It was an interesting sight to watch police-constable Number 666 as he went through the performance of his arduous1 duties that day at the Regent Circus in Oxford2 Street.
To those who are unacquainted with London, it may be necessary to remark that this circus is one of those great centres of traffic where two main arteries3 cross and tend to cause so much obstruction4, that complete stoppages would become frequent were it not for the admirable management of the several members of the police force who are stationed there to keep order. The “Oxford Circus,” as it is sometimes called, is by no means the largest or most crowded of such crossings, nevertheless the tide of traffic is sufficiently5 strong and continuous there to require several police-constables on constant duty. When men are detailed6 for such “Fixed-Point” duty they go on it for a month at a time, and have different hours from the other men, namely, from nine in the morning till five in the afternoon.
We have said it was interesting to watch our big hero, Number 666, in the performance of his arduous duties. He occupied the crossing on the city side of the circus.
It was a magnificent afternoon, and all the metropolitan7 butterflies were out. Busses flowed on in a continuous stream, looking like big bullies8 who incline to use their weight and strength to crush through all obstruction. The drivers of these were for the most part wise men, and restrained themselves and their steeds. In one or two instances, where the drivers were unwise, a glance from the bright eye of Giles Scott was quite sufficient to keep all right.
And Giles could only afford to bestow9 a fragmentary glance at any time on the refractory10, for, almost at one and the same moment he had to check the impetuous, hold up a warning hand to the unruly, rescue a runaway11 child from innumerable horse-legs, pilot a stout12 but timid lady from what we may call refuge-island, in the middle of the roadway, to the pavement, answer an imbecile’s question as to the whereabouts of the Tower or Saint Paul’s, order a loitering cabby to move on, and look out for his own toes, as well as give moderate attention to the carriage-poles which perpetually threatened the small of his own back.
We should imagine that the premium13 of insurance on the life of Number 666 was fabulous14 in amount, but cannot tell.
Besides his great height, Giles possessed15 a drooping16 moustache, which added much to his dignified17 appearance. He was also imperturbably18 grave, except when offering aid to a lady or a little child, on which occasions the faintest symptoms of a smile floated for a moment on his visage like an April sunbeam. At all other times his expression was that of incorruptible justice and awful immobility. No amount of chaff19, no quantity of abuse, no kind of flattery, no sort of threat could move him any more than the seething20 billows of the Mediterranean21 can move Gibraltar. Costermongers growled22 at him hopelessly. Irate23 cabmen saw that their wisdom lay in submission24. Criminals felt that once in his grasp their case was hopeless, just as, conversely, old ladies felt that once under his protection they were in absolute security. Even street-boys felt that references to “bobbies,” “coppers25,” and “slops;” questions as to how ’is ’ead felt up there; who rolled ’im hout so long; whether his mother knew ’e was hout; whether ’e’d sell ’em a bit of ’is legs; with advice to come down off the ladder, or to go ’ome to bed—that all these were utterly26 thrown away and lost upon Giles Scott.
The garb27 of the London policeman is not, as every one knows, founded on the principles of aesthetics28. Neither has it been devised on utilitarian29 principles. Indeed we doubt whether the originator of it, (and we are happy to profess30 ignorance of his name), proceeded on any principle whatever, except the gratification of a wild and degraded fancy. The colour, of course, is not objectionable, and the helmet might be worse, but the tunic31 is such that the idea of grace or elegance32 may not consist with it.
We mention these facts because Giles Scott was so well-made that he forced his tunic to look well, and thus added one more to the already numerous “exceptions” which are said to “prove the rule.”
“Allow me, madam,” said Giles, offering his right-hand to an elderly female, who, having screwed up her courage to make a rush, got into sudden danger and became mentally hysterical34 in the midst of a conglomerate35 of hoofs36, poles, horse-heads, and wheels.
The female allowed him, and the result was sudden safety, a gasp37 of relief, and departure of hysteria.
