Lady Good-for-Nothing | Page 7

man,
who was evidently an eccentric, ran his eye roguishly over the faces
behind the boy and named his price; a high one--a very high one-- but
one nicely calculated to lie on the right side of public reprobation.
Dicky laid his guinea on the sill. "I want a whistle, too," he said, "and
my change, please."
The bird-fancier slapped his breeches pockets.
"A guinea? Bless me, but I must run around and ask one of my
neighbours to oblige. Any of you got the change for a golden guinea
about you?" he asked of the crowd.
"We ain't so lucky," said a voice somewhere at the back. "We don't
carry guineas about, nor give 'em to our bastards."
A voice or two--a woman's among them--called "Shame!" "Hold your
tongue, there!"

Dicky had his back to the speaker. He heard the word for the first time
in his life, and had no notion of its meaning; but in a dim way he felt it
to be an evil word, and also that the people were protesting out of pity.
A rush of blood came to his face. He gulped, lifted his chin, and said,
with his eyes steady on the face of the blinking fancier,--
"Give it back to me, please, and I will get it changed."
He took the coin, and walked away resolutely with a set white face. He
saw none of the people who made way for him.
The bird-fancier stared after the small figure as it walked away into
darkness. "Bastard?" he said. "There's Blood in that youngster, though
he don't face ye again an' I lose my deal. Blood's blood, however ye
come by it; you may take that on the word of a breeder. An' you ought
to be ashamed, Sam Wilson--slingin' yer mud at a child!"
The word drummed in the boy's ears. What did it mean? What was the
sneer in it? "Brat!" "cry-baby," "tell-tale," "story-teller," these were
opprobrious words, to be resented in their degree; and all but the first
covered accusations which not only must never be deserved, but
obliged a gentleman, however young, to show fight. But "bastard"?
He felt that, whatever it meant, somehow it was worse than any; that
honour called for the annihilation of the man that dared speak it; that
there was weakness, perhaps even poltroonery, in merely walking away.
If only he knew what the word meant!
He came to a halt opposite the drug store. He had once heard Dr.
Lamerton, the apothecary at home, described as a "well-to-do" man.
The phrase stuck in his small brain, and he connected the sale of drugs
with wealth. (How, he reasoned, could any one be tempted to sell wares
so nasty unless by prodigious profit?) He felt sure the drug-seller would
be able to change the guinea for him, and walked in boldly. His ears
were tingling, and he felt a call to assert himself.
There was a single customer in the store--a girl. With some surprise he
recognised her for the girl who had beaten the flame out of the curtain.

She stood with her back to the doorway and a little sidewise by the
counter, from behind which the drug-seller--a burly fellow in a suit of
black--looked down on her doubtfully, rubbing his shaven chin while
he glanced from her to something he held in his open palm.
"I'm askin' you," he said, "how you came by it?"
"It was given to me," the girl answered.
"That's a likely tale! Folks don't give money like this to a girl in your
position; unless--"
Here the man paused.
"Is it a great deal of money?" she asked. There was astonishment in her
voice, and a kind of suppressed eagerness.
"Oh, come now--that's too innocent by half! A guinea-piece is a
guinea-piece, and a guinea is twenty-one shillings; and twenty-one
shillings, likely enough, is more'n you'll earn in a year outside o' your
keep. Who gave it ye?"
"A gentleman--the Collector--at the Inn just now.
"Ho!" said the drug-seller, with a world of meaning.
"But if," she went on, "it is worth so much as you say, there must be
some mistake. Give it back to me, please. I am sorry for troubling you."
She took a small, round parcel from her pocket, laid it on the counter,
and held out her hand for the coin.
The drug-seller eyed her. "There must be some mistake, I guess," said
he, as he gave back the gold piece. "No, and you can take up your
packet too; I don't grudge two-pennyworth of salve. But wait a moment
while I serve this small customer, for I want a word with you later. . . .
Well, and what can I do for you, young gentleman?" he asked, turning
to Dicky.