The Garret and the Garden | Page 2

old ooman in this great meetropilis, an' she's got the jolliest old 'art in Lun'on. Her skin is wrinkled equal to the ry-nossris at the Zoo--I seed that beast once at a Sunday-school treat-- an' her nose has been tryin' for some years past to kiss her chin, w'ich it would 'ave managed long ago, too, but for a tooth she's got in the upper jaw. She's on'y got one; but, my, that is a fang! so loose that you'd expect it to be blowed out every time she coughs. It's a reg'lar grinder an' cutter an' stabber all in one; an' the way it works-- sometimes in the mouth, sometimes outside the lip, now an' then straight out like a ship's bowsprit--is most amazin'; an' she drives it about like a nigger slave. Gives it no rest. I do declare I wouldn't be that there fang for ten thousand a year. She's got two black eyes, too, has old Liz, clear an' bright as beads--fit to bore holes through you w'en she ain't pleased; and er nose is ooked--. But, I say, before I tell you more about 'er, I wants to know wot you've got to do with 'er? An' w'at's your name? I've gave you mine. Fair exchange, you know."
"True, Tommy, that's only right an' fair. But I ain't used to lookin' up when discoorsin'. Couldn't you come down here an' lay alongside?"
"No, old salt, I couldn't; but you may come up here if you like. You'll be the better of a rise in the world, won't you? The gangway lays just round the corner; but mind your sky-scraper for the port's low. There's a seat in the winder here. Go ahead; starboard your helm, straight up, then 'ard-a-port, steady, mind your jib-boom, splice the main-brace, heave the main-deck overboard, and cast anchor 'longside o' me!"
Following these brief directions as far as was practicable, the sailor soon found himself on the landing of the stair, where Tommy was seated on a rickety packing-case awaiting him.
"Now, lad," said the man, seating himself beside his new friend, "from what you tells me, I think that chimney-pot--"
"Chimley," remarked the boy, correcting.
"Well, then, chimley-pot Liz, from your account of her, must be the very woman I wants. I've sought for her far an' wide, alow and aloft, an' bin directed here an' there an' everywhere, except the right where, 'till now. But I'll explain." The man paused a moment as if to consider, and it became evident to the boy that his friend was labouring under some degree of excitement, which he erroneously put down to drink.
"My name," continued the sailor, "is Sam Blake--second mate o' the Seacow, not long in from China. I didn't ship as mate. Bein' a shipwrecked seaman, you see--"
"Shipwrecked!" exclaimed the boy, with much interest expressed in his sharp countenance.
"Ay, lad, shipwrecked; an' not the first time neither, but I was keen to get home, havin' bin kep' a prisoner for an awful long spell by pirates--"
"Pints!" interrupted the boy again, as he gazed in admiration at his stalwart friend; "but," he added, "I don't believe you. It's all barn. There ain't no pints now; an' you think you've got hold of a green un."
"Tommy!" said the sailor in a remonstrative tone, "did I ever deceive you?"
"Never," replied the boy fervently; "leastwise not since we 'come acquaint 'arf an hour back."
"Look here," said Sam Blake, baring his brawny left arm to the elbow and displaying sundry deep scars which once must have been painful wounds. "An' look at this," he added, opening his shirt-front and exposing a mighty chest that was seamed with similar scars in all directions. "That's what the pirates did to me an' my mates--torturin' of us afore killin' us."
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed the urchin, in a tone in which sympathy was mingled with admiration; "tell us all about it, Sam."
"Not now, my lad; business first--pleasure arterwards."
"I prefers pleasure first an' business arter, Sam. 'Owever, 'ave it yer own way."
"Well, you see," continued the sailor, turning down his, "w'en I went to sea that time, I left a wife an' a babby behind me; but soon arter I got out to China I got a letter tellin' me that my Susan was dead, and that the babby had bin took charge of by a old nurse in the family where Susan had been a housemaid. You may be sure my heart was well-nigh broke by the news, but I comforted myself wi' the thought o' gittin' home again an' takin' care o' the dear babby--a gal, it was, called Susan arter its mother. It was at that time I was took by the pirates in the Malay Seas--now fifteen long years gone by."
"W'at! an' you ain't bin 'ome or seed yer babby for