“If I’d a known vere you vos,” said Mr. Sooterkins, “I’d ha’ blowed this here spot o’ work afore. But step in here. I’ve a vord or two to say to you, for I s’pose there’s very little dust at the bottom of your fob.”
Mr. Sooterkins plunged downward into a dingy cellar, and I followed him very obediently.
The place into which I accompanied him was a filthy diving, or slap-bang shop, in which retreat was collected as motley an assemblage as the imagination of man can conceive. A long table extended from one end of the cellar to the other, covered with pewter mugs and dishes, cheap crockery ware, and knives and forks, which latter implements were chained to the table. A very satisfactory idea of the morals of the guests might be gathered from this circumstance; although, indeed, if that hint had been wanting, the variety of villany stamped upon the faces of the profligate crew which surrounded the table, gave proof satisfactory that they were not of that number who rank with the honest of this world.
Mr. Sooterkins nodded to this amiable assembly upon entering, and I obeyed his example, inasmuch as I recognized among these gentlemen some very familiar acquaintances. We were received in a remarkably hilarious manner, and some of the most jovial of our friends pressed their regards rather closely, by playing off two or three practical jokes upon Mr. Sooterkins. The application of a quart pot to the head of the most forward of these wits sent him howling into a corner, and, to my unspeakable satisfaction, put a very sudden conclusion to the incipient merriment.
“Take that,” growled Sooterkins, “and now, as you gen’l’mn seems to be so ’ighly delighted at this here cheerful occasion, you’ll just ’ave the goodness to leave me and my pal to our own cards for a brace of minnits. You see, Bill, ve must speak to Sal, and git posted up on this last score. Hollo! Sal! you old limb of Satan, move yer shanks this way, I tell ye!”
A withered crone, who seemed to be the mistress of the cellar, came hobbling forward, being thus politely conjured to appear.
“Wot!” said she, extending her wrinkled hand to me. “Gentleman Bill here! Here’s a sight for sore eyes!”
“Dight your gab,” interrupted Sooterkins. “Bill’s here, but he’ll be obliged to cut and run this darkey, for the beaks are a’ter him ’bout that job of Ikey’s. Now he’s got no stump, and the devil a mag have I, so you must fork over, for the purchase wot come in vos fairly vorth double as much nor you paid for it. Bill, and Ikey, and I, are all in fur the business, but the blackguard daren’t peach on me, ’cause if he gits off from this scrape, I knows enough of other matters about him to bring him to a hemp crawat wery speedily. You’ve got the plunder, you old hag, and it’s only fair as you should come down with the tin for the tramp.”
“Ah, Gabe,” said the old woman, “you will drive hard bargains with me. But I can’t well refuse for the pretty face of him.”
Singular as it may appear. I felt gratified by the compliment of the hag.