“Not yet, please,” said Giles, holding up a warning right-hand to the crowd on refuge-island, while with his left waving gently to and fro he gave permission to the mighty38 stream to flow. “Now,” he added, holding up the left-hand suddenly. The stream was stopped as abruptly39 as were the waters of Jordan in days of old, and the storm-staid crew on refuge-island made a rush for the mainland. It was a trifling40 matter to most of them that rush, but of serious moment to the few whose limbs had lost their elasticity41, or whose minds could not shake off the memory of the fact that between 200 and 300 lives are lost in London streets by accidents every year, and that between 3000 and 4000 are more or less severely42 injured annually43.
Before the human stream had got quite across, an impatient hansom made a push. The eagle eye of Number 666 had observed the intention, and in a moment his gigantic figure stood calmly in front of the horse, whose head was raised high above his helmet as the driver tightened44 the reins45 violently.
Just then a small slipshod girl made an anxious dash from refuge-island, lost courage, and turned to run back, changed her mind, got bewildered, stopped suddenly and yelled.
Giles caught her by the arm, bore her to the pavement, and turned, just in time to see the hansom dash on in the hope of being overlooked. Vain hope! Number 666 saw the number of the hansom, booked it in his memory while he assisted in raising up an old gentleman who had been overturned, though not injured, in endeavouring to avoid it.
During the lull—for there are lulls46 in the rush of London traffic, as in the storms of nature,—Giles transferred the number of that hansom to his note-book, thereby47 laying up a little treat for its driver in the shape of a little trial the next day terminating, probably, with a fine.
Towards five in the afternoon the strain of all this began to tell even on the powerful frame of Giles Scott, but no symptom did he show of fatigue48, and so much reserve force did he possess that it is probable he would have exhibited as calm and unwearied a front if he had remained on duty for eighteen hours instead of eight.
About that hour, also, there came an unusual glut49 to the traffic, in the form of a troop of the horse-guards. These magnificent creatures, resplendent in glittering steel, white plumes50, and black boots, were passing westward51. Giles stood in front of the arrested stream. A number of people stood, as it were, under his shadow. Refuge-island was overflowing53. Comments, chiefly eulogistic54, were being freely made and some impatience55 was being manifested by drivers, when a little shriek56 was heard, and a child’s voice exclaimed:—
“Oh! papa, papa—there’s my policeman—the one I so nearly killed. He’s not dead after all!”
Giles forgot his dignity for one moment, and, looking round, met the eager gaze of little Di Brandon.
Another moment and duty required his undivided attention, so that he lost sight of her, but Di took good care not to lose sight of him.
“We will wait here, darling,” said her father, referring to refuge-island on which he stood, “and when he is disengaged we can speak to him.”
“Oh! I’m so glad he’s not dead,” said little Di, “and p’raps he’ll be able to show us the way to my boy’s home.”
Di had a method of adopting, in a motherly way, all who, in the remotest manner, came into her life. Thus she not only spoke57 of our butcher and our baker58, which was natural, but referred to “my policeman” and “my boy” ever since the day of the accident.
When Giles had set his portion of the traffic in harmonious59 motion he returned to his island, and was not sorry to receive the dignified greeting of Sir Richard Brandon, while he was delighted as well as amused by the enthusiastic grasp with which Di seized his huge hand in both of her little ones, and the earnest manner in which she inquired after his health, and if she had hurt him much.
“Did they put you to bed and give you hot gruel61?” she asked, with touching62 pathos63.
“No, miss, they didn’t think I was hurt quite enough to require it,” answered Giles, his drooping moustache curling slightly as he spoke.
“I had hoped to see you at my house,” said Sir Richard, “you did not call.”
“Thank you, sir, I did not think the little service I rendered your daughter worth making so much of. I called, however, the same evening, to inquire for her, but did not wish to intrude64 on you.”
“It would have been no intrusion, friend,” returned Sir Richard, with grand condescension65. “One who has saved my child’s life has a claim upon my consideration.”
“A dook ’e must be,” said a small street boy in a loud stage whisper to a dray-man—for small street-boys are sown broadcast in London, and turn up at all places on every occasion, “or p’raps,” he added on reflection, “’e’s on’y a markiss.”
“Now then,” said Giles to the dray-man with a motion of the hand that caused him to move on, while he cast a look on the boy which induced him to move off.
