Fighting the Flames | Page 6

grinding up such quantities of rich brown chocolate, that it seemed
quite unreasonable, selfish, and dog-in-the-manger-ish of the young
man behind the counter to stand there, and neither eat it himself, nor let
anyone else touch it.
"Yes, it's very jolly stuff," replied the first small boy, regarding his
questioner sternly. "I know you'd like some, wouldn't you? Go in now
an' buy two pen'orth, and I'll buy the half from you w'en you come out."
"Walker!" replied the boy in the long coat.
"Just so; and I'd advise you to become a walker too," retorted the other;
"run away now, your master's bin askin' after you for half an hour, I
know, and more."
Without waiting for a reply, the small boy (our small boy) swaggered
away whistling louder than ever.
Passing along Holborn, he continued his way into Oxford Street, where
the print-shop windows proved irresistibly attractive. They seemed also
to have the effect of stimulating his intellectual and conceptive faculties,
insomuch that he struck out several new, and, to himself, highly
entertaining pieces of pleasantry, one of which consisted of asking a
taciturn cabman, in the meekest of voices:
"Please, sir, you couldn't tell me wot's o'clock, could you?"
The cabman observed a twinkle in the boy's eye; saw through him; in a
metaphorical sense, and treated him with silent contempt.
"Oh, I beg pardon, sir," continued the small boy, in the same meek tone,
as he turned to move humbly away; "I forgot to remember that cabbies
don't carry no watches, no, nor change neither, they're much too wide
awake for that!"

A sudden motion of the taciturn cabman caused the small boy to dart
suddenly to the other side of the crowded street, where he resumed his
easy independent air, and his interrupted tune.
"Can you direct me to Nottin' Hill Gate, missus?" he inquired of an
applewoman, on reaching the neighbourhood of Tottenham Court
Road.
"Straight on as you go, boy," answered the woman, who was busying
herself about her stall.
"Very good indeed," said the small boy, with a patronising air; "quite
correctly answered. You've learnt geography, I see."
"What say?" inquired the woman, who was apparently a little deaf.
"I was askin' the price o' your oranges, missus."
"One penny apiece," said the woman, taking up one.
"They ain't biled to make 'em puff out, are they?"
To this the woman vouchsafed no reply.
"Come, missus, don't be cross; wot's the price o' yer apples now?"
"D'you want one?" asked the woman testily.
"Of course I does."
"Well, then, they're two a penny."
"Two a penny!" cried the small boy, with a look of surprise; "why, I'd
'a said they was a penny apiece. Good evenin', missus; I never buys
cheap fruit--cheap and nasty--no, no; good evenin'."
It seemed as if the current of the small boy's thoughts had been diverted
by this conversation, for he walked for some time with his eyes cast on
the ground, and without whistling, but whatever the feelings were that

might have been working in his mind, they were speedily put to flight
by a facetious butcher, who pulled his hat over his eyes as he passed
him.
"Now then, pig-sticker, what d'ye mean by that?" he shouted, but as the
butcher walked on without deigning to reply, he let off his indignation
by yelling in at the open door of a tobacco-shop and making off at a
brisk run.
From this point in his progress, he became still more hilarious and
daring in his freaks, and turned aside once or twice into narrow streets,
where sounds of shouting or of music promised him fresh excitement.
On turning the corner of one of those streets, he passed a wide doorway,
by the side of which was a knob with the word FIRE in conspicuous
letters above it, and the word BELL below it. The small boy paused,
caught his breath as if a sudden thought had struck him, and glanced
round. The street was comparatively quiet; his heart beat high; he
seized the bell with both hands, pulled it full out, and bolted!
Now it chanced that one of the firemen of the station happened to be
standing close to the door, inside, at the time. He, guessing the meaning
of the ring at once, darted out and gave chase.
The small boy fled on the wings of terror, with his blue eyes starting
from their sockets. The fireman was tall and heavy, but he was also
strong and in his prime, so that a short run brought him up with the
fugitive, whom he seized with a grip of iron.
"Now, then, young bottle-imp, what did you mean by that?"
"Oh! please, sir," gasped the small boy, with a beseeching look, "I
couldn't help it."
There was