An Interview with Barney Sturt.
“Couldn’t you make it a four-wheeler, Sam,” said Mrs Jenkles, one evening, “and take me up and bring us all back together?”
“Now, lookye here, old lady,” said Sam, “I don’t want to be hard, nor I don’t want to be soft, but what I says is this here—Where’s it going to end?”
“What do you mean, Sam?” exclaimed Mrs Jenkles.
“What I says, my dear—Where’s it going to end? You’ve got over me about the money, and you’ve got over me about the lodgings. You’re allus going to Mrs Lane to tea, as I knows they don’t find; and now you wants me to give up my ’ansom, borrer a four-wheeler, and lose ’bout a pound as I should make in fares; and what I says is—Where’s it going to end?”
“Sam, Sam, Sam,” said Mrs Jenkles, “when did you ever go out with your cab for about a couple of hours and make a pound?”
Sam stood rubbing his nose, and there was a droll twinkle in his eye as he replied—
“Well, I might make a pound, you know.”
“Now don’t talk stuff, Sam, but go to the yard and change your cab, take me up there, and bring us all back comfortable.”
“You’re argoing it, you are, missus,” said Sam. “That’s the way—order your kerridge. ‘Sam,’ says you, ‘the kerridge at six.’ ‘Yes, mum,’ says I. ‘Oppery or dinner party?’ ‘Only to make a hevening call, Sam,’ says you. ‘Werry good, mum,’ says I.”
“If you want me to go up there by myself, Sam, and fetch them, I’ll go, and we can get back somehow by the ’bus; but I thought you’d like to come up and see that those ladies and your wife weren’t insulted.”
“I should jest like to catch anybody at it, that’s all,” said Sam, sharply.
“I didn’t mean to say anything, Sam,” continued Mrs Jenkles; “for I thought if we’d got such a man as you with us, no one would dare to interfere.”
“Now, look here,” said Sam, “I never did come across such an old snail as you are, missus; I like the allus being at home part of it, but it’s the hiding as I don’t like. Now, look here, I never does nothing without coming and telling you all about it; and as for you, why, you’ve allus got something in the way for me to find out.”
“What’s the use of me bothering you with trifles, Sam, when you’ve got plenty of troubles on your mind? I would tell you if it was anything you need know.”
“Well, come now, what’s it all mean bout Miss Lane?” said Sam.
“Only, dear, that since those people have found that Mrs Lane meant to leave, they’ve turned very strange, and the poor child’s quite frightened and timid like.”
“Now, why couldn’t you say so at first,” said Sam, “instead of dodging and hiding, and making a blind man’s buffer of me? That’s it, is it? Mr Barney of the betting ring—‘Ten to one bar one’—means to be nasty, does he? Well, all I’ve got to say is, just let him try it on, that’s all!”
“Now, there it is,” said Mrs Jenkles; “that’s just what I want to avoid. Tell you about it, and you want to do the very thing as will upset that poor girl; and oh! Sam, do be careful, she—”
Mrs Jenkles added something in a whisper.
“I’ll be careful enough,” said Sam; “and look here—how long shall you be?”
“I’m ready now, Sam,” said his wife.
“Yes, but I’ve got to go down to the yard, and get the keb changed; take me ’bout three-quarters of an hour, it will, and then I’m back.”
Sam went off, muttering to himself; the only words audible being—
“Jest let him, that’s all!”
And within the prescribed time he was driving Mrs Jenkles up to Mrs Lane’s wretched lodgings.
Mrs Jenkles passed in, after a word or two with her husband, and saw at a glance Barney of the black chin smoking in his shop, and Mrs Barney looking over his shoulder. She took no notice of them, and went upstairs, to find Mrs Lane looking very pale and much excited, holding Netta’s hand.
“And how’s my pretty to-night?” said Mrs Jenkles, after a quick glance had passed between her and the mother.
“Quite—quite well,” said the girl, placing both her hands in those of Mrs Jenkles, and holding her face to be kissed; but her unnaturally bright eyes and flushed face contradicted her words, and she kept glancing timidly towards the door.
“That’s right, my dear,” said Mrs Jenkles. “Ah! and I see you’ve got the trunk packed, and all ready. I’ve got some flowers for you at home, and everything waiting; so don’t you go looking like that.”
“She has been a little frightened today,” said Mrs Lane; “the people downstairs—”
“Oh, don’t you mind them,” said Mrs Jenkles. “They don’t like losing good lodgers, now it comes to the point, with all their grumbling. Have you paid your bit of rent?”
