In this manner he advanced to twenty-four shillings.
“Won’t do,” said Stumpy.
“Then you can take ’im off,” said the man, with an oath; “he ain’t worth the money.”
“Yas ’e is, an’ a tanner more,” put in Stumpy.
The man uttered a few more oaths, and again examined me. Then he dropped me in his pocket, and slowly counted out the purchase-money from a drawer at his side.
Stumpy watched the process eagerly, doubtless calculating with professional interest how the entire hoard of this thieves’ broker could at some convenient opportunity be abstracted. However, for the present he made sure of the sum given him, and dropped the coins one by one into his tail pocket.
“Now lay down,” said the man, “and make yourself comfortable.”
I fancy Stumpy was a good deal more comfortable in his drain-pipe an hour or two ago than in this foul, choking lodging-room; however, he curled himself up on the floor near the dying woman, and did his share in exhausting the air of the apartment.
I should offend all rules of good taste and decency if I described the loathsome room; I wish I could forget it, but that I shall never do. Suffice it to say daylight broke in at last on the squalid scene, and then one by one the sleepers rose and departed—all but Stumpy and she whose groaning had risen ceaselessly and hopelessly the livelong night.
“Old Sal’s very bad,” said Stumpy to his host.