“Dear little mother!” he whispered—“how glad she was to see me; how glad to know that her boy had come back again. I’m glad I went back to the place, after the policeman gave up the chase as hopeless. Heigho—I suppose I must be moving——Hullo—what the devil do you want?”
Some one had stopped before him—some one with remarkably old and broken boots. Raising his eyes rapidly upwards to the face of the owner of the boots, Philip Chater gave a start of surprise and dismay. The Shady ’un—looking a little more disreputable than usual—stood before him.
Going rapidly over in his mind the events of the past few days, Philip Chater tried to discover, in the few moments the Shady ’un stood silently regarding him, whether or not he was to look upon that interesting gentleman as a friend, or as a foe. Remembering the two encounters with Captain Peter Quist—the scene in the upper room at “The Three Watermen”—and the unwarrantable liberty taken with the Shady ’un’s headgear on that occasion, for the extinguishing of the light—Philip decided that the man had reason to be resentful. Accordingly, he waited for an attack—verbal or otherwise.
But the Shady ’un—for some reason of his own—was disposed to be friendly; feeling, perhaps, a certain warming of his heart towards one in misfortune—a brother in criminality, as it were—he turned a smiling face towards Philip Chater, and held out his hand.
“This ’ere is the ’and of a pal—an ’umble pal, if yer like—but still a pal. Strike me pink!” exclaimed the Shady ’un, in a sort of hoarse whisper—“but w’en it comes ter bread and cheese fer swells like Dandy—wot are we a comin’ to; I would arks”—he flung out one grimy hand, in an appeal to the Universe—“I would arks—wot are we bloomin’ well comin’ to?”
“Yes—it looks bad—doesn’t it?” replied Philip, still with a wary eye upon the other. “But one must take what the gods send—eh?”
“Well—they sends me a dry throat, an’ nuffink to wet it with,” said the Shady ’un, dismally eyeing the beer which stood on the bench beside Philip, with a thirsty tongue rolling round his lips.
“Well—I dare say we can remedy that,” responded Philip. “Go inside, and get what you want, and bring it out here; I should like to talk to you.”
The Shady ’un immediately vanished through the doorway, and was heard inside, explaining that his “guv’nor” would pay “the damage.” In a few moments, he emerged, bearing a tankard, and some bread and cheese; seated himself on the bench, and fell to with an appetite.
He disposed of his breakfast—if one may so describe it—at an astonishing rate; wiped his pocket-knife on his leg; and looked round, with a smirk which was probably intended as an expression of gratitude, at Philip.