“By the way, constable,” said Sir Richard, “I am on my way to visit a poor boy whose leg was broken on the day my pony66 ran away. He was holding the pony at the time. He lives in Whitechapel somewhere. I have the address here in my note-book.”
“Excuse me, sir, one moment,” said Number 666, going towards a crowd which had gathered round a fallen horse. “I happen to be going to that district myself,” he continued on returning, “what is the boy’s name?”
“Robert—perhaps I should rather say Bobby Frog,” answered Sir Richard.
“The name is familiar,” returned the policeman, “but in London there are so many—what’s his address, sir,—Roy’s Court, near Commercial Street? Oh! I know it well—one of the worst parts of London. I know the boy too. He is somewhat noted67 in that neighbourhood for giving the police trouble. Not a bad-hearted fellow, I believe, but full of mischief68, and has been brought up among thieves from his birth. His father is, or was, a bird-fancier and seller of penny articles on the streets, besides being a professional pugilist. You will be the better for protection there, sir. I would advise you not to go alone. If you can wait for five or ten minutes,” added Giles, “I shall be off duty and will be happy to accompany you.”
Sir Richard agreed to wait. Within the time mentioned Giles was relieved, and, entering a cab with his friends, drove towards Whitechapel. They had to pass near our policeman’s lodgings69 on the way.
“Would you object, sir, stopping at my house for five minutes?” he asked.
“Certainly not,” returned the knight70, “I am in no hurry.”
Number 666 stopped the cab, leaped out and disappeared through a narrow passage. In less than five minutes a very tall gentlemanly man issued from the same passage and approached them. Little Di opened her blue eyes to their very uttermost. It was her policeman in plain clothes!
She did not like the change at all at first, but before the end of the drive got used to him in his new aspect—all the more readily that he seemed to have cast off much of his stiffness and reserve with his blue skin.
Near the metropolitan railway station in Whitechapel the cab was dismissed, and Giles led the father and child along the crowded thoroughfare until they reached Commercial Street, along which they proceeded a short distance.
“We are now near some of the worst parts of London, sir,” said Giles, “where great numbers of the criminal and most abandoned characters dwell.”
“Indeed,” said Sir Richard, who did not seem to be much gratified by the information.
As for Di, she was nearly crying. The news that her boy was a thief and was born in the midst of such naughty people had fallen with chilling influence on her heart, for she had never thought of anything but the story-book “poor but honest parents!”
“What large building is that?” inquired the knight, who began to wish that he had not given way to his daughter’s importunities, “the one opposite, I mean, with placards under the windows.”
“That is the well-known Home of Industry, instituted and managed by Miss Macpherson and a staff of volunteer workers. They do a deal of good, sir, in this neighbourhood.”
“Ah! indeed,” said Sir Richard, who had never before heard of the Home of Industry. “And, pray, what particular industry does this Miss Mac— what did you call her?”
“Macpherson. The lady, you know, who sends out so many rescued waifs and strays to Canada, and spends all her time in caring for the poorest of the poor in the East-End and in preaching the gospel to them. You’ve often seen accounts of her work, no doubt, in the Christian71?”
“Well—n–no. I read the Times, but, now you mention it, I have some faint remembrance of seeing reference to such matters. Very self-denying, no doubt, and praiseworthy, though I must say that I doubt the use of preaching the gospel to such persons. From what I have seen of these lowest people I should think they were too deeply sunk in depravity to be capable of appreciating the lofty and sublime72 sentiments of Christianity.”
Number 666 felt a touch of surprise at these words, though he was too well-bred a policeman to express his feelings by word or look. In fact, although not pre-eminently noted for piety73, he had been led by training, and afterwards by personal experience, to view this matter from a very different standpoint from that of Sir Richard. He made no reply, however, but, turning round the corner of the Home of Industry, entered a narrow street which bore palpable evidence of being the abode74 of deepest poverty. From the faces and garments of the inhabitants it was also evidently associated with the deepest depravity.
