“No peace there,” he said, sternly. “Prayin’ an’ squallin’ don’t suit me, so good-night to ’ee all.”
With that he turned sharp round, and staggered away, resolving never more to return!
“Is that you, Ned Frog?” inquired a squalid, dirty-looking woman, thrusting her head out of a window as he passed.
“No, ’tain’t,” said Ned, fiercely, as he left the court.
He went straight to a low lodging-house, but before entering tied his money in a bit of rag, and thrust it into an inner pocket of his vest, which he buttoned tight, and fastened his coat over it. Paying the requisite fourpence for the night’s lodging, he entered, and was immediately hailed by several men who knew him, but being in no humour for good fellowship, he merely nodded and went straight up to his lowly bed. It was one of seventy beds that occupied the entire floor of an immense room. Police supervision had secured that this room should be well ventilated, and that the bedding should be reasonably clean, though far from clean-looking, and Ned slept soundly in spite of drink, for, as we have said before, he was unusually strong.
Next day, having thought over his plans in bed, and, being a man of strong determination, he went forth to carry them into immediate execution. He went to a lofty tenement in the neighbourhood of Dean and Flower Street, one of the poorest parts of the city, and hired a garret, which was so high up that even the staircase ended before you reached it, and the remainder of the upward flight had to be performed on a ladder, at the top of which was a trap-door, the only entrance to Ned’s new home.
Having paid a week’s rent in advance he took possession, furnished the apartment with one old chair, one older table, one bundle of straw in a sack, one extremely old blanket, and one brand-new pipe with a corresponding ounce or two of tobacco. Then he locked the trap-door, put the key in his pocket, and descended to the street, where at Bird-fair he provided himself with sundry little cages and a few birds. Having conveyed these with some food for himself and the little birds to his lodging he again descended to the street, and treated himself to a pint of beer.
While thus engaged he was saluted by an old friend, the owner of a low music-hall, who begged for a few minutes’ conversation with him outside.
“Ned,” he said, “I’m glad I fell in with you, for I’m uncommon ’ard up just now.”
“I never lends money,” said Ned, brusquely turning away.