Tommy and Co. | Page 4

the neighbourhood of that buried rivulet, the Fleet. But this was a new species. Peter Hope sought his spectacles, found them after some trouble under a heap of newspapers, adjusted them upon his high, arched nose, leant forward, and looked long and up and down.
"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Peter Hope. "What is it?"
The figure rose to its full height of five foot one and came forward slowly.
Over a tight-fitting garibaldi of blue silk, excessively decollete, it wore what once had been a boy's pepper-and-salt jacket. A worsted comforter wound round the neck still left a wide expanse of throat showing above the garibaldi. Below the jacket fell a long, black skirt, the train of which had been looped up about the waist and fastened with a cricket-belt.
"Who are you? What do you want?" asked Mr. Peter Hope.
For answer, the figure, passing the greasy cap into its other hand, stooped down and, seizing the front of the long skirt, began to haul it up.
"Don't do that!" said Mr. Peter Hope. "I say, you know, you--"
But by this time the skirt had practically disappeared, leaving to view a pair of much-patched trousers, diving into the right-hand pocket of which the dirty hand drew forth a folded paper, which, having opened and smoothed out, it laid upon the desk.
Mr. Peter Hope pushed up his spectacles till they rested on his eyebrows, and read aloud--"'Steak and Kidney Pie, 4d.; Do. (large size), 6d.; Boiled Mutton--'"
"That's where I've been for the last two weeks," said the figure,-- "Hammond's Eating House!"
The listener noted with surprise that the voice--though it told him as plainly as if he had risen and drawn aside the red rep curtains, that outside in Gough Square the yellow fog lay like the ghost of a dead sea--betrayed no Cockney accent, found no difficulty with its aitches.
"You ask for Emma. She'll say a good word for me. She told me so."
"But, my good--" Mr. Peter Hope, checking himself, sought again the assistance of his glasses. The glasses being unable to decide the point, their owner had to put the question bluntly:
"Are you a boy or a girl?"
"I dunno."
"You don't know!"
"What's the difference?"
Mr. Peter Hope stood up, and taking the strange figure by the shoulders, turned it round slowly twice, apparently under the impression that the process might afford to him some clue. But it did not.
"What is your name?"
"Tommy."
"Tommy what?"
"Anything you like. I dunno. I've had so many of 'em."
"What do you want? What have you come for?"
"You're Mr. Hope, ain't you, second floor, 16, Gough Square?"
"That is my name."
"You want somebody to do for you?"
"You mean a housekeeper!"
"Didn't say anything about housekeeper. Said you wanted somebody to do for you--cook and clean the place up. Heard 'em talking about it in the shop this afternoon. Old lady in green bonnet was asking Mother Hammond if she knew of anyone."
"Mrs. Postwhistle--yes, I did ask her to look out for someone for me. Why, do you know of anyone? Have you been sent by anybody?"
"You don't want anything too 'laborate in the way o' cooking? You was a simple old chap, so they said; not much trouble."
"No--no. I don't want much--someone clean and respectable. But why couldn't she come herself? Who is it?"
"Well, what's wrong about me?"
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Peter Hope.
"Why won't I do? I can make beds and clean rooms--all that sort o' thing. As for cooking, I've got a natural aptitude for it. You ask Emma; she'll tell you. You don't want nothing 'laborate?"
"Elizabeth," said Mr. Peter Hope, as he crossed and, taking up the poker, proceeded to stir the fire, "are we awake or asleep?"
Elizabeth thus appealed to, raised herself on her hind legs and dug her claws into her master's thigh. Mr. Hope's trousers being thin, it was the most practical answer she could have given him.
"Done a lot of looking after other people for their benefit," continued Tommy. "Don't see why I shouldn't do it for my own."
"My dear--I do wish I knew whether you were a boy or a girl. Do you seriously suggest that I should engage you as my housekeeper?" asked Mr. Peter Hope, now upright with his back to the fire.
"I'd do for you all right," persisted Tommy. "You give me my grub and a shake-down and, say, sixpence a week, and I'll grumble less than most of 'em."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Mr. Peter Hope.
"You won't try me?"
"Of course not; you must be mad."
"All right. No harm done." The dirty hand reached out towards the desk, and possessing itself again of Hammond's Bill of Fare, commenced the operations necessary for bearing it away in safety.
"Here's a shilling for you," said Mr. Peter Hope.
"Rather not," said Tommy. "Thanks all the same."
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Peter Hope.
"Rather not," repeated Tommy. "Never know where