingers. They’re stronger than us, and they’re that trained like, that all their body goes in one, like the music at a concert. I couldn’t pick up a needle without going down on my knees after it. It’s the pain in my side, Sue.⁠—Yes, it’s a fine thing to be born a lady. It’s not the clothes, Sue. If we was dressed ever so, we couldn’t come near them. It’s that look⁠—I don’t know what.
Susan Speak for yerself, Mattie; I’m not a goin’ to think such small beer of myself, I can tell you! I believe if I’d been took in time⁠—
Mattie It’s a big if that though, Sue.⁠—And then she looked so good! You’d hardly think it of me⁠—perhaps it’s because I’m dying⁠—but for one minute I could ha’ kissed her very shoes. Oh, my side!
Susan Putting her arm tight round her waist. Does that help it Mattie, dear?⁠—a little teeny bit?
Mattie Yes, Sukey. It holds it together a bit. Will he break her heart too, I wonder?
Susan No fear o’ that! Ladies takes care o’ theirselves. They’re brought up to it.
Mattie It’s only poor girls gentlemen don’t mind hurting, I suppose.
Susan It’s the ladies’ fathers and brothers, Mattie! We’ve got nobody to look after us.
Mattie They may break their hearts, though, for all that.
Susan They won’t forgive them like you, then, Mattie!
Mattie I dare say they’re much the same as we are when it comes to that, Sue.
Susan Don’t say me, Mattie. I wouldn’t forgive him⁠—no, not if I was to die for it. But what came of it, child?
Mattie I made some noise, I suppose, and the lady started.
Susan And then you up and spoke?
Mattie I turned sick, and fell down.
Susan Poor dear!
Mattie She got me a glass of wine, but I couldn’t swallow it, and got up and crawled out.
Susan Did he see you?
Mattie I think he did.
Susan You’ll tell her, in course?
Mattie No, Sue; he’d hate me, and I couldn’t bear that. Oh me! my side! It’s so bad!
Susan Let’s try for home, Mattie. It’s a long way, and there’s nothing to eat when you’re there; but you can lie down, and that’s everything to them as can’t sit up.
Mattie Rising. I keep fancying I’m going to meet my father.
Susan Let’s fancy it then every turn all the way home, an’ that’ll get us along. There, take my arm. There!⁠—Come along. Exeunt.
Slow music. Twilight. Enter Bill with a three-legged stool, brushes, etc.
Bill Come! it’s blackin’ all over! When gents can’t no longer see their boots, ’tain’t much use offerin’ to shine ’em. But if I can get a penny, I will. I must take a tart to Mattie, or this here damaged one laying his hand on his stomach won’t go to sleep this night.
Enter Waterfield.
Bill Black your boots for a party, sir?
Waterfield Aside. The very rascal I saw her speaking to! But wasn’t she a brick not to split! That’s what I call devotion now! There are some of them capable of it. I’ll set her up for life. I’d give a cool thousand it hadn’t happened, though. I saw her father too hanging about Gervaise’s yesterday.
Bill Clean your boots, sir? Shine ’em till they grin like a Cheshire cat eatin’ cheese!
Waterfield Shine away, you beggar.
Bill Turning up his trousers. I ain’t no beggar, sir. Shine for a shiner’s fair play.
Waterfield Do you live in this neighbourhood?
Bill No, sir.
Waterfield Where, then?
Bill Feeling where a pocket should be. I don’t appear to ’ave a card about me, sir, but my address is Lamb’s Court, Camomile Street⁠—leastways I do my sleepin’ not far off of it. I’ve lived there, what livin’ I have done, sin’ ever I wor anywheres as I knows on.
Waterfield Do you happen to know a girl of the name of Pearson?
Bill No, sir. I can’t say as how I rec’lect the name. Is she a old girl or a young un?
Waterfield You young liar! I saw you talking to her not two hours ago!
Bill Did ye now, sir? That’s odd, ain’t it? Bless you! I talks to everybody. I ain’t proud, sir.
Waterfield Well, do you see this? Holding up a sovereign.
Bill That’s one o’ them tilings what don’t require much seein’, sir. There! Bright as a butterfly! T’other twin, sir!
Waterfield I’ll give you this, if you’ll do something for me⁠—and another to that when the thing’s done.
Bill ’Tain’t stealin’, sir?
Waterfield No.
Bill Cos, you see, Mattie⁠—
Waterfield Who did you say?
Bill Old Madge as lets the beds at tuppence a short night. ’Tain’t stealin’, you say, sir?
