It strikes me, now I come to think of it, that I have mentioned somewhere before, that the only thing I prayed for when I went to bed of a night was, that Providence would send me a servant that would live and die with me. Consequently, it seemed to me that now or never was my time to pitch upon some nice well-disposed lad, who would do for my page in my prime, and grow up to be a footman to me in my old age. So what did my stupid good-nature prompt me to do, but to march down one fine morning to St. Giles’ workhouse, where often and often, on my way down to Edward’s chambers, I had noticed several nice-looking boys, with particularly clean collars, standing on the steps waiting to be taken as apprentices. For of course I was not going to be such a silly as to take some young monkey into my service, and then just after I had taught him his business, to have him wanting to be off to better himself, indeed!—before his livery was thoroughly worn out, too, may be. Besides, as we had a young family growing up about us, I felt that it was my duty to save when I could, for all the world knows that a penny saved is twopence gained—though I never could, for the life of me, make out how that could be, notwithstanding I have had it explained to me by a pack of wiseacres over and over again. And, under the circumstances, I’m sure I didn’t see the joke of paying a matter of ten pounds a year or so to a little chit of a thing, that would have to get on a chair to rub down my parlour tables. So as I could have an apprentice from the workhouse without paying any wages at all, and they’d give five pounds into the bargain, which would just do for the brat’s livery, why I pretty soon called upon the master of the place, to look over the stock of youths he had on hand, and see if they were anything like the very attractive sample he had got stuck so conspicuously at the door. But though I had up some dozen of young urchins, I pretty soon saw that they were nothing at all equal to the pattern outside; and the beauty of it was, that the man wanted to persuade me that a nasty little crumpet-faced, moist-sugar-haired, stunted orphan, was the very one to suit me, saying, “That the lad had got more marks for morals than any other boy in the school.” But, “No, thank you,” I replied; “I think I’ll take that youth, if you please,” pointing to the best-looking of the show ones; for I was determined to do the same here as I do with those dreadful cheats of linendrapers, and be served from the superior articles ticketed up in the window.
I wasn’t long before I had my young Turk’s livery, and a beautiful one it was to be sure. Oh, when it came home, I think it looked the sweetest thing I ever set eyes upon in all my life. The jacket was a claret, with three rows of sugar-loaf buttons, as close together as a rope of onions; and there were a pair of nice quiet dark-coloured pantaloons, running rather into the port wine than partaking of the claret; and to guard against the brat’s growing out of them before they were fairly worn out, I had taken the wise precaution of having two or three tucks put in at the bottom of them—though, really and truly for the matter of that, I might just as well have let it alone—for positively the urchin shot up so fast that I do think he must have grown six tucks, at least, the first year he was with me. And the worst of it was, your clarets do fade so, that by the time the tucks were let out, his trousers had got so plaguy light, and the place where the tucks had been was so plaguy dark, that upon my word the bottom of his legs had large black rings round them like the legs of an imitation bamboo bedstead. And though I tried to get them over his boots, yet, do as I would, I could not manage it; for if I made him strap them down, there were a good three inches of shirt showing all below his jacket, and if I made him brace them up, there were all the tops of his dirty socks to be seen above his bluchers.
I don’t know whether it was that the young monkey knew that I had bound myself to keep him for five years or not; but he certainly did play old gooseberry with my lovely livery in a most shameful way. Positively, he couldn’t have had it more than a week before it was not fit to be seen, all stained in front, and over yellow marks, like a baking dish. I’m sure that, before a month was over his head, the knees of his trousers, and the sleeves of his jacket, right up to the elbows, were as black and shiny with grease as if they had been blackleaded. Over and over again have I said to him, “Really, Wittals, it is enough to break the heart of a saint to see the state your clothes are in! where you can think liveries come from I can’t tell.” And though I was continually making him take the grease spots out with turpentine, still it was only taking a great deal of trouble and turpentine for nothing; for the next day he would be in the same state again, and I should have the urchin going about the house smelling for all the world as if he had been newly painted.
As for the antics of that young Wittals, too, I declare they were enough to worry any peaceably disposed woman into Bedlam. Not a thing could he do like a rational creature; but I declare the young Turk was frisking about the house like a parched pea in a pan, and running in and out like a dog at a fair. If he had to go up stairs for anything, instead of walking down again like a Christian, he must needs get astride the mahogany banisters, and slide down like a monkey. Then again, if I sent him out ever such a little way, he would be sure to be gone ten times as long as he need be; for of course he would either be looking into all the picture shops, or go flattening his nose against some pastrycook’s window, eyeing the ladies and gentlemen feasting inside—or else waiting to see some cab-horse get up—or walk miles in the opposite direction to which I had sent him, following some trumpery Punch and Judy, or tumblers—or either stop for hours playing at some game with buttons, or pulling up stones and things with that nasty bit of wet leather tied to the end of a string, which he always kept in his pocket. And when I was wondering what on earth could have become of him, and jumping up and running to the window every second minute to see whether there were any signs of the young vagabond, lo and behold I should see him come galloping along; either flying over every post on his way, or else rattling the street-door key along the rails of every house he passed; or if the turncock had only pulled the flag up in the middle of the road, and turned the water on, there I should be sure to catch sight of him, with his foot right on the hole, squirting the water out on each side of the street, drenching all the little boys that were near, and destroying my bluchers, as I’m a living woman.
