“I have known Captain Bradshaw for a long time, John, and I am sure he and James will get on capitally together.”
“What tickles my fancy, Mr. Prescott,” John said, taking his pipe out of his mouth and laughing to himself, “what tickles my fancy more than all the rest, is to think that chap Barton, after all the years of snuffing and smelling about here, ain’t going to get anything out of it. To think he knew all along as how as James were Captain Bradshaw’s grandson, and never said a word about it! I wouldn’t mind giving a pound—well, no, I don’t know as I’d mind giving five pound—for a turn up with him for half an hour. He’s a pretty stiff one, but I think,” John Holl said meditatingly, “I think I’d give him soup in half an hour. I wish I could pay him out, and I ain’t quite sure I can’t. Perkins—you know Perkins, sir, of the ‘Stunners?’” Prescott nodded. “Well, I’ve heard Perkins say that the Slogger—know the Slogger, Mr. Prescott?” Prescott again nodded—“that the Slogger says as how he knows that against Barton as would make his life not worth a brass farthing if it was known.”
“Indeed?” Prescott said, much interested. “I think I will go down and see the Slogger, John. Barton has got some papers, or rather knows where to get them, which are essential to prove legally who James is, and if I could put the screw on to him I might get him to tell me all about it.”
“Well, sir, it’s Friday to-night, you won’t find him at the ‘Stunners;’ to-morrow’s the night for the ‘Stunners,’ and you are safe to catch him there then, and I expect he’ll tell you sharp enough if he thinks it will do Barton a bad turn; he hates him like poison, I know, for Barton got his brother transported four or five years back, and I have heard him swear he would be square with Barton some day yet.”
“I will go down, John. I used often to be at the ‘Stunners’ years ago with Mr. Maynard. And how goes business, John?”
“Pretty much as usual, sir. Dust is pretty steady. It’s looking up though, dust is; they’re making such a sight of bricks round London now, that cinders fetch their price. I can remember when dust warn’t worth next to nothing, and the contractor was paid for carting it away. Lor bless you, it’s as good as money now. The gaffer as I works for, he’s made a snug thing of it. I hear he’s going out of it with enough to live on. At one time he could scarce pay his men. It used to be a doubt in my mind all the week whether I would get my money on Saturday night, and now they say he has got his five thousand pounds, and he’s going to give it up and go down into the country.”
“How many carts has he, Mr. Holl?”
“He’s got eight carts and fifteen horses. Some are double carts and some single, you see. Johnson’s his name, down beyond Cremorne. I don’t suppose it will make much odds to me, he has promised to pass me over to the new gaffer when he sells off. Are you going, sir?”
“Yes, Mr. Holl, it is almost time I was off. Good night; good night, Mrs. Holl. I daresay I shall see you before long again.”