Life in the Red Brigade: London Fire Brigade by R. M. Ballantyne (korean novels in english txt) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Life in the Red Brigade: London Fire Brigade by R. M. Ballantyne (korean novels in english txt) đ». Author R. M. Ballantyne
Meanwhile Phil Sparks went about the streets of London attending to the duties of his own particular business. To judge from appearances, it seemed to be rather an easy occupation, for it consisted mainly in walking at a leisurely pace through the streets and thoroughfares, with his hands in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth.
Meditation also appeared to be an important branch of this business, for Phil frequently paused in front of a large mansion, or a magnificent shop, and gazed at it so intently, that one might have almost fancied he was planning the best method of attempting a burglary, although nothing was farther from Philâs intentions. Still, his meditations were sometimes so prolonged, that more than one policeman advised him, quite in a friendly way, to âmove on.â
Apparently, however, Phil turned over no profit, on this business, and was about to return home supperless to bed, when he suddenly observed smoke issuing from an upper window. Rare and lucky chance! He was the first to observe it. He knew that the first who should convey the alarm of fire to a fire-station would receive a shilling for his exertions. He dashed off at once, had the firemen brought to the spot in a few minutes, so that the fire was easily and quickly overcome. Thus honest Phil Sparks earned his supper, and the right to go home and lay his head on his pillow, with the happy consciousness of having done a good action to his fellow-men, and performed a duty to the public and himself.
It is probable that there is not in all the wide world a manâno matter how depraved, or ill-favoured, or unattractiveâwho cannot find some sympathetic soul, some one who will be glad to see him and find more or less pleasure in his society. Coarse in body and mind though Philip Sparks was, there dwelt a young woman, in one of the poorest of the poor streets in the neighbourhood of Thames Street, who loved him, and would have laid down her life for him.
To do Martha Reading justice, she had fallen in love with Sparks before intemperance had rendered his countenance repulsive and his conduct brutal. When, perceiving the power he had over her, he was mean enough to borrow and squander the slender gains she made by the laborious work of dress-makingâcompared to which coal-heaving must be mere childâs playâshe experienced a change in her feelings towards him, which she could not easily understand or define. Her thoughts of him were mingled with intense regrets and anxieties, and she looked forward to his visits with alarm. Yet those thoughts were not the result of dying affection; she felt quite certain of that, having learned from experience that, âmany waters cannot quench love.â
One evening, about eight oâclock, Phil Sparks, having prosecuted his âbusinessâ up to that hour without success, tapped at the door of Marthaâs garret and entered without waiting for permission; indeed, his tapping at all was a rather unwonted piece of politeness.
âCome in, Phil,â said Martha, rising and shaking hands, after which she resumed her work.
âYou seem busy to-night,â remarked Sparks, sitting down on a broken chair beside the fireless grate, and taking out his bosom companion, a short black pipe, which he began to fill.
âI am always busy,â said Martha, with a sigh.
âAnâ it donât seem to agree with you, to judge from your looks,â rejoined the man.
This was true. The poor girlâs pretty face was thin and very pale and haggard.
âI was up all last night,â she said, âand feel tired now, and thereâs not much chance of my getting to bed to-night either, because the lady for whom I am making this must have it by to-morrow afternoon at latest.â
Here Mr Sparks muttered something very like a malediction on ladies in general, and on ladies who âmustâ have dresses in particular.
âYour fireâs dead out, Martha,â he added, poking among the ashes in search of a live ember.
âYes, Phil, itâs out. I canât afford fire of an evening; besides it ainât cold just now.â
âYou can afford matches, I suppose,â growled Phil; âah, here they are. Useful things matches, not only for lightinâ a fellerâs pipe with, but also forâwell; so she must have it by to-morrow afternoon, must she?â
âYes, so my employer tells me.â
âAnâ sheâll not take no denial, wonât she?â
âI believe not,â replied Martha, with a faint smile, which, like a gleam of sunshine on a dark landscape, gave indication of the brightness that might have been if grey clouds of sorrow had not overspread her sky.
âWhatâs the ladyâs name, Martha?â
âMiddleton.â
âAnd wâere abouts may she live?â
âIn Conway Street, Knightsbridge.â
âThe number?â
âNumber 6, I believe; but why are you so particular in your inquiries about her?â said Martha, looking up for a moment from her work, while the faint gleam of sunshine again flitted over her face.
âWhy, you see, Martha,â replied Phil, gazing through the smoke of his pipe with a sinister smile, âit makes a feller feel koorious to hear the partiklers about a lady wot must have things, anâ wonât take no denial! If I was you, now, Iâd disappoint her, anâ see how sheâd take it.â
He wound up his remark, which was made in a bantering tone, with another malediction, which was earnest enoughâsavagely so.
âOh! Phil,â cried the girl, in an earnest tone of entreaty; âdonât, oh, donât swear so. It is awful to think that God hears you, is near youâat your very elbowâwhile you thus insult Him to his face.â
The man made no reply, but smoked with increasing intensity, while he frowned at the empty fire-place.
âWell, Martha,â he said, after a prolonged silence, âIâve got work at last.â
âHave you?â cried the girl, with a look of interest.