“Yes,” said Mrs Lane; and she glanced anxiously at her child, whose alarm seemed to increase.
“I see,” said Mrs Jenkles, in her most business-like way. “Now, look here, the thing is to get it over quickly. Have you got everything there?” and she pointed to a trunk and carpet-bag.
“Yes, everything,” said Mrs Lane.
“Then I’ll call up Sam to take them down to the cab.”
“No, no—stop!” exclaimed Netta. “Oh! mamma, had we not better stop? That man—what he said this morning!”
“There, there, my pretty,” said Mrs Jenkles, “don’t you be alarmed. You leave it to me.”
Then going to the window, she signalled to Sam, who was busy tying knots in his shabby whipthong.
As Mrs Jenkles turned from the window, the door was thrown open, and Mrs Sturt, looking very aggressive, entered the room, closely followed by her lord, smoking his black pipe of strong, rank tobacco.
Netta shrank timidly back into her seat, catching at her mothers hand, while the result of the tobacco-smoke was to set her coughing painfully.
“Now if you please,” said Mrs Sturt, “I want to know what this means?”
And she pointed to the trunk and the other manifest signs of departure.
“I told you a week ago, Mrs Sturt, that we intended to leave,” said Mrs Lane, speaking with a forced calmness, as she pressed her child’s hand encouragingly.
“And so you think a week’s notice is enough after the way as we’ve been troubled to get our bit of rent?” said Mrs Sturt, raising her voice. “Are we to be left with our place empty, after harbouring a pack of lodgers with no more gratitude than—than—than nothing?” continued the woman, at a loss for a simile.
“I have nothing to do with that,” said Mrs Lane, with dignity. “Mrs Sturt, I have rigidly kept to the arrangement I made with you, and you have no right to expect more.”
“Oh, haven’t I?” said the woman. “Do you hear that, Barney? I’ll just let ’em see!”
Barney growled, and showed his teeth.
“Lookye here,” he said, hoarsely; “you aint agoing to leave here, so now then. And you, missus,” tinning to Mrs Jenkles, “you’re gallus clever, you are; but you may let your lodgings to some one else.”
Netta’s clutch of her mother’s hand grew convulsive, and her face wore so horrified an expression that Mrs Jenkles did not reply to the challenge directed at her, but stepped to the poor girl’s side.
“Don’t you be frightened, my dear,” she whispered; and then to herself—“Why don’t Sam come?”
“Mr Sturt,” said Mrs Lane, firmly in voice, though she trembled as she spoke to the fellow, “you have no right to try and force us to stay if we wish to leave.”
“Oh! aint I,” said Barney. “I’ll let you see about that. Here, give us that,” he said, turning to snatch a paper from his wife’s hand. “Let alone what he telled me too, about yer—”
“He! Who?” exclaimed Mrs Lane, excitedly.
Netta started from her chair.
“Never you mind,” said Barney, showing his great teeth in a grin. “You think I don’t know all about yer, now, don’t yer? But you’re precious mistaken!”
“But tell me, man, has any one—”
“There, there, it’s all right, Mrs Lane—you’ve got to stop here, that’s what you’ve got to do. What have you got to say to that, for another thing?”
As Barney spoke, he thrust the paper down before Mrs Lane, and went on smoking furiously.
“What’s this? I don’t owe you anything,” said Mrs Lane, whose courage seemed failing.
“Don’t owe us anything, indeed!” said Mrs Sturt, in her vinegary voice; “why, there’s seven pun’ ten, and seven for grosheries!”
“Oh! this is cruel as it’s scandalous and false!” cried Mrs Lane, in reply to Mrs Jenkles’s look. “I do not owe a shilling.”
“Which you do—there!” cried Mrs Sturt; “and not a thing goes off these premishes till it’s paid.”
“And they don’t go off, nor them nayther, when it is paid,” said Barney, grinning offensively. “So now, Mrs What’s-yer-name, you’d better be off!”
Mrs Jenkles had been very quiet, but her face had been growing red and fiery during all this, and she gave a sigh of relief as she patted Netta on the shoulder; for at that moment Sam came slowly into the room, closed the door, and bowed and smiled to Mrs Lane and her daughter.
“Sam,” said Mrs Jenkles; and then she stopped almost aghast at her husband’s proceedings, for with a sharp flourish of the hand, he knocked Barney’s pipe from his mouth, the stem breaking close to his teeth, and he looking perfectly astonished at the cabman’s daring.
