Blue Lights | Page 7

other a marine.
"Here it is, Jack," exclaimed the soldier to his friend; "Miss Sarah Robinson's Institoot, that you've heard so much about. Come an' I'll show you where you can write your letter in peace--"
Thus much was overheard by Miles as they turned into a side-street, and entered what was obviously one of the poorer districts of the town.
"Evidently that soldier's opinion does not agree with yours," remarked Miles, as they walked along.
"More's the pity!" returned the shabby man, whose name he had informed his companion was Sloper. "Now we are getting among places, you see, where there's a good deal of drinking going on."
"I scarcely require to be told that," returned Miles, curtly; for he was beginning to feel his original dislike to Mister Sloper intensified.
It did not indeed require any better instructor than eyes and ears to inform our hero that the grog-shops around him were full, and that a large proportion of the shouting and swearing revellers inside were soldiers and seamen.
By this time it was growing dark, and most of the gin-palaces were beginning to send forth that glare of intense and warm light with which they so knowingly attract the human moths that constitute their prey.
"Here we are," said Sloper, stopping in front of a public-house in a narrow street. "This is one o' the respectable lodgin's. Most o' the others are disreputable. It's not much of a neighbourhood, I admit."
"It certainly is not very attractive," said Miles, hesitating.
"You said you wanted a cheap one," returned Sloper, "and you can't expect to have it cheap and fashionable, you know. You've no occasion to be afraid. Come in."
The arguments of Mr Sloper might have failed to move Miles, but the idea of his being afraid to go anywhere was too much for him.
"Go in, then," he said, firmly, and followed.
The room into which he was ushered was a moderately large public-house, with a bar and a number of tables round the room, at which many men and a few women were seated; some gambling, others singing or disputing, and all drinking and smoking. It is only right to say that Miles was shocked. Hitherto he had lived a quiet and comparatively innocent country life. He knew of such places chiefly from books or hearsay, or had gathered merely the superficial knowledge that comes through the opening of a swing-door. For the first time in his life he stood inside a low drinking-shop, breathing its polluted atmosphere and listening to its foul language. His first impulse was to retreat, but false shame, the knowledge that he had no friend in Portsmouth, or place to go to, that the state of his purse forbade his indulging in more suitable accommodation, and a certain pride of character which made him always determine to carry out what he had resolved to do--all these considerations and facts combined to prevent his acting on the better impulse. He doggedly followed his guide to a small round table and sat down.
Prudence, however, began to operate within him. He felt that he had done wrong; but it was too late now, he thought, to retrace his steps. He would, however, be on his guard; would not encourage the slightest familiarity on the part of any one, and would keep his eyes open. For a youth who had seen nothing of the world this was a highly commendable resolve.
"What'll you drink?" asked Mr Sloper.
Miles was on the point of saying "Coffee," but, reflecting that the beverage might not be readily obtainable in such a place, he substituted "Beer."
Instead of calling the waiter, Mr Sloper went himself to the bar to fetch the liquor. While he was thus engaged, Miles glanced round the room, and was particularly struck with the appearance of a large, fine-looking sailor who sat at the small table next to him, with hands thrust deep into his trousers-pockets, his chin resting on his broad chest, and a solemn, owlish stare in his semi-drunken yet manly countenance. He sat alone, and was obviously in a very sulky frame of mind--a condition which he occasionally indicated through a growl of dissatisfaction.
As Miles sat wondering what could have upset the temper of a tar whose visage was marked by the unmistakable lines and dimples of good-humour, he overheard part of the conversation that passed between the barman and Mr Sloper.
"What! have they got hold o' Rattling Bill?" asked the former, as he drew the beer.
"Ay, worse luck," returned Sloper. "I saw the sergeant as I came along lead him over to Miss Robinson's trap--confound her!"
"Don't you go fur to say anything agin Miss Robinson, old man," suddenly growled the big sailor, in a voice so deep and strong that it silenced for a moment the rest of the company. "Leastways, you may if you like,