Sentimental Tommy: The Story of His BoyhoodBarrie, J. M. (James Matthew)
History
Sentimental Tommy: The Story of His Boyhood
Barrie, J. M. (James Matthew)
London (England) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
He thought her an unpleasant, morbid girl, but "that is no affair of
mine," he said shrugging his shoulders, and he gave her the bottle to
deliver. Before taking it to Ballingall's, however, she committed a
little crime. She bought an empty bottle at the 'Sosh, and poured into
it some of the contents of the medicine bottle, which she then filled up
with water. She dared try no other way now of getting medicine for her
mother, and was too ignorant to know that there are different drugs for
different ailments.
Grizel not only contrived to get in to see Ballingan but stayed by his
side for several hours, and when she came out it was night-time. On her
way home she saw a light moving in the Den, where she had expected to
play no more, and she could not prevent her legs from running joyously
toward it. So when Corp, rising out of the darkness, deftly cut her
throat, she was not so angry as she should have been.
"I'm so glad we are to play again, after all, Corp," she said; but he
replied grandly, "Thou little kennest wha you're speaking to, my gentle
jade."
He gave a curious hitch to his breeches, but it only puzzled her. "I
wear gallowses no more," he explained, lifting his waistcoat to show
that his braces now encircled him as a belt, but even then she did not
understand. "Know, then," said Corp, sternly, "I am Ben the Boatswain."
"And am I not the Lady Griselda any more?" she asked.
"I'm no sure," he confessed; "but if you are, there's a price on your
head."
"What is Tommy?"
"I dinna ken yet, but Gavinia says he telled her he's Champion of Damns.
I kenna what Elspeth'll say to that."
Grizel was starting for the Lair, but he caught her by the skirt.
"Is he not at the Lair?" she inquired.
"We knowest it not," he answered gravely. "We're looking for't," he
added with some awe; "we've been looking for't this three year." Then,
in a louder voice, "If you can guide us to it, my pretty trifle, you'll
be richly rewarded."
"But where is he? Don't you know?"
"Fine I knowest, but it wouldna be mous to tell you, for I kenna whether
you be friend or foe. What's that you're carrying?"
"It is a--a medicine bottle."
"Gie me a sook!"
"No."
"Just one," begged Corp, "and I'll tell you where he is."
He got his way, and smacked his lips unctuously.
"Now, where is Tommy?"
"Put your face close to mine," said Corp, and then he whispered
hoarsely, "He's in a spleet new Lair, writing out bills wi' a' his
might, offering five hunder crowns reward for Stroke's head, dead or
alive!"
* * * * *
The new haunt was a deserted house, that stood, very damp, near a little
waterfall to the east of the Den. Bits of it well planted in the marsh
adhere doggedly together to this day, but even then the roof was off and
the chimney lay in a heap on the ground, like blankets that have slipped
off a bed.
This was the good ship Ailie, lying at anchor, man-of-war, thirty guns,
a cart-wheel to steer it by, T. Sandys, commander.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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