Two nights after this resolution of Mr. Bartley Bradstone’s, Seth, the gypsy, might have been seen making his way along the crowded Strand. There is never too much room either in the road or on the pavement of that famous thoroughfare at any time; but just before eleven, and from that hour to midnight, it is, perhaps, the most densely thronged of any of the London streets, and Seth had to shoulder his way through the usual streams of humanity which emerge from the various theatres, on their way home or to the supper-rooms and restaurants.
It would have been rather difficult for the casual observer to have recognized Seth the prowler of country lanes, for, in place of his rough and well-worn cords and gaiters—torn by many a midnight poaching expedition, and stained by mud and rain—he wore a dark-colored suit, and a stylishly-cut covert coat, which gave him the appearance of a decent young farmer up in London for a meek-and-mild spree; but though he had changed his attire, he could not change his swarthy complexion and his small black eyes; and the wary, alert look which the gypsy acquires, say a month after he is weaned, was enough to distinguish him from the crowd of commonplace countenances by which he was surrounded.
Making his way as much by slipping in and out like a lurcher as by force, he threaded the Strand throng, and, crossing Leicester Square, went up to the Palace of Amusement, which stands, glaring with light and gilding, at the northern end.
For a moment or two Seth looked up and down, then approached one of the boards which hung outside with a glowing list of the attractions which awaited the person who should be fortunate enough to possess the shilling necessary for admission.
He stood looking on for a minute, with the dense, vacant expression of a man who cannot read; then, beckoning to a matchboy who was hovering about him, said:
“I don’t want no lights, but I’ll give you a penny if you’ll read this ’ere.”
The boy grinned, and, with an air of suppressed pride and pity nicely commingled, read down the list of celebrities which made up the night’s programme.
“But what’s the use, guvnor,” he said. “They’ve all done their turn and gone ’cept one or two. There’s only Bella-Bella and the ballet left.”
Seth’s eyes flashed with a momentary satisfaction.
“What’s her name?” he inquired.