As little Di saw some of the residents sitting on their doorsteps with scratched faces, swelled75 lips and cheeks, and dishevelled hair, and beheld76 the children in half-naked condition rolling in the kennel77 and extremely filthy78, she clung closer to her father’s side and began to suspect there were some phases of life she had never seen—had not even dreamt of!
What the knight’s thoughts were we cannot tell, for he said nothing, but disgust was more prominent than pity on his fine countenance79. Those who sat on the doorsteps, or lolled with a dissipated air against the door-posts, seemed to appreciate him at his proper value, for they scowled81 at him as he passed. They recognised Number 666, however, (perhaps by his bearing), and gave him only a passing glance of indifference82.
“You said it would be dangerous for me to come here by myself,” said Sir Richard, turning to Giles, as he entered another and even worse street. “Are they then so violent?”
“Many of them are among the worst criminals in London, sir. Here is the court of which you are in search: Roy’s Court.”
As he spoke, Ned Frog staggered out of his own doorway83, clenched84 his fists, and looked with a vindictive85 scowl80 at the strangers. A second glance induced him to unclench his fists and reel round the corner on his way to a neighbouring grog-shop. Whatever other shops may decay in that region, the grog-shops, like noxious86 weeds, always flourish.
The court was apparently87 much deserted88 at that hour, for the men had not yet returned from their work—whatever that might be—and most of the women were within doors.
“This is the house,” continued Giles, descending89 the few steps, and tapping at the door; “I have been here before. They know me.”
The door was opened by Hetty, and for the first time since entering those regions of poverty and crime, little Di felt a slight rise in her spirits, for through Hetty’s face shone the bright spirit within; albeit90 the shining was through some dirt and dishevelment, good principle not being able altogether to overcome the depressing influences of extreme poverty and suffering.
“Is your mother at home, Hetty!”
“Oh! yes, sir. Mother, here’s Mr Scott. Come in, sir. We are so glad to see you, and—”
She stopped, and gazed inquiringly at the visitors who followed.
“I’ve brought some friends of Bobby to inquire for him. Sir Richard Brandon—Mrs Frog.”
Number 666 stood aside, and, with something like a smile on his face, ceremoniously presented Wealth to Poverty.
Wealth made a slightly confused bow to Poverty, and Poverty, looking askance at Wealth, dropt a mild courtesy.
“Vell now, I’m a Dutchman if it ain’t the hangel!” exclaimed a voice in the corner of the small room, before either Wealth or Poverty could utter a word.
“Oh! it’s my boy,” exclaimed Di with delight, forgetting or ignoring the poverty, dirt, and extremely bad air, as she ran forward and took hold of Bobby’s hand.
It was a pre-eminently dirty hand, and formed a remarkable91 contrast to the little hands that grasped it!
The small street boy was, for the first time in his life, bereft92 of speech! When that faculty93 returned, he remarked in language which was obscure to Di:—
“Vell, if this ain’t a go!”
“What is a go?” asked Di with innocent surprise. Instead of answering, Bobby Frog burst into a fit of laughter, but stopped rather suddenly with an expression of pain.
“Oh! ’old on! I say. This won’t do. Doctor ’e said I musn’t larf, ’cause it shakes the leg too much. But, you know, wot’s a cove94 to do ven a hangel comes to him and axes sitch rum questions?”
Again he laughed, and again stopped short in pain.
“I’m so sorry! Does it feel very painful? You can’t think how constantly I’ve been thinking of you since the accident; for it was all my fault. If I hadn’t jumped up in such a passion, the pony wouldn’t have run away, and you wouldn’t have been hurt. I’m so very, very sorry, and I got dear papa to bring me here to tell you so, and to see if we could do anything to make you well.”
Again Bobby was rendered speechless, but his mind was active.
“Wot! I ain’t dreamin’, am I? ’As a hangel really come to my bedside all the vay from the Vest-end, an’ brought ’er dear pa’—vich means the guv’nor, I fancy—all for to tell me—a kid whose life is spent in ‘movin’ on’—that she’s wery, wery, sorry I’ve got my leg broke, an’ that she’s bin95 an’ done it, an’ she would like to know if she can do hanythink as’ll make me vell! But it ain’t true. It’s a big lie! I’m dreamin’, that’s all. I’ve been took to hospital, an’ got d’lirious—that’s wot it is. I’ll try to sleep!”