When he was in the house, too, he was just as trying to one’s patience—not one minute’s peace would the noisy young scamp ever let me have. If he wasn’t playing “Happy Land” on the Jew’s-harp, he would be safe to be trying that frightful “Nix my Dolly Pals,” or “Happy Land,” on his hair-comb. No matter what I gave him to do—I declare he couldn’t keep at it for more than two minutes together, but off he’d be as if he had got nothing but quicksilver in his veins. Now, of a morning, he had got a trumpery dozen of knives to clean, but, bless you! even they were too much for him to do right off; for positively, as soon as he had cleaned one of them, he’d throw himself on his hands, and cocking his legs straight up in the air, he’d sing one verse of “Such a getting up stairs” on his head, all the while beating time with the soles of his feet—and then down he’d come again, do another knife, and then either be off to the back kitchen window, where he would stand making himself as knock-knee’d as a frog, and, turning his toes in and his elbows out, make the most horrible faces to Betsy through the window, shouting out to her, “Here we are,” just like the stupid clowns in the pantomime,—or else, all of a sudden, creep into the house, and, going up behind her back, give such a whistle through his fingers right into her ear, as would make the whole house ring again, and set one’s teeth on edge as bad as slate pencil slid along a slate, frightening that nervous Betsy out of her life, and making her drop whatever she might have in her hand; while if one of those bothering organs only stopped opposite the window, he’d throw down his work, however much I might want it done, and rushing into the area, pull out of his pocket the bits of broken plate he always kept there, and putting them between his fingers, keep rattling away two in each hand, accompanying the music, till he heard me coming down after him, and then, of course he’d rush back again, and pretend to be working as hard as he could,—though I knew very well that directly my back was turned, the young Jackanapes would be putting his fingers to his nose, and making grimaces at me. Indeed, I can assure the courteous reader, that his antics were such, and he paid so little respect to me, when he fancied I couldn’t see him, that upon my word I was positively afraid to go out walking with him behind me (which was one of the things in particular I had him for), for I felt convinced that I should have him either coming after me walking on his hands, or else throwing himself head over heels sideways along the pavement, or, may be, running up and squaring away close at my back. As for the little scamp’s giving one a stylish appearance, as I had been silly enough to fancy he would, in answering the door, bless you! quite the contrary,—for it was ten chances to one if the young monkey didn’t rush up either with a wooden sword thrust through his breeches pocket, and a brown paper cocked hat stuck on his head, or even, perhaps, with his face blacked all over with burnt cork, and covered with large bits of the red wafers I had for the black-beetles; while if, to give one an air above the common, I made him carry the prayer-books for me to church, I should be certain either to hear half-a-dozen of the young monkey’s marbles roll all down the aisle in the very middle of the sermon, or else, if I took the precaution of making him empty his pockets before he went there, as sure as sure could be, he would go fast asleep, and snore as I well knew he alone could snore, and until I fancied every eye in the church was fixed upon me.
Positively it was as much as one person could do to keep that shocking scapegrace of a Wittals from going about in actual rags; and the whole of my mornings used to be entirely taken up in repairing his dress livery. Either I should have to try to fine-draw the knees of his trousers, for the twentieth time—till they looked like the heels of a pair of old stockings—or there’d be a piece as big as the palm of your hand torn out at the foot where the strap buttons had been—or one of the pocket-holes slit nearly down to his knees—or else the jacket would have one of the cuffs half off—or one of the sleeves almost out—while as for those beautiful three rows of sugar-loaf buttons, I declare almost every other one was missing before the week was out, and even they were sure to be with all the silver rubbed off of them, and as coppery looking as the plated ornaments on the harness of a hackney coach horse.
