"Ah, Miss, you must ask the sharks, and the lobsters, and the big
sea-serpent. They do say, down at Wapping, that the ship was cast away
among the cannibal islands, and the people ate a policeman, and he upon
his promotion. What a pity, what a pity! And his coat four and
sixpence a yard, ready shrunk! But them natives is outrageous."
"Nonsense, Patty, I don’t believe a word of it. Sailors are dreadful
story-tellers, ever since the days of Sindbad. Has any one besides Miss
Isola, Mrs. Elton, or any one, been here to ask for me?"
"No, Miss, Mr. Conrad never come after the day you served him so
dreadful; and Miss Idols say he went back and spoiled 300*l.* worth of
work; but that great lady with the red plush breeches, and the pink silk
stockings, and the baker’s shop in their hair, she been here twice last
week, and left a letter for you. And Balaam been here several times, and
Balak along of him; but I banged the door on them both, now I hear they
be out of the business, and a nice young man set up who don’t bother
about the gun."
"Lady Cranberry’s letter may lie there, and go back the next time Ann
Maples comes. But the bailiffs I must see. If they come to-morrow, let
them in immediately. And how are all my friends at the Mews?"
Her reply would fill a chapter, so I will not enter upon it, but go to
bed and miss the sound of dear Judy’s tail at the door. In the first
course of my dreams, Mr. Shelfer passed on his bedward road, having
politely taken his shoes off at the bottom of the stairs; in doing which
he made at least three times the noise his shodden feet would have
inflicted.
In the morning I took my old walk round the Square, and then sat down
and tried to be patient until the bailiffs should come. Of course I did
not mean to go to my darling Isola, nor even to let her know that I was
so near at hand, although my heart was burning to see her sweet face
again. I even kept away from the window, though I wanted to watch for
the bailiffs, and strictly ordered Mrs. Shelfer not to tell her, if she
should call, a word about my being there. However, it was all in vain.
Mr. Shelfer went out after breakfast to his play-work in the Square, and
the smell of his pipe invaded my little room. I think he must have left
the front door open; at any rate I heard, all of a sudden, a quick
patter of running feet, and such a crying and sobbing, and Mrs. Shelfer
hurrying out to meet it.
"You can’t, Miss, you can’t indeed--not for a thousand pounds. The
rooms are let, I tell you, and you can’t go up. Oh dear, oh dear,
whatever am I to do?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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