Not that the lad resembled her at all, for he had hair and eyes more of my colour than hers, and a fair, clean complexion. But he seemed no better off—just a rough working lad in fustian and corderoys—and I put them down as some labourer’s children, and fell to wondering, if she would think a policeman’s wages enough, to keep a decent home on.
From seeing her so often and thinking of her so much, I come to seem to know her as a sort of friend, and I always said “Good evening, Miss,” when she passed me. And she would look up with those wonderful eyes of hers, and answer “Good evening, officer!” in a voice like music.
You know we policemen like to be called “officer!” It sounds higher and more important like, and when Nan said it, it sounded sweeter and better than ever.
From passing the time of day, we came to exchanging a few words, but my love always made me too timid to say much.
I longed to hear all about her family and her home, but I never seemed to get to know more, than that the lad, whom I took for her brother, called her “Nan,” and she called him “Nick,” in return. “Dear Nick” and “darling Nick.” Lord! how I used to envy the feller, though I wouldn’t have been her brother for all the world.
One night, however, I see something that disturbed me very much. I met Nan at the end of my beat, walking along home with a young man of the name of Rummles. Now, I knew this Rummles well. He was an ostler—leastways he professed to be one—but it was only a cover for thieving.
He was one of the sharpest pickpockets in the East-end. All the Force knew it, and yet not one of us had ever catched him at it, and we was quite on our mettle to do it. He was a flashy-looking cove, as could dress very well, when it suited his purpose to do so, and there he was, perking along of Nan, and looking in her face as impudent as you choose.
It was a sight to upset anyone as loved her. I knew Rummles was no company for her, and yet I had no right to say so. I gave her a look as I passed, as much as to say, “Well, this is a rum dodge,” but didn’t speak a word, until I met her again, which happened to be the next evening.
I was looking out for her, of course, but she was later than usual, and made a dash to cross the road without warning. I laid my hand on her shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss,” I said, “but you don’t want to be run over, do you? The tram’s coming!”
She give a little impatient jerk, and says,