I never knew such a boy to wait at dinner. In the parlour, of course, he was on his best behaviour, because he knew Mr. Sk—n—st—n was there, (a deceitful young imp!); but only let him have to fetch up any dishes from the kitchen, and there I knew he’d be, as plainly as if I saw him, dipping his fingers in them, and sucking them again all the way up stairs. If by any chance I had an open-work jam tart, bless you, to table it would come with all the marks of the tips of his fingers in the jam, till it looked exactly like the japanned tin boxes in a lawyer’s office; or if it was a pie, there it would be, picked all round the edges, as if rats had been gnawing it; and no matter how much pounded lump sugar I had given out to sprinkle over the crust, when it came up there wouldn’t be so much as a grain on the top of it. Indeed, I never came near such a boy for sugar as that was; lump after lump would he steal out of my poor dear little canary’s cage as fast as I put it in; and once I recollect when my beautiful Kate had the red-gum so bad, and I packed Wittals off for our medical adviser, telling him to make all the haste he could or our doctor would have left to make his morning visits, the young monkey was gone better than an hour, though the house is only a stone’s throw from ours. This made me so wild, that directly I heard his sneaking ring at the bell, I rushed to the door and seized hold of him by both arms to give him a good shaking, when, bless me, if he wasn’t as sticky all over as a lollypop, and when I examined him a little more, I declare his clothes were all over molasses and brown sugar from head to foot; and then it turned out that my young Turk had been making one of a party of urchins inside an empty sugar-cask, and that in my dress livery, too. His knees and his back were literally caked all over with the nasty brown gluey stuff, and he had got it all sticking round his mouth, and cheeks, and chin, till his face looked like so much sand-paper.
Further than this, I do think he was the cruelest boy that could be met with anywhere. Not only was he always amusing himself with poking bits of stick through the wires of my little canary’s cage, and fluttering it, until it had no more feathers on its body than a gosling, but he led our dog Carlo such a life that I really expected he’d drive him mad before he’d done with him. Either he’d be throwing the cat right on top of his back, or else he’d turn his ears inside out and tie them over his head; or else he’d harness him, out in the garden, to the beautiful little carriage I had bought for Kitty, and then clapping his hands and hooting, so as to frighten the poor thing, it would start off at such a rate that it would nearly break the chaise all to pieces against the wall. And if he could only smuggle the poor dumb creature out of the house with him when I sent him an errand, off he’d be to that muddy Regent’s Canal, and amuse himself by throwing the wretched animal right off the bridge into the water, and presently I should see it running home with all the mud that it had been rolling itself in on the way clinging to his beautiful curly coat, for all the world as if he had been covered over with fuller’s earth. Nothing would please him, too, but he must go keeping white mice in the knife-house, making the place smell as ratty as a house in chancery; and this wasn’t enough, but the hard-hearted young savage must let all the wretched animals die of starvation, and wouldn’t even take the trouble to give the poor things their food for more than a week after he had got them.
What I disliked most in the chit was his wicked deceit; for before Edward he was so meek and gentle that you would not have fancied that he could have said “Boh!” to a goose, and of course his master hadn’t got wit enough to see through the young Turk, but must be telling me, whenever I ventured to let fall a hint as to any of his tricks directly Edward was out of the house, that he never saw a better behaved lad in all his life, saying that I could not expect to have the head of a grey-beard on the shoulders of a hobbledehoy. And positively Mr. Sk—n—st—n was so taken with the artful, double-faced little brat that he must be continually giving him a penny now, and twopence then, as much as to say that he didn’t believe a word of what I had told him, and was trying to see how much he could encourage the imp in his goings on. Instead of putting all these halfpence in a money-box and saving it for his old age, the disgraceful young spendthrift put it in his money-box and only saved it to buy a trumpery little wooden theatre, and got that romantic Betsy to lend him some more to buy the whole of the scenes and characters of “The Miller and his Men,” so that he might act it on the kitchen dresser, while she sat in front, wasting her valuable time, as the audience. Often and often, when Edward’s been detained at chambers and I’ve been sitting alone by myself of a night waiting for him to come home, have I been almost knocked off my seat and frightened out of my wits, by hearing a report of firearms down in the kitchen, and, wondering what on earth could have happened, have rushed down stairs and found that it was only Master Wittals firing off his trumpery penny cannon, to make Miss Betsy believe that the Mill was blown up. And there I should find her clapping her hands, as the little pocket-handkerchief of a curtain came down in front of the grand transparency in the last scene, which the young monkey had got up without any regard to expense, as they say, by greasing it all over with my butter.
When I came to turn it over in my mind, it seemed as if Fate did not think it sufficient to scourge me with that dreadful novel-reading plague of a Betsy, but must also go sending a still greater plague to me, in the shape of Wittals, to drive me fairly out of my wits. Though, now that I come to think of it, I can hardly say there was a pin to choose between them; for there were six of one and half-a-dozen of the other, and both far too many for me. I’m sure of an evening, sometimes, I’ve nearly gone mad with the sound of that boy’s drawling voice, reading some highly-exciting romance, for all the world as if he were a parish clerk going over the two first lines of a psalm. There I could hear him droning away for hours, with his