“What are yer smoking like that for, here? Can’t yer see it makes the young lady cough?”
“I’ll—” exclaimed Barney, rushing at Sam menacingly; and Netta uttered a shriek.
“Don’t you mind him, Miss,” said Sam, laughing, “it’s only his fun. It’s a little playful way he’s got with him, that’s all. Which is the boxes?”
“That trunk, and the carpet-bag, Sam,” said Mrs Jenkles; and Sam advanced to them.
“Hadn’t we better give up?” said Mrs Lane, pitifully; and she glanced at Netta who trembled violently.
“I should think not, indeed,” said Mrs Jenkles. “Don’t you be afraid—they daren’t stop you.”
“But we just dare,” said Mrs Sturt, furiously. “Not a thing goes off till my bill’s paid.”
“And they don’t go off when it is! now then,” said Barney.
“Don’t let him touch those things,” said Mrs Sturt.
“Sam, you take that trunk down directly,” said Mrs Jenkles. “Now, my dear; come along.”
“All right,” said Sam, and he advanced to the trunk; but Barney pushed himself forward, and sat down upon the box; while, as Mrs Jenkles placed her arm round Netta, and led her towards the door, Mrs Sturt jerked herself to it, and placed her back against the panels.
“You’re a nice ’un, you are, Barney Sturt, Esquire, of the suburban races,” said Sam, good-temperedly; “but it aint no good, so get up, and let’s go quietly.”
Barney growled out an oath, and showed his teeth, as Mrs Lane came up to Sam, and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you much,” she said, with a shudder; “but I give up: we cannot go.”
“Believe you can’t,” said Barney, grinning. “D’yer hear that, cabby?”
“Yes, I hear,” said Sam, gruffly; “and if it weren’t that I don’t want to make a row afore the ladies, I’d have you off that trunk afore you knew where you was. And as to leaving the box alone, my missus said I was to take it down to the keb. Is it to go, old lady?”
“Yes, certainly,” said Mrs Jenkles, with flashing eyes.
“Now, Barney, d’yer hear?” said Sam.
“Who do you call Barney? You don’t know me,” said he.
“Oh no,” said Sam; “I don’t know you. I didn’t give yer a lift in my ’ansom, and drive yer away down at ’Ampton, when the mob had torn yer clothes into rags for welching, and they was going to pitch yer in the Thames, eh?”
Barney scowled, and shuffled about on his seat.
“Now, then,” said Sam; “are you going to get up?”
“No,” said Barney.
“Mrs Jenkles, pray end this scene!” exclaimed Mrs Lane, pitifully—“for her sake,” she added in a whisper.
“I’ll end it, mum,” said Sam.
And he gave a sharp whistle, with the result that the door was opened so violently that Mrs Sturt was jerked forward against Sam, the cause being a policeman, who now stood in the entry, with the further effect that Barney leaped off the trunk, and stood looking aghast.
Mrs Jenkles gave a sigh of relief, and a gratified look at her husband.
“Here’s the case, policeman,” said Sam. “Ladies here wants to leave these lodgings: they’ve given notice and paid their rent; but the missus here brings out a bill for things as the lady says she’s never had, and wants to stop their boxes. It’s county court, aint it? They can’t stop the clothes?”
“Nobody wants to stop no boxes,” said Barney, uneasily. “Only it was precious shabby on ’em going like this.”
“Then you don’t want to stop the boxes, eh?” said Sam.
Mrs Sturt gave her husband a sharp dig with her elbow.
“Be quiet, can’t you!” he snarled; and then to Sam, “’course I don’t.”
“Then ketch hold o’ t’other end,” said Sam, placing the bag on the trunk.
And like a lamb Barney helped to bear his late lodger’s impedimenta downstairs, and then to place them on the cab, as Mrs Jenkles led Netta half fainting from the room.
Five minutes after, Sam had banged-to the rattling door, shutting in the little party, climbed to his box, and settled himself in his place, with a good-humoured nod to the policeman, who stood beating his gloves together, while Barney stood at the side of his wife.
“Here’s the price of a pint for you, Barney,” said Sam, throwing him a couple of pence—money which Barney instantly secured; and then, vowing vengeance against the donor, he slunk off in the opposite direction; but only to double round by a back street, and track the cab like a dog, till he saw it set down its inmates at the humble little home of Mrs Jenkles.