Waterfield What do you take me for? I want you to find out for me where the girl Pearson lives⁠—that’s all.
Bill Snatching the sovereign and putting it in his mouth. Now then, sir!⁠—What’s the young woman like?
Waterfield Rather tall⁠—thin⁠—dark hair⁠—large dark eyes⁠—and long white hands. Her name’s Matilda⁠—Mattie Pearson⁠—the girl you were talking to, I tell you, on this very spot an hour or two ago.
Bill Dropping the sovereign, and stooping to find it. Golly! it is our Mattie!
Waterfield Shall you know her again?
Bill Any boy as wasn’t a hass would know his own grandmother by them spots. Besides, I remember sich a gal addressin’ of me this mornin’. If you say her it was, I’ll detect her for ye.
Waterfield There’s a good boy! What’s your name?
Bill Timothy, sir.
Waterfield What else?
Bill Never had no other⁠—leastways as I knows on.
Waterfield Well, Timothy⁠—there’s the other sov.⁠—and it’s yours the moment you take me to her. Look at it.
Bill My eye!⁠—Is she a square Moll, sir?
Waterfield What do you mean by that?
Bill Green you are, to be sure!⁠—She ain’t one as steals, or⁠—
Waterfield Not she. She’s a sempstress⁠—a needlewoman, or something of the sort.
Bill And where shall I find you, sir?
Waterfield Let me see:⁠—tomorrow night⁠—on the steps of St. Martin’s Church⁠—ten o’clock.
Bill But if I don’t find her? It may be a week⁠—or a month⁠—or⁠—
Waterfield Come whether you find her or not, and let me know.
Bill All serene, sir! There you are, sir! Brush your trousers, sir?
Waterfield No; leave ’em.⁠—Don’t forget now.
Bill Honour bright, sir! Not if I knows it, sir!
Waterfield There’s that other skid, you know.
Bill All right, sir! Anything more, sir?
Waterfield Damn your impudence! Get along.
Exit. Bill watches him into Mrs. Clifford’s.
Bill Now by all the ’ungry gums of Arabiar, ’ere’s a swell arter our Mattie!⁠—A right rig’lar swell! I knows ’em⁠—soverings an’ red socks. What’s come to our Mattie? ’Ere’s Daddy Longlegs arter her, vith his penny and his blessin’! an’ ’ere’s this ’ere mighty swell vith his soverings⁠—an’ his red socks! An’ she’s ’ungry, poor gal!⁠—This ’ere yellow-boy?⁠—I ’ain’t got no faith in swells⁠—no more ’n in Daddy Longlegses⁠—I ’ain’t!⁠—S’posin’ he wants to marry her?⁠—Not if I knows it. He ain’t half good ’nough for her. Too many quids⁠—goin’ a flingin’ on ’em about like buttons! He’s been a crackin’ o’ cribs⁠—he has. I ain’t a goin’ to interduce our Mattie to no sich blokes as him. No fathers or lovyers for me⁠—says I!⁠—But this here pebble o’ Paradise!⁠—What’s to be done wi’ the cherub? I can’t tell her a lie about it, an’ who’ll break it up for a cove like me, lookin’ jes’ as if I’d been an’ tarred myself and crep’ through a ragbag! They’d jug me. An’ what ’ud Mattie say then? I wish I ’adn’t ’a’ touched it. I’m blowed if I don’t toss it over a bridge!⁠—Then the gent ’ain’t got the weight on his dunop out o’ me. O Lord! what shall I do with it? I wish I’d skied it in his face! I don’t believe it’s a good un; I don’t! Bites it. It do taste wery nasty. It’s nothin’ better ’n a gilt fardin’! Jes’ what a cove might look for from sich a swell! Goes to a street lamp and examines it. Lor! there’s a bobby! Exit. Reenter to the lamp. I wish the gen’leman ’ad guv me a penny. I can’t do nothin’ wi’ this ’ere quid. Vere am I to put it? I ’ain’t got no pocket, an’ if I was to stow it in my ’tato-trap, I couldn’t wag my red rag⁠—an’ Mother Madge ’ud soon have me by the chops. Nor I’ve got noveres to plant it.⁠—O Lor! it’s all I’ve got, an’ Madge lets nobody go to bed without the tuppence. It’s all up with Bill⁠—for the night!⁠—Where’s the odds!⁠—there’s a first-class hotel by the river⁠—The Adelphi Arches, they calls it⁠—where they’ll take me in fast enough, and I can go to sleep with it in my cheek. Coves is past talkin’ to you there. Nobody as sees me in that ’ere ’aunt of luxury, ’ill take me for a millionaire vith a skid in his mouth. ’Tain’t a bit cold tonight neither going.⁠—Vy do they say a “aunt” of luxury? I s’pose acause she’s wife to my uncle. Exit.