With this end in view he shut his eyes, and remained quite still for a few seconds, and when Di looked at his pinched and pale face in this placid96 condition, the tears would overflow52 their natural boundary, and sobs97 would rise up in her pretty throat, but she choked them back for fear of disturbing her boy.
Presently the boy opened his eyes.
“Wot, are you there yet?” he asked.
“Oh yes. Did you think I was going away?” she replied, with a look of innocent surprise. “I won’t leave you now. I’ll stay here and nurse you, if papa will let me. I have slept once on a shake-down, when I was forced by a storm to stay all night at a juv’nile party. So if you’ve a corner here, it will do nicely—”
“My dear child,” interrupted her amazed father, “you are talking nonsense. And—do keep a little further from the bed. There may be—you know—infection—”
“Oh! you needn’t fear infection here, sir,” said Mrs Frog, somewhat sharply. “We are poor enough, God knows, though I have seen better times, but we keep ourselves pretty clean, though we can’t afford to spend much on soap when food is so dear, and money so scarce—so very scarce!”
“Forgive me, my good woman,” said Sir Richard, hastily, “I did not mean to offend, but circumstances would seem to favour the idea—of—of—”
And here Wealth—although a bank director and chairman of several boards, and capable of making a neat, if weakly, speech on economic laws and the currency when occasion required—was dumb before Poverty. Indeed, though he had often theorised about that stricken creature, he had never before fairly hunted her down, run her into her den33, and fairly looked her in the face.
“The fact is, Mrs Frog,” said Giles Scott, coming to the rescue, “Sir Richard is anxious to know something about your affairs—your family, you know, and your means of—by the way, where is baby?” he said looking round the room.
“She’s gone lost,” said Mrs Frog.
“Lost?” repeated Giles, with a significant look.
“Ay, lost,” repeated Mrs Frog, with a look of equal significance.
“Bless me, how did you lose your child?” asked Sir Richard, in some surprise.
“Oh! sir, that often happens to us poor folk. We’re used to it,” said Mrs Frog, in a half bantering98 half bitter tone.
Sir Richard suddenly called to mind the fact—which had not before impressed him, though he had read and commented on it—that 11,835 children under ten years of age had been lost that year, (and it was no exceptional year, as police reports will show), in the streets of London, and that 23 of these children were never found.
He now beheld, as he imagined, one of the losers of the lost ones, and felt stricken.
“Well now,” said Giles to Mrs Frog, “let’s hear how you get along. What does your husband do?”
“He mostly does nothin’ but drink. Sometimes he sells little birds; sometimes he sells penny watches or boot-laces in Cheapside, an’ turns in a little that way, but it all goes to the grog-shop; none of it comes here. Then he has a mill now an’ again—”
“A mill?” said Sir Richard,—“is it a snuff or flour—”
“He’s a professional pugilist,” explained Giles.
“An’ he’s employed at a music-hall,” continued Mrs Frog, “to call out the songs an’ keep order. An’ Bobby always used to pick a few coppers by runnin’ messages, sellin’ matches, and odd jobs. But he’s knocked over now.”
“And yourself. How do you add to the general fund?” asked Sir Richard, becoming interested in the household management of Poverty.
“Well, I char60 a bit an’ wash a bit, sir, when I’m well enough—which ain’t often. An’ sometimes I lights the Jews’ fires for ’em, an’ clean up their ’earths on Saturdays—w’ich is their Sundays, sir. But Hetty works like a horse. It’s she as keeps us from the work’us, sir. She’s got employment at a slop shop, and by workin’ ’ard all day manages to make about one shillin’ a week.”
“I beg your pardon—how much?”
“One shillin’, sir.”
“Ah, you mean one shilling a day, I suppose.”
“No, sir, I mean one shillin’ a week. Mr Scott there knows that I’m tellin’ what’s true.”
