Ned Frog’s Experiences and Sammy Twitter’s Woes.
But Ned Frog, with strong drink combined, rendered fruitless all the efforts that were put forth in his behalf at that time.
When discharged with a lot of other jail-birds, none of whom, however, he knew, he sauntered leisurely homeward, wondering whether his wife was alive, and, if so, in what condition he should find her.
It may have been that better thoughts were struggling in his breast for ascendency, because he sighed deeply once or twice, which was not a usual mode with Ned of expressing his feelings. A growl was more common and more natural, considering his character.
Drawing nearer and nearer to his old haunts, yet taking a roundabout road, as the moth is drawn to the candle, or as water descends to its level, he went slowly on, having little hope of comfort in his home, and not knowing very well what to do.
As he passed down one of the less frequented streets leading into Whitechapel, he was arrested by the sight of a purse lying on the pavement. To become suddenly alive, pick it up, glance stealthily round, and thrust it into his pocket, was the work of an instant. The saunter was changed into a steady businesslike walk. As he turned into Commercial Street, Ned met Number 666 full in the face. He knew that constable intimately, but refrained from taking notice of him, and passed on with an air and expression which were meant to convey the idea of infantine innocence. Guilty men usually over-reach themselves. Giles noted the air, and suspected guilt, but, not being in a position to prove it, walked gravely on, with his stern eyes straight to the front.
In a retired spot Ned examined his “find.” It contained six sovereigns, four shillings, threepence, a metropolitan railway return ticket, several cuttings from newspapers, and a recipe for the concoction of a cheap and wholesome pudding, along with a card bearing the name of Mrs Samuel Twitter, written in ink and without any address.
“You’re in luck, Ned,” he remarked to himself, as he examined these treasures. “Now, old boy you ’aven’t stole this ’ere purse, so you ain’t a thief; you don’t know w’ere Mrs S.T. lives, so you can’t find ’er to return it to ’er. Besides, it’s more than likely she won’t feel the want of it—w’ereas I feels in want of it wery much indeed. Of course it’s my dooty to ’and it over to the p’lice, but, in the first place, I refuse to ’ave any communication wi’ the p’lice, friendly or otherwise; in the second place, I ’ad no ’and in makin’ the laws, so I don’t feel bound to obey ’em; thirdly, I’m both ’ungry an’ thirsty, an’ ’ere you ’ave the remedy for them afflictions, so, fourthly—’ere goes!”
Having thus cleared his conscience, Ned committed the cash to his vest pocket, and presented the purse with its remaining contents to the rats in a neighbouring sewer.
Almost immediately afterwards he met an Irishman, an old friend.