Slow music. The night passes. A policeman crosses twice. Thomas crosses between. Dawn. Reenter Bill.
Bill I’m hanged if this here blasted quid ain’t a burnin’ of me like a red-hot fardin’! I’m blest if I’ve slep’ more ’n half the night. I woke up oncet, with it a slippin’ down red lane. I wish I had swallered it. Then nobody ’d ’a’ ast me vere I got it. I don’t wonder as rich coves turn out sich a bad lot. I believe the devil’s in this ’ere!
Knocks at Mrs. Clifford’s door. James opens. Is shutting it again. Bill shoves in his stool.
Bill Hillo, Blazes! where’s your manners? Is that the way you behaves to callers on your gov’nor’s business?
James Half opening the door. Get about your own business, you imperent boy!
Bill I’m about it now, young man. I wants to see your gov’nor.
James You’ve got business with him, have you, eh?
Bill Amazin’ precoxity! You’ve hit it! I have got business with him, Doorpost⁠—not in the wery smallest with you, Doorpost!⁠—essep’ the knife-boy’s been and neglected of your feet-bags this mornin’. James would slam the door. Bill shoves in his stool. Don’t you try that ’ere little game again, young man! for if I loses my temper and takes to hollerin’, you’ll wish yourself farther.
James A humbug you are! I ’ain’t got no gov’nor, boy. The master as belongs to me is a mis’ess.
Bill Then that ’ere gen’lemen as comes an’ goes, ain’t your master⁠—eh?
James What gen’leman, stoopid?
Bill Oh! it don’t matter.
James What have⁠—you⁠—got to say to him?
Bill Some’at pickled: it’ll keep.
James I’ll give him a message, if you like.
Bill Well, you may tell him the bargain’s hoff, and if he wants his money, it’s a waitin’ of him round the corner.
James You little blackguard! Do you suppose a gen’leman’s a goin’ to deliver sich a message as that! Be off, you himp! Makes a dart at him.
Bill Dodging him. How d’e do, Clumsy? Don’t touch me; I ain’t nice. Why, what was you made for, Parrot? Is them calves your own rearin’ now? Is that a quid or a fardin? Have a shot, now, Shins.
James None o’ your imperence, young blackie! ’And me over the money, and I’ll give it to the gen’leman.
Bill Do you see anything peticlar green in my eye, Rainbow?
James makes a rush. Bill gets down before him. James tumbles over him. Bill blacks his face with his brush.
Bill Running a little way. Ha! ha! ha! Bill Shoeblack⁠—his mark! Who’s blackie now? You owes me a penny⁠—twopence⁠—’twor sich a ugly job! Ain’t shiny? I’ll come back and shine ye for another penny. Good mornin’, Jim Crow! Take my adwice, and don’t on no account apply your winegar afore you’ve opened your hoyster. Likeways: Butter don’t melt on a cold tater. Exit.
Exit James into the house, banging the door. Enter Waterfield, followed by Bill.
Bill Please, sir, I been a watchin’ for you.
Waterfield Go to the devil!
Bill I’d rayther not. So there’s your suv’ring!
Waterfield Go along. Meet me where I told you.
Bill I won’t. There’s yer skid.
Waterfield Be off, or I’ll give you in charge. Hey! Policeman! Exit.
Bill Well, I’m blowed! This quid ’11 be the hangin’ o’ me! Damn you! Throws it fiercely on the ground and stamps on it. Serves me right for chaffin’ the old un! He didn’t look a bad sort⁠—for a gov’nor.⁠—Now I reflexes, I heerd Mattie spoony on some father or other, afore. O Lord! I’ll get Jim and Jack to help me look out for him. Enter Thomas. Lor’ ha’ mussy!⁠—talk o’ the old un!⁠—I’m wery peticlar glad as I found you, daddy. I been a lookin’ for ye⁠—leastways I was a goin’ to look for ye this wery moment as you turns up. I chaffed you like a zorologicle monkey yesterday, daddy, an’ I’m wery sorry. But you see fathers ain’t nice i’ this ’ere part o’ the continent. Enter James, in plain clothes, watching them. They ain’t no good nohow to nobody. If I wos a husband and a father, I don’t know as how I should be A One, myself. P’r’aps I might think it wur my turn to break arms and legs. I knowed more ’n one father as did. It’s no wonder the boys is a plaguy lot, daddy.
