“I dun know,” continued Billy; “anyhow, this old gen’lem’n he took’d a fancy to me, an’ took’d me home to his ’otel; for he didn’t live in London—wos there only on a wisit at the time he felled in love with me at first sight. Well, he give me a splendacious suit of noo clo’es, an ’ad me put to a school, where I soon larned to read and write; an’ I do b’lieve wos on the highroad to be Lord Mayor of London, when the old schoolmaster died, before I’d bin two year there, an’ the noo un wos so fond o’ the bangin’ system that I couldn’t stand it, an’ so bid ’em all a tender farewell, an’ took to the streets agin. The old gen’lem’n he comed three times from Yarmouth, where he belonged, for to see me arter I wos put to the school, an’ I had a sort o’ likin’ for him, but not knowin’ his name, and only been aweer that he lived at Yarmouth, I thought I’d have no chance o’ findin’ him. Over my subsikint career I’ll draw a wail; it’s enough to say I didn’t like either it or my pals, so I made up my mind at last to go to Yarmouth an’ try to find the old gen’lem’n as had adopted me—that’s what he said he’d done to me. W’en I’d prigged enough o’ wipes to pay my fare down, I comed away,—an’ here I am.”
“Have you seen the old gentleman?” asked Morley, after a pause.
“No, only just arrived this arternoon.”
“And you don’t know his name, nor where he lives?”
“No.”
“And how did you expect to escape bein’ nabbed and put in limbo as a vagrant?” inquired Morley.
“By gittin’ employment, of coorse, from some respectable gen’lem’n like yourself, an’ then runnin’ away from ’im w’en I’d diskivered the old chap wi’ the bald head.”
Morley Jones smiled grimly.
“Well, my advice to you is,” he said, “to fight shy of the old chap, even if you do discover him. Depend upon it the life you would lead under his eye would be one of constant restraint and worry. He’d put you to school again, no doubt, where you’d get banged as before—a system I don’t approve of at all—and be made a milksop and a flunkey, or something o’ that sort—whereas the life you’ll lead with me will be a free and easy rollikin’ manly sort o’ life. Half on shore and half at sea. Do what you like, go where you will,—when business has bin attended to—victuals and clothing free gratis, and pocket-money enough to enable you to enjoy yourself in a moderate sort of way. You see I’m not goin’ to humbug you. It won’t be all plain sailin’, but what is a man worth if he ain’t fit to stand a little rough-and-tumble? Besides, rough work makes a fellow take his ease with all the more zest. A life on the ocean wave one week, with hard work, and a run on shore the next week, with just enough to do to prevent one wearyin’. That’s the sort o’ thing for you and me, Billy, eh boy?” exclaimed the tempter, growing garrulous in his cups, and giving his small victim a pat on the shoulder, which, although meant to be a facetious touch, well-nigh unseated him.
Billy Towler recovered himself, however, and received it as it was meant, in perfect good humour. The beer had mounted to his own little brain, and his large eyes glowed with more than natural light as he sat gazing into his companion’s rugged face, listening with delight to the description of a mode of life which he thought admirably suited to his tastes and capabilities. He was, however, a shrewd little creature. Sad and very rough experience of life had taught him to be uncommonly circumspect for his years.