âYes; it ainât much to boast of, to be sure, but it pays, and, as it ties me to nothinâ anâ nobody, it suits my taste well. Iâm wot you may call a appendage oâ the fire-brigade. I hangs about the streets till I sees a fire, wâen, off I goes full split to the nearest fire-station, calls out the engine, and gits the reward for beinâ first to give the alarm.â
âIndeed,â said Martha, whose face, which had kindled up at first with pleasure, assumed a somewhat disappointed look; âIâI fear you wonât make much by that, Phil?â
âYou donât seem to make much by that,â retorted Phil, pointing with the bowl of his pipe to the dress which lay in her lap and streamed in a profusion of rich folds down to the floor.
âNot much,â assented Martha, with a sigh. âWell, then,â continued Phil, re-lighting his pipe, and pausing occasionally in his remarks to admire the bowl, âthat beinâ so, you and I are much in the same fix, so if we unites our small incomes, of course thatâll make âem just double the size.â
âPhil,â said Martha, in a lower voice, as she let her hands and the work on which they were engaged fall on her lap, âI think, now, that it will never be.â
âWhatâll never be?â demanded the man rudely, looking at the girl in surprise.
âOur marriage.â
âWhat! are you going to jilt me?â
âHeaven forbid,â said Martha, earnestly. âBut you and I are not as we once were, Phil, we differ on many points. I feel sure that our union would make us more miserable than we are.â
âCome, come,â cried the man, half in jest and half in earnest. âThis kind of thing will never do. You mustnât joke about that, old girl, else Iâll have you up for breach of promise.â
Mr Sparks rose as he spoke, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, put it in his waistcoat pocket, and prepared to go.
âMartha,â he said, âIâm goinâ off now to attend to my business, but I havenât made a rap yet to-day, and its hard working on a empty stomach, so I just looked in to light my pipe, and enquire if you hadnât got a shillinâ about you, eh!â
The girl looked troubled.
âOh, very well,â cried Sparks, with an offended air, âif you donât want to accommodate me, never mind, I can get it elsewhere.â
âStop!â cried Martha, taking a leathern purse from her pocket.
âWell, it would have been rather hard,â he said, returning and holding out his hand.
âThere, take it,â said Martha, âYou shouldnât judge too quickly. You donât know why I looked put out. It is myââ
She stopped short, and then said hurriedly, âDonât drink it, Phil.â
âNo, I wonât. Iâm hungry. Iâll eat it. Thankee.â
With a coarse laugh he left the room, and poor Martha sat down again to her weary toil, which was not in any degree lightened by the fact that she had just given away her last shilling.
A moment after, the door opened suddenly and Mr Sparks looked in with a grin, which did not improve the expression of his countenance.
âI say, I wouldnât finish that dress to-night if I was you.â
âWhy not, Phil?â asked the girl in surprise.
ââCause the lady wonât want it to-morrow arternoon.â
âHow do you know that?â
âNo matter. Itâs by means of a kind of second-sight Iâve got, that I find out a-many things. All I can say is that Iâve got a strong suspicionâa what dâye call itâa presentiment that Mrs Middleton, of Number 6, Conway Street, Knightsbridge, wonât want her dress to-morrow, so I advise you to go to bed to-night.â
Without waiting for a reply Mr Sparks shut the door and descended to the street. Purchasing and lighting a cheroot at the nearest tobacco shop with part of Marthaâs last shilling, he thrust his hands into his pockets, and sauntering along various small streets and squares, gave his undivided attention to business.
For a man whose wants were rather extensive and urgent, the âbusinessâ did not seem a very promising one. He glanced up at the houses as he sauntered along, appearing almost to expect that some of them would undergo spontaneous combustion for his special accommodation. Occasionally he paused and gazed at a particular house with rapt intensity, as if he hoped the light which flashed from his own eyes would set it on fire; but the houses being all regular bricks refused to flare up at such a weak insult.
Finding his way to Trafalgar Square, Mr Sparks threw away the end of his cheroot, and, mending his pace, walked smartly along Piccadilly until he gained the neighbourhood of Knightsbridge. Here he purchased another cheroot, and while lighting it took occasion to ask if there was a street thereabouts named Conway Street.
âYes, sir, there is,â said a small and exceedingly pert crossing-sweeper, who chanced to be standing near the open door of the shop, and overheard the question. âIâll show you the way for a copper, sir, but silver preferred, if youâre so disposed.â
âWhereabouts is it?â asked Mr Sparks of the shopman, regardless of the boy.
âRound the corner to your right, and after that second turning to your left.â
âOh, thatâs all wrong,â cried the boy. âWây, âow should âee know hanythink about streets? Never goes nowheres, does nothink but sell snuff anâ pigtail, morninâ, noon, and night. âEe should have said, right round the corner to your right, and âee should have added âsir,â for thatâs right wâen a genâlâmânâs spoke to, arter wâich, wâen youâve left this âere street, take second turninâ to your left, if youâre left-âanded, anâ then you come hall right. Thatâs âow âee ought to have said it, sir.â
In the midst of this flow of information, Mr Sparks emerged into the street.
âIâll show you the way for love, sir, if you ainât got no money,â said the boy in a tone of mock sincerity, stepping up and touching his cap.
âLet âim alone, Bloater,â cried another and smaller boy, âdonât you see eeâs one of the swell mob, anâ donât want to âave too much attention
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