The Missing Link | Page 9

they'll seize ther kerosene case, an' ther flour-sack, and ther rest iv ther
drorin-room furniture, kind lydie."
A gay vivandiere led Nickie to a portly Henry VIII. "Sire," she said,
"this poor man claims king's bounty for his three sets of triplets. I
humbly commend him to your majesty."
"Just a trifle to assist a poor man, kind gent," whined Nickie the Kid.
"Not a morsel iv turkey's passed me lips for seven days. Just a few
pence, sir, to buy champagne fer me widders and orphans. I don't care
about meself, kind sir."
King Henry promptly dropped half-a-crown into Nickie's hat. Two, or
three laughing guests standing about contributed silver. There was an
impression in the ballroom that the sum of the quaint tramp's collection

would go to a charity. None but Nickie himself knew the charitable
object to which the money was to be devoted.
Nickie danced with all sorts and conditions of women. Romeo slapped
him on the back.
"Splendid, deah boy!" he said. "We been thrown together, you know.
Ran' into you at the gate--what? By gad, you're doin it well. But I say,
who the devil are you?"
"I'm Willie' the Waster, kind young gentleman, and I'm residin' under
No. 3 wharf, fifth plank from the corner. Would yer give er trifle
towards me time-payment furniture, please, sir."
Romeo contributed a shilling. "You're a sport," he said. "They're all on
to you. Dolly herself's delighted. Yes, you're right as rain for the prize,
but you might put me on--what?"
"I'm feather-legged Ned, with ther consumptive corf," said Nickie.
"Would you please give me a shillin' t' pay fer me medicine?"
"No, dash me if I do!" said Romeo, and he went off laughing.
Nickie took champagne with Sir Peter Teazie, Rip Van Winkle, Slender,
and Henry VIII., and under the influence of the good wine became
more audacious. He passed the hat with a characteristic complaint
wherever a few guests were assembled, and in view of the vast
amusement he was giving was allowed any license in reason. The
offerings of the charitable he deposited in the tail pocket of his coat,
and presently the weight dragged at him with a grateful pressure, and
the silver clanked as he walked. Fortune was not actually staring him in
the face, but it was hanging on behind.
By one o'clock in the morning Nickie was carrying round a champagne
bottle in his left hand, from which he refreshed himself, and he was no
longer able to walk a chalk line as wide as a tram with an certainty, and
had got into the way of clinging to the curtains and hangings; but this
was all accepted as part of an excellent piece of caricature, and earned

our hero some applause.
Just before supper a lady, dressed as Portia, came forward, and pinned a
neat design of gold laurel leaves and emeralds on the breast of Mr.
Nicholas Crips. It was the prize for the best sustained character, which
the host had offered his guests in a frivolous mood. Nickie bowed in
acknowledgment of applause, and then, with the bottle in one hand, and
his hat in the other, he appealed to Portia.
"Could you spare a copper, kind lydie, to assist a poor orphan what's
laid up with lumbago in the feet. I've bin bed-ridden fer ten years, lydie,
and I lost both me legs in th' battle of Waterloo. On'y a penny for the
battered 'ero good, kind lydie."
At supper Nickie declined to unmask. He would not remove his
preposterous false nose. He also excited doubts and misgivings by the
depth of his thirst and his almost miraculous capacity for food. After
supper he was simply impossible.
Nicholas Crips in his sober moments was quiet and unpretentious in his
rascalities, his temperament was naturally mild; but under the influence
of strong drink he always developed tremendous belief in his own
magnificence, strutted about and fondly fancied himself a king. He was
wholly and completely drunk when he charged into the ballroom at two
in the morning, brandishing a full bottle, and singing uproariously. He
staggered into the middle of the dancers, whirling his magnum.
"Room" he cried. "Room, there, for King Solomon in all his glory" He
whirled his bottle again, and the dancers broke before him. A Sir Toby
Belch got the thick end of the bottle in his natural fatness, and
collapsed with a groan. "Remove the body!" ordered Nickie,
magnificently. "D'ye hear me, there, minions? Remove these offensive
remain from the royal presence."
The guests had retreated against the walls, and Nickie held the floor.
Nobody believed this to be an artistic effort to sustain the character.
Weary Willie was as drunk as a lord. He tittered a wild Indian whoop,
and sang the