Thomas Goo away, boy. Dosto yer, aw’ve seen so mich wickedness sin’ aw coom to Lon’on, that aw dunnot knaw whether to breighk thi yed, or to goo wi’ tho? There be thieves and there be robbers.
Bill Never fear, daddy. You ain’t worth robbin’ of, I don’t think.
Thomas How dosto knaw that? Aw’ve moore ’n I want to lose abeawt mo.
Bill Then Mattie ’ill have som’at to eat⁠—will she, daddy?
Thomas Som’at to eight, boy! Be mo Mattie hungry⁠—dun yo think?
Bill Many and many’s the time, daddy.
Thomas Yigh⁠—afore her dinner!
Bill And after it too, daddy.
Thomas O Lord!⁠—And what does hoo do when hoo ’s hungry?
Bill Grins and bears it. Come and see her, daddy?
Thomas O Lord! Mo Mattie, an’ nothin’ to eight! Goo on, boy. Aw’m beawn to follow yo. Tak mo wheer yo like. Aw’ll goo.
Bill Come along then, daddy.
James Collaring him. Hullo, young un! You’re the rascal as stole the suvering: I saw you!
Bill Dunno what you’re up to. I never stole nothink.
James Oh no! of course not! What’s that in yer fist now? Catches Bill’s hand, and forces it open. There!
Bill drops his stool on James’s foot, throws up the coin, catches it with his other hand, and puts it in his mouth.
Thomas Theighur! Theighur! The like ov that! Aw’re agooin wi’ a thief⁠—aw wur!
Bill Never you mind, daddy. It wur guv to me.
James That’s what they allus says, sir.⁠—You come along.⁠—I’d be obliged to you, sir, if you would come too, and say you saw him.
Thomas Nay! aw connot say aw seigh him steyle it.
James You saw it in his hand.
Thomas Yigh! aw did.
Bill It wis guv to me, I tell ye.
James Honest boy, this one! Looks like it, don’t he, sir? What do you think of yourself, you young devil, a decoying of a grey-haired old gen’leman like this? Why, sir, him an’ his pals ’ud ha’ taken every penny you had about you! Murdered you, they might⁠—I’ve knowed as much. It’s a good thing I ’appened on the spot.⁠—Come along, you bad boy!
Bill I didn’t, take it. And I won’t go.
James Come along. They’ll change it for you at the lockup.
Bill You didn’t see me steal it! You ain’t never a goin’ to gi’ me in charge?
James Wrong again, young un! That’s? percisely what I am a goin’ to do!
Bill Oh, sir! please, sir! I’m a honest boy. It’s the Bible-truth. I’ll kiss twenty books on it.
James I won’t ax you.⁠—Why, sir, he ain’t even one o’ the shoe-brigade. He ’ain’t got a red coat. Bless my soul! he ’ain’t even got a box⁠—nothin’ but a scrubby pair o’ brushes as I’m alive! He ain’t no shoeblack. He’s a thief as purtends to black shoes, and picks pockets.
Bill You’re a liar! I never picked a pocket, in my life.
James Bad language, you see! What more would you have?
Thomas Who’d iver lia’ thowt o’ sich wickedness in a boy like that!
Bill I ain’t a wicked boy, no. Nay, doan’t thae tell mo that! Thae made gam of mo, and hurried and scurried mo, as iv aw’d been a mak ov a deevil⁠—yo did.
James He’s one of the worst boys I know. This Timothy is one of the very worst boys in all London.
Bill Aside. Timothy, eh? I twigs! It’s Rainbow, by Peter and Paul!⁠—Look y’e here, old gen’leman! This ’ere’s a bad cove as is takin’ adwantage o’ your woolliness. I knows him. His master guv me the suvering. He guv it to me to tell him where your Mattie was.
James Don’t you fancy you’re g’ in’ to take in an experienced old gen’leman like that with your cock-and-bull stories! Come along, I say. Hey! Police!
Bill Here you are! Takes the coin from his mouth, rubs it dry on his jacket, and offers it. I don’t want it. Give it to old Hunx there.⁠—He shan’t never see his Mattie! I wur right to chivy him, arter all.
James Taking the coin. Now look here, Timothy. I’m a detective hofficer. But I won’t never be hard on no buy as wants to make a honest livin’. So you be hoff! I’ll show the old gen’leman where he wants to go to.
Bill moves two paces, and takes a sight at him.
Thomas The Lord be praised! Dosto know eawr Mattie then?
James It’s the dooty of a detective hofficer to know every girl in his beat.
