The spirits-and-water made them both very warm and comfortable, and Paul at length offered his arm to his companion, and away they started towards the point indicated.
It was a damp, drizzling night, and there were treacherous holes here and there in the path which Mrs. Dibble assured Paul were in the highest degree uncomfortable. She was sure her stockings would be that splashed that they would not be fit to be seen.
Severntown did not look at all inviting in the hazy light of the December gas; but Paul knew the place, and redeemed its character to some extent by telling Mrs. Dibble that they were in the back slums, which she said she could readily understand.
Through dirty streets, with one or two bridges over black, murky water; past lazy carts and rumbling cabs splashing through the mud; by narrow footways, which were sometimes no footways at all; it was certainly no pleasant route to the Blue Posts. At length, however, they came to a fine, open, well-lit street, and after walking a short distance in this brighter locality, they turned sharply round into a narrow passage, and then emerged into an open, muddy square.
Here was situated Digby Martin’s Temple of Magic, and Mrs. Dibble and Paul stopped to study the scene before them.
About two hundred persons of all ages were crowded in front of a show of the old-fashioned traditional stamp. A small platform, which was ascended by broad wooden steps, was surmounted with a very florid painting of a character that evidently proved highly attractive to the audience. A lady in a low dress, with a wonderful necklace round her neck, and very dazzling bracelets upon her arms, was represented in the attitude of pointing at a box, from which two pigeons were flying, in the direction of an auditory consisting of a king and numerous officers in the army. Several rabbits were quietly peeping out of a saucepan placed upon a fire, a shower of cards and fruit and watches was falling from an inverted hat, and in the background were sundry mystic signs beneath a blazing sun.
The companion picture was, if possible, of a higher order of merit, though of a simpler character. It represented the young lady in the low dress crouching beneath a capacious basket, and it also represented the same basket being raised by a man with black moustachios, who significantly pointed to the vacant space beneath; underneath was written in big letters, “The Famous Basket Trick.”
Hung at various points in frames of various character, was represented a tremendous dog going through an exciting and varied performance. Here he stood upon his head, there he fired off a pistol; in another place he was engaged in a sort of pugilistic encounter with a professional bruiser, and around the frames which contained these pictorial attractions was printed, “The celebrated dog ‘Momus’ in a round of favourite and world-renowned characters.”
The proprietor of the caravan had had a great argument with the artist who executed these latter works upon the propriety of calling Momus a “dogess,” which the showman thought would be sure to “draw;” but the artist had gravely assured him that such a title would not come within the rules of strict art, however grammatical it might be, and this settled the question at once.
Upon the platform a young lady, in pink muslin and spangles and fleshings, with a crown upon her head, and many rows of curious beads around her neck, was marching solemnly to and fro, to an old ballad melody which a fellow in a bowler hat was twisting out of an organ, and to which he was keeping time on a very hard drum.