All But Lost: A Novel. Vol. 1 of 3

by G. A. Henty

“Thank you all kindly,” the boy said, when the man had finished; and was preparing to start at a run, when he exclaimed, “But where is my tray?”

“Here it is, please,” the child to whom the dog belonged said; “you gave it to me to keep; and, oh, I am so much obliged to you, and so is Bobby.”

And here Bobby, who had up to this time been shaking himself, frisking and yelping in the most outrageous way, came up and began to jump upon Evan, in evident token of his gratitude.

The tray which the child brought up, was a small wooden one, apparently at some time or other the lid of a box. In it were arranged sticks of peppermint, bullseyes, and brandyballs, in which, during cold weather, Evan drove a brisk trade on the ice. The contents were hastily tumbled into a tin box, in which he carried them when not exposed for sale, and with another “Thank you kindly,” the boy started at a run, and was soon lost in the darkness. This, in the ten minutes which the incident had occupied, had closed in rapidly, and the little crowd by the waterside speedily dispersed, talking over the adventure.

Evan Holl continued running, slowly at first, for he was numbed and cold to the bones, but gradually, as the blood began to circulate, at a quicker pace. So along by the end of the Serpentine, across Rotten Row, empty and deserted now, through the narrow alley by the side of the barracks into the main road, and then down by the cabstand into Knightsbridge.

Knightsbridge may be described geographically as the region bounded on the north by Hyde Park, on the east by Apsley House and St. George’s Hospital, and on the west by Brompton and the cavalry barracks; on the south-east by Wilton Crescent and Lowndes Square, and on the south-west by an unknown region of misery and want. A vast tide of traffic runs through it, formed by the junction of three considerable streams. Two of these are from the west; the one rises in the distant region of Richmond and Brentford, and increases greatly in magnitude by tributaries at Hammersmith and Kensington; the other has its source at Putney, but receives its chief addition in its course through Brompton. The third stream comes north from Chelsea, and is poured in by Sloane Street. This great tide commences early, and sets eastward with great violence during the early part of the day, beginning to ebb at about two o’clock, and running west till past midnight, after which it may be said to be slack tide until morning.

The stream which flows in at Sloane Street divides Knightsbridge into two portions, differing more entirely in habits, manners, and almost in language, than perhaps any similar division which could be cited. St. George’s Channel, or even the Straits of Dover, do not separate peoples more alien in every thought and action than does Sloane Street. It is, as it were, the great gulf which divides wealth and luxury from poverty and want.

Eastward are splendid shops, with their plate glass windows, filled with costly and elegant objects. Long lines of carriages wait in front of them, while their owners expend sums which would appear fabulous to the inhabitants of the western side. On that side are small shops crowded together, as if jostling for room, filled with the necessaries of life for the working classes. Their customers do not arrive in carriages, but, hurry up from obscure alleys behind, hastily make their little purchases and are gone. At no time of the week is this difference so strongly marked as on a Saturday evening.

Eastward the grand shops are all closed, their customers are at dinner or the opera, and their owners off to their snug suburban villas till Monday.

Westward the flood of business is at its highest. The bakers’ shops are so piled with bread that it seems a wonder where it can all go to, but they will be nearly empty by to-night. The grocers’ windows are filled with sugar and tea, with the prices marked on tickets of gaudy colours, with the pennies marvellously large, and the farthings microscopically small. At the doors of the greengrocers are huge baskets heaped with potatoes and vegetables. All are full of a noisy busy crowd of purchasers.