From the inscrutable eye of a landlady living in the house nothing can be concealed, and our landlady hovered in the passage, divining (with that peculiar inspiration with which all of her class are gifted) that something important was taking place. My mother called her in, and paid her the week's rent in lieu of a week's notice. She was deeply moved, after the fashion of landladies (living in the house), when lodgers who have paid regularly take their departure. The fear of another lodger not so punctual in paying as the last harrows their souls. As my mother did not enter into particulars, not even mentioning to the landlady where we were moving to, the inquisitive creature invited confidence by producing from a mysterious recess in her flannel petticoat a bottle of gin and a glass. My mother, however, declined to be bribed, much to the landlady's chagrin; after this she evidently regarded us with less favour.
'Uncle Bryan sent a boy with a wheelbarrow, Chris,' said my mother, 'to wheel your trunk home. He's waiting at the door now.'
'With the wheelbarrow?' I asked gaily. I was in high spirits at the better prospect which lay before us.
'Yes, dear. With the wheelbarrow.'
I could not help laughing, it seemed to me such a comical idea. My mother cast an affectionate look at the humble room we were leaving for ever, and then we carried the trunk down to the street door, the landlady not assisting. There stood the boy with the wheelbarrow. The trunk was lifted in, and we marched away, the boy trundling the barrow, we holding on in front, for fear the trunk should fall into the road. All the neighbours rushed into the street to look at the procession.
[CHAPTER IX.]
UNCLE BRYAN INTRODUCES HIMSELF.
The boy took no notice of the neighbours, but wheeled straight through them, regardless of their legs. Neither did he take any notice of us, except by whistling in our faces. But he trundled the wheelbarrow cheerfully, and with an airy independence most delightful to witness. It was a long journey to Paradise-row, and it occupied a long time; but the boy never flagged, never stopped to rest, although in the course of the journey he performed some eccentric antics. He was not as old as I, but he was much more strongly built. I envied him his strong limbs and broad shoulders. It was a cold day, and he was insufficiently clad; his toes peeped out of his boots, and his hair straggled through a hole in his cap, and a glimpse of his bare chest could now and then be seen through a rent in his waistcoat, which was made to serve the purpose of a jacket by being pinned at the throat; but the boy was not in the slightest degree affected by these disadvantages. The wind, which made me shiver, seemed to warm him, and he took it to his bosom literally with great contentment. His eyes were dark and bright, his nose was a most ostensible pug, and the curves of his large well-shaped mouth and lips spoke of saucy enjoyment. Indeed, he was full of life, noting with eager curiosity everything about him, and his dirty face sparkled with intelligence. As he drove the barrow before him, he whistled and sang without the slightest regard to nerves, and if any street lad accosted him jocosely or derisively, he returned the salutation with spirited interest. He appeared to be disposed to pause near the first organ-grinder we approached; but he resisted the inclination, and after a short but severe mental struggle, he compromised matters by trundling the barrow three times round the unfortunate Italian, making a wider sweep each time. My mother remonstrated with him; but the boy, with the reins of command in his hand, paid no other attention to her remonstrance than was expressed in a knowing cock of his eye, implying that it was all right, and that he knew what he was about. For the safety of our trunk we were compelled to accompany him in his circular wanderings, and I felt particularly foolish as we swept round and round. But the third circle completed, the boy drove straight along again contentedly, whistling the last air the organ-grinder had played with such force and expression as to cause some of the passers-by to put their fingers to their ears. This man[oe]uvre the boy conscientiously repeated with every organ-grinder we met on the road; repeated it also, very slowly and lingeringly, at a Punch-and-Judy show, afterwards conveying to the British public discordant reminiscences through his nose of the interview between Punch and the Devil; and with supreme audacity repeated it when we came to a band of negro minstrels, proving himself quite a match for them when they threatened him with dreadful consequences if he did not immediately put a stop to his circular performance. Indeed, when one of the band advanced towards him with menacing gestures, he ran the wheelbarrow against the opposing force with such an unmistakable intention, that to save his legs the nigger had to fly. In this manner we came at length to the end of our journey.
I found Windmill-street to be a mere slit in a busy and bustling neighbourhood, and Paradise-row, where uncle Bryan lived, a distinct libel upon heaven, being, I fervently hope, as little like a thoroughfare in Paradise as can well be imagined. Uncle Bryan's shop was at the corner of Windmill-street and Paradise-row, and uncle Bryan himself stood at his street-door, seemingly awaiting our arrival.
'Been loitering, eh?' was uncle Bryan's first salutation; sharply spoken, not to us, but to the boy.