“Come, it was worth a fight to bring you to that state of mind, my man,” said Charlie, laughing. “Here, two of you, help to take him down and wash the blood off him; and I say, youngster,” he added, pulling out his purse and handing a sovereign to the juvenile bystander already mentioned, “go out and buy sausages for the whole company.”
The boy stared at the coin in his hand in mute surprise, while the rest of the ring looked at each other with various expressions, for Charlie, in the rebound of feeling caused by his opponent’s sudden recovery and submission, had totally forgotten his rôle and was ordering the people about like one accustomed to command.
As part of the orders were of such a satisfactory nature, the people did not object, and, to the everlasting honour of the juvenile bystander who resisted the temptation to bolt with the gold, a splendid supper of pork sausages was smoking on the various tables of the kitchen of that establishment in less than an hour thereafter.
When the late hours of night had arrived, and most of the paupers were asleep in their poor beds, dreaming, perchance, of “better days” when pork-sausages were not so tremendous a treat, little Zook went to the table at which Charlie sat. He was staring at a newspaper, but in reality was thinking about his vain search, and beginning, if truth must be told, to feel discouraged.
“Charlie,” said Zook, sitting down beside his champion, “or p’r’aps I should say Mister Charlie, the game’s up wi’ you, whatever it was.”
“What d’you mean, Zook?”
“Well, I just mean that it’s o’ no manner o’ use your tryin’ to sail any longer under false colours in this here establishment.”
“I must still ask you to explain yourself,” said Charlie, with a puzzled look.
“Well, you know,” continued the little man, with a deprecatory glance, “w’en a man in ragged clo’se orders people here about as if ’e was the commander-in-chief o’ the British Army, an’ flings yellow boys about as if ’e was chancellor o’ the checkers, an orders sassengers offhand for all ’ands, ’e may be a gentleman—wery likely ’e is,—but ’e ain’t a redooced one, such as slopes into lodgin’-’ouse kitchens. W’atever little game may ’ave brought you ’ere, sir, it ain’t poverty—an’ nobody will be fool enough in this ’ouse to believe it is.”
“You are right, Zook. I’m sorry I forgot myself,” returned Charlie, with a sigh. “After all, it does not matter much, for I fear my little game—as you call it—was nearly played out, and it does not seem as if I were going to win.”