Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished | Page 3

his eyes very wide indeed, and
smacking his lips. "I think I'll go in for a smashed pin every day o' my
life for a drop o' that stuff. Surely it must be wot they drinks in 'eaven!
Have 'ee got much more o' the same on 'and?"
"Never mind, but you drink away while you've got the chance," replied
the amiable cook; "there's the cab coming, so you've no time to lose."
"Vell, I am sorry I ain't able to 'old more, an' my pockets wont 'old it
neither, bein' the wuss for wear. Thankee, missus."
He managed, by a strong effort, to dispose of a little more soup before
the cab drew up.
"Where do you live?" asked the butler, as he placed the boy carefully in
the bottom of the cab with his unkempt head resting on a hassock,
which he gave him to understand was a parting gift from the
housemaid.
"Vere do I live?" he repeated. "Vy, mostly in the streets; my last 'ome
was a sugar barrel, the one before was a donkey-cart, but I do
sometimes condescend to wisit my parents in their mansion 'ouse in

Vitechapel."
"And what is your name? Sir Richard may wish to inquire for you--
perhaps."
"May he? Oh! I'm sorry I ain't got my card to leave, but you just tell
him, John--is it, or Thomas?--Ah! Thomas. I knowed it couldn't 'elp to
be one or t'other;--you just tell your master that my name is Robert,
better known as Bobby, Frog. But I've lots of aliases, if that name don't
please 'im. Good-bye, Thomas. Farewell, and if for ever, then-- you
know the rest o' the quotation, if your eddication's not bin neglected,
w'ich is probable it was. Oh! by the way. This 'assik is the gift of the
'ouse-maid? You observe the answer, cabby, in case you and I may
differ about it 'ereafter."
"Yes," said the amused butler, "a gift from Jessie."
"Ah!--jus' so. An' she's tender-'earted an' on'y fifteen. Wots 'er tother
name? Summers, eh? Vell, it's prettier than Vinters. Tell 'er I'll not
forget 'er. Now, cabman--'ome!"
A few minutes more, and Bobby Frog was on his way to the mansion in
Whitechapel, highly delighted with his recent feast, but suffering
extremely from his broken limb.
Meanwhile, the brown pony--having passed a bold costermonger, who
stood shouting defiance at it, and waving both arms till it was close on
him, when he stepped quickly out of its way--eluded a dray-man, and
entered on a fine sweep of street, where there seemed to be no
obstruction worth mentioning. By that time it had left the agonised
father far behind.
The day was fine; the air bracing. The utmost strength of poor little
Diana, and she applied it well, made no impression whatever on the
pony's tough mouth. Influences of every kind were favourable. On the
illogical principle, probably, that being "in for a penny" justified being
"in for a pound," the pony laid himself out for a glorious run. He
warmed to his work, caused the dust to fly, and the clothes-basket to

advance with irregular bounds and swayings as he scampered along,
driving many little dogs wild with delight, and two or three cats mad
with fear. Gradually he drew towards the more populous streets, and
here, of course, the efforts on the part of the public to arrest him
became more frequent, also more decided, though not more successful.
At last an inanimate object effected what man and boy had failed to
accomplish.
In a wild effort to elude a demonstrative cabman near the corner of one
of the main thoroughfares, the brown pony brought the wheels of the
vehicle into collision with a lamp-post. That lamp-post went down
before the shock like a tall head of grain before the sickle. The front
wheels doubled up into a sudden embrace, broke loose, and went across
the road, one into a greengrocer's shop, the other into a chemist's
window. Thus diversely end many careers that begin on a footing of
equality! The hind-wheels went careering along the road like a new
species of bicycle, until brought up by a donkey-cart, while the basket
chariot rolled itself violently round the lamp-post, like a shattered
remnant, as if resolved, before perishing, to strangle the author of all
the mischief. As to the pony, it stopped, and seemed surprised at first
by the unexpected finale, but the look quickly changed--or appeared to
change--to one of calm contentment as it surveyed the ruin.
But what of the fair little charioteer? Truly, in regard to her, a miracle,
or something little short of one, had occurred. The doctrine that
extremes meet contains much truth in it--truth which is illustrated and
exemplified more frequently, we think, than is generally supposed. A