“‘One wants but little here below,’” he mused, as he glanced round the apartment; “but he wants it longer than that,” thought he, as his eyes wandered to the ancient sofa, which was obviously eighteen inches too short for him.
“I ’ope you’ve found ’im, sir,” said Mrs Butt anxiously, as she was about to retire.
“Found who?”
“Your relation, sir; the little boy—I mean gurl.”
“No, I have found neither the boy nor the girl,” returned the lodger sharply. “Haven’t even begun to look for them yet.”
“Oh! beg parding, sir, I didn’t know there was two of ’em.”
“Neither are there. There’s only one. Fetch me some hot water, Mrs Butt, your tea is too good. I never take it strong.”
The landlady retired, and, on returning with the water, found her lodger so deep in a newspaper that she did not venture to interrupt him.
Tea over, Charlie locked his door and clothed himself in his late purchase, which fitted him fairly well, considering that he had measured it only by eye. Putting on the billycock, and tying the green cotton kerchief loosely round his neck to hide his shirt, he stepped in front of the looking-glass above the mantelpiece.
At sight of himself he was prepared to be amused, but he had not expected to be shocked! Yet shocked he certainly was, for the transformation was so complete that it suddenly revealed to him something of the depth of degradation to which he might fall—to which many a man as good as himself, if not better, had fallen. Then amusement rose within him, for he was the very beau-ideal of a typical burglar, or a prize-fighter: big, square-shouldered, deep-chested, large-chinned. The only parts that did not quite correspond to the type were his straight, well-formed nose and his clear blue eyes, but these defects were put right by slightly drooping his eyelids, pushing his billycock a little back on his head, and drawing a lock of hair in a drunken fashion over his forehead.