Giles nodded, and Sir Richard said, “ha–a–hem,” having nothing more lucid99 to remark on such an amazing financial problem as was here set before him.
“But,” continued Mrs Frog, “poor Hetty has had a sad disappointment this week—”
“Oh! mother,” interrupted Hetty, “don’t trouble the gentleman with that. Perhaps he wouldn’t understand it, for of course he hasn’t heard about all the outs and ins of slop-work.”
“Pardon me, my good girl,” said Sir Richard, “I have not, as you truly remark, studied the details of slop-work minutely, but my mind is not unaccustomed to financial matters. Pray let me hear about this—”
A savage100 growling101, something between a mastiff and a man, outside the door, here interrupted the visitor, and a hand was heard fumbling102 about the latch103. As the hand seemed to lack skill to open the door the foot considerately took the duty in hand and burst it open, whereupon the huge frame of Ned Frog stumbled into the room and fell prostrate104 at the feet of Sir Richard, who rose hastily and stepped back.
The pugilist sprang up, doubled his ever ready fists, and, glaring at the knight, asked savagely105:
“Who the—”
He was checked in the utterance106 of a ferocious107 oath, for at that moment he encountered the grave eye of Number 666.
Relaxing his fists he thrust them into his coat-pockets, and, with a subdued108 air, staggered out of the house.
“My ’usband, sir,” said Mrs Frog, in answer to her visitor’s inquiring glance.
“Oh! is that his usual mode of returning home?”
“No, sir,” answered Bobby from his corner, for he was beginning to be amused by the succession of surprises which Wealth was receiving, “’e don’t always come in so. Sometimes ’e sends ’is ’ead first an’ the feet come afterwards. In any case the furniture’s apt to suffer, not to mention the in’abitants, but you’ve saved us to-night, sir, or, raither, Mr Scott ’as saved both us an’ you.”
Poor little Di, who had been terribly frightened, clung closer to her father’s arm on hearing this.
“Perhaps,” said Sir Richard, “it would be as well that we should go, in case Mr Frog should return.”
He was about to say good-bye when Di checked him, and, despite her fears, urged a short delay.
“We haven’t heard, you know, about the slops yet. Do stop just one minute, dear papa. I wonder if it’s like the beef-tea nurse makes for me when I’m ill.”
“It’s not that kind of slops, darling, but ready-made clothing to which reference is made. But you are right. Let us hear about it, Miss Hetty.”
The idea of “Miss” being applied109 to Hetty, and slops compared to beef-tea proved almost too much for the broken-legged boy in the corner, but he put strong constraint110 on himself and listened.
“Indeed, sir, I do not complain,” said Hetty, quite distressed111 at being thus forcibly dragged into notice. “I am thankful for what has been sent—indeed I am—only it was a great disappointment, particularly at this time, when we so much needed all we could make amongst us.”
She stopped and had difficulty in restraining tears. “Go on, Hetty,” said her mother, “and don’t be afraid. Bless you, he’s not goin’ to report what you say.”
“I know that, mother. Well, sir, this was the way on it. They sometimes—”
“Excuse me—who are ‘they’?”
“I beg pardon, sir, I—I’d rather not tell.”
“Very well. I respect your feelings, my girl. Some slop-making firm, I suppose. Go on.”
“Yes, sir. Well—they sometimes gives me extra work to do at home. It do come pretty hard on me after goin’ through the regular day’s work, from early mornin’ till night, but then, you see, it brings in a little more money—and, I’m strong, thank God.”
Sir Richard looked at Hetty’s thin and colourless though pretty face, and thought it possible that she might be stronger with advantage.
“Of late,” continued the girl, “I’ve bin havin’ extra work in this way, and last week I got twelve children’s ulsters to make up. This job when finished would bring me six and sixpence.”
“How much?”
“Six and sixpence, sir.”
“For the whole twelve?” asked Sir Richard.
“Yes, sir—that was sixpence halfpenny for makin’ up each ulster. It’s not much, sir.”
“No,” murmured Wealth in an absent manner; “sixpence halfpenny is not much.”
