“Oh, yes,” said Grimes, “of course it’s me. Did I ask to be brought here into the prison? Did I ask to be set to sweep your foul chimneys? Did I ask to have lighted straw put under me to make me go up? Did I ask to stick fast in the very first chimney of all, because it was so shamefully clogged up with soot? Did I ask to stay here—I don’t know how long—a hundred years, I do believe, and never get my pipe, nor my beer, nor nothing fit for a beast, let alone a man?”
“No,” answered a solemn voice behind. “No more did Tom, when you behaved to him in the very same way.”
It was Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid. And, when the truncheon saw her, it started bolt upright—Attention!—and made such a low bow, that if it had not been full of the spirit of justice, it must have tumbled on its end, and probably hurt its one eye. And Tom made his bow too.
“Oh, ma’am,” he said, “don’t think about me; that’s all past and gone, and good times and bad times and all times pass over. But may not I help poor Mr. Grimes? Mayn’t I try and get some of these bricks away, that he may move his arms?”
“You may try, of course,” she said.
So Tom pulled and tugged at the bricks: but he could not move one. And then he tried to wipe Mr. Grimes’ face: but the soot would not come off.
“Oh, dear!” he said. “I have come all this way, through all these terrible places, to help you, and now I am of no use at all.”
“You had best leave me alone,” said Grimes; “you are a good-natured forgiving little chap, and that’s truth; but you’d best be off. The hail’s coming on soon, and it will beat the eyes out of your little head.”
“What hail?”
“Why, hail that falls every evening here; and, till it comes close to me, it’s like so much warm rain: but then it turns to hail over my head, and knocks me about like small shot.”