Bill My eye! there’s a oner!
Thomas Tak mo to her, sir, an’ aw’ll pray for yo.
James I will.⁠—If I cotch you nearer than Mile End, I’ll give you in charge at oncet.
Bill Bolting five yards. He’s a humbug, daddy! but he’ll serve you right. He’ll melt you down for taller. He ain’t no ’tective. I know him.
Thomas Goo away.
Bill Goodbye, daddy! He don’t know your Mattie. Goodbye, skelington! Exit.
Thomas Eh! sech a boy!
James Let me see. You want a girl of the name of Mattie?
Thomas Aw do, sir.
James The name is not an oncommon one. There’s Mattie Kent?
Thomas Nay; it’s noan o’ her.
James Then there’s Mattie Winchfield?
Thomas Nay; it’s noan o’ her.
James Then there’s Mattie Pearson?
Thomas Yigh, that’s hoo! That’s hoo! Wheer? Wheer?
James Well, it’s too far for a man of your age to walk. But I’ll call a cab, and we’ll go comfortable.
Thomas But aw connot affoord to peigh for a cab⁠—as yo co it.
James You don’t suppose I’m a goin’ to put an honest man like you to expense!
Thomas It’s but raysonable I should peigh. But thae knows best.
James Hey! Cab there! Exeunt.
Reenter Bill, following them.
Bill I’ll have an eye of him, though. The swell as give me the yellow-boy⁠—he’s his master! Poor old codger! He’ll believe any cove but the one as tells him the truth!
Exit. Enter from the house Mrs. Clifford. Enter from opposite side Col. Gervaise.
Col. Gervaise I was just coming to see you, Clara.
Mrs. Clifford And I was going to see you. How’s Arthur today? I thought you would have come yesterday.
Col. Gervaise My poor boy is as dependent on me as if I were not his father. I am very anxious about him. The fever keeps returning.
Mrs. Clifford Fortune seems to have favoured your mad scheme, Walter.
Col. Gervaise Or something better than fortune.
Mrs. Clifford You have had rare and ample opportunity. You may end the farce when you please, and in triumph.
Col. Gervaise On the contrary, Clara, it would be nothing but an anticlimax to end what you are pleased to call “the farce” now. As if I could make a merit of nursing my own boy! I did more for my black servant. I wish I had him here.
Mrs. Clifford You would like to double the watch⁠—would you?
Col. Gervaise Something has vexed you, Clara.
Mrs. Clifford I never liked the scheme, and I like it less every day.
Col. Gervaise I have had no chance yet. He has been ill all the time. I wish you would come and see him a little oftener.
Mrs. Clifford He doesn’t want me. You are everything now. Besides, I can’t come alone.
Col. Gervaise Why not?
Mrs. Clifford Constance would fancy I did not want to take her.
Col. Gervaise Then why not take her?
Mrs. Clifford I have my reasons.
Col. Gervaise What are they?
Mrs. Clifford Never mind.
Col. Gervaise I insist upon knowing them.
Mrs. Clifford It would break my heart, Walter, to quarrel with you, but I will if you use such an expression.
Col. Gervaise But why shouldn’t you bring Miss Lacordère with you?
Mrs. Clifford He’s but a boy, and it might put some nonsense in his head.
Col. Gervaise She’s a fine girl. You make a friend of her.
Mrs. Clifford She’s a good girl, and a ladylike girl; but I don’t want to meddle with the bulwarks of society. I hope to goodness they will last my time.
Col. Gervaise Clara, I begin to doubt whether pride be a Christian virtue.
Mrs. Clifford I see! You’ll be a radical before long. Everything is going that way.
Col. Gervaise I don’t care what I am, so I do what’s right. I’m sick of all that kind of thing. What I want is bare honesty. I believe I’m a tory as yet, but I should be a radical tomorrow if I thought justice lay on that side.⁠—If a man falls in love with a woman, why shouldn’t he marry her?
Mrs. Clifford She may be unfit for him.
Col. Gervaise How should he fall in love with her, then? Men don’t fall in love with birds.
Mrs. Clifford It’s a risk⁠—a great risk.
Col. Gervaise None the greater that he pleases himself, and all the more worth taking. I wish my poor boy⁠—
Mrs. Clifford Your poor boy might please himself and yet not succeed in pleasing you, brother!
Col. Gervaise Aside. She knows something.⁠—I must go and see about his dinner. Goodbye, sister.
Mrs. Clifford Goodbye, then. You will have your own way!
Col. Gervaise This once, Clara. Exeunt severally.

End of Act II.