“But when I took them back,” continued Hetty—and here the tears became again obstreperous112 and difficult to restrain—“the master said he’d forgot to tell me that this order was for the colonies, that he had taken it at a very low price, and that he could only give me three shillin’s for the job. Of—of course three shillin’s is better the nothin’, but after workin’ hard for such a long long time an’ expectin’ six, it was—”
Here the tears refused to be pent up any longer, and the poor girl quietly bending forward hid her face in her hand.
“Come, I think we will go now,” said Sir Richard, rising hastily. “Good-night, Mrs Frog, I shall probably see you again—at least—you shall hear from me. Now, Di—say good-night to your boy.”
In a few minutes Sir Richard stood outside, taking in deep draughts113 of the comparatively fresher air of the court.
“The old screw,” growled Bobby, when the door was shut. “’E didn’t leave us so much as a single bob—not even a brown, though ’e pretends that six of ’em ain’t much.”
“Don’t be hard on him, Bobby,” said Hetty, drying her eyes; “he spoke very kind, you know, an’ p’raps he means to help us afterwards.”
“Spoke kind,” retorted the indignant boy; “I tell ’ee wot, Hetty, you’re far too soft an’ forgivin’. I s’pose that’s wot they teaches you in Sunday-school at George Yard—eh? Vill speakin’ kind feed us, vill it clothe us, vill it pay for our lodgin’s!”
The door opened at that moment, and Number 666 re-entered.
“The gentleman sent me back to give you this, Mrs Frog,” laying a sovereign on the rickety table. “He said he didn’t like to offer it to you himself for fear of hurting your feelings, but I told him he needn’t be afraid on that score! Was I right, Missis? Look well after it, now, an’ see that Ned don’t get his fingers on it.”
Giles left the room, and Mrs Frog, taking up the piece of gold, fondled it for some time in her thin fingers, as though she wished to make quite sure of its reality. Then wrapping it carefully in a piece of old newspaper, she thrust it into her bosom114.
Bobby gazed at her in silence up to this point, and then turned his face to the wall. He did not speak, but we cannot say that he did not pray, for, mentally he said, “I beg your parding, old gen’l’m’n, an’ I on’y pray that a lot of fellers like you may come ’ere sometimes to ’urt our feelin’s in that vay!”
At that moment Hetty bent115 over the bed, and, softly kissing her brother’s dirty face, whispered, “Yes, Bobby, that’s what they teach me in Sunday-school at George Yard.”
Thereafter Wealth drove home in a cab, and Poverty went to bed in her rags.
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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9
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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10
refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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11
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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13
premium
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| n.加付款；赠品；adj.高级的；售价高的 | |
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14
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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15
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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16
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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17
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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18
imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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19
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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20
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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21
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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22
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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23
irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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24
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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25
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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26
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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27
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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28
aesthetics
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| n.(尤指艺术方面之)美学，审美学 | |
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29
utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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30
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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31
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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32
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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33
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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34
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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35
conglomerate
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| n.综合商社，多元化集团公司 | |
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36
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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37
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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38
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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39
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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40
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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41
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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42
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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43
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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44
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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45
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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46
lulls
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| n.间歇期（lull的复数形式）vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的第三人称单数形式） | |
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47
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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48
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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49
glut
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| n.存货过多，供过于求；v.狼吞虎咽 | |
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50
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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51
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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52
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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53
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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54
eulogistic
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| adj.颂扬的，颂词的 | |
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55
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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56
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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57
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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58
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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59
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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60
char
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| v.烧焦；使...燃烧成焦炭 | |
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61
gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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62
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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63
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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64
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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65
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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66
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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67
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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68
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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69
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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70
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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71
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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72
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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73
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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74
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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75
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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76
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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77
kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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78
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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79
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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80
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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81
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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83
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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84
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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86
noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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87
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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88
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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89
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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90
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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91
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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92
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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93
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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94
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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95
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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96
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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97
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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98
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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99
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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100
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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101
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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102
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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103
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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104
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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105
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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106
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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107
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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108
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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109
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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110
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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111
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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112
obstreperous
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| adj.喧闹的，不守秩序的 | |
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113
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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114
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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115
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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