Wikkey | Page 4

surprised," he went on at last in desperation; "but the poor child is terribly ill, dying, I think, and if you could do anything."
"Of course, Mr. Lawrence, you do as you think proper," Mrs. Evans returned, preserving her severest manner, though she eyed Wikkey with some curiosity; "only if you had mentioned when you engaged my rooms that you intended turning them into a refuge for vagabonds, it would have been more satisfactory to all parties."
"I know all that. I know its very inconsiderate of me, and I am very sorry; but you see the little fellow is so bad--he looks just like little Robin, nurse."
Mrs. Evans sniffed at the comparison, but the allusion to the child she had so fondly tended, as he sank into an early grave, had its effect; together with the seldom revived appellation of "nurse," and her mollified manner encouraged Lawrence to continue.
"If you wouldn't mind getting a hot bath ready in the kitchen, I will manage without troubling you."
"I hope, Mr. Lawrence, that I know my place better than that," was the reply, and forthwith Mrs. Evans, who, beneath a somewhat stern exterior, possessed a really good heart, took Wikkey under her wing, administered warmth and restoratives, washed the grimy little form, cropped and scrubbed the matted locks, and soon the boy, dreamily conscious and wondrously happy, was lying before a blazing fire, clean and fair to look on, enveloped in one of Mrs. Evans' own night-dresses. Then the question arose, where was Wikkey to pass the night, followed by a whispered dialogue and emphatic "Nothing will be safe" from the lady of the house. All of which the boy perfectly understanding, he remarked:
"I aint a prig; I'll not take nothink."
There was a touch of injured innocence in the tone; it was simply the statement of a fact which might easily have been otherwise, and the entire matter-of-factness of the assertion inspired Lawrence with a good deal of confidence, together with the cough which returned on the slightest movement, and would effectually prevent a noiseless evasion on the part of poor Wikkey. So once more he was lifted up in the strong arms and carried to a sofa in Lawrence's own room, where snugly tucked up in blankets, he soon fell asleep. His benefactor, after prolonged meditation in his arm-chair, likewise betook himself to rest, having decided that a doctor must be the first consideration on the following morning, and that the next step would be to consult Reg--Reg would be able to advise him: it was his business to understand about such matters.
A terrible fit of coughing proceeding from the sofa awoke Lawrence next morning, startling him into sudden recollection of the evening's adventure; and when the shutters were opened Wikkey looked so fearfully wan and exhausted in the pale gray light, that he made all speed to summon Mrs. Evans, and to go himself for the doctor. The examination of the patient did not last long, and at its conclusion the doctor muttered something about the "workhouse--as of course, Mr. Granby, you are not prepared----" The look of imploring agony which flashed from the large, wide-open eyes made Lawrence sign to the doctor to follow him into another room; but before leaving Wikkey he gave him an encouraging nod, saying:
"All right, Wikkey. I'll come back. Well," he said, as they entered the sitting-room, "what do you think of him?"
"Think? There's not much thinking in the matter; the boy is dying, Mr. Granby, and if you wish to remove him you had better do so at once."
"How long will it be?"
"A week or so, I should say, or it might be sooner, though these cases sometimes linger longer than one expects. The mischief is of long standing, and this is the end."
Lawrence remained for some time lost in thought.
"Poor little chap!" he said at last, sadly.
"Well, thank you, doctor. Good-morning."
"Do you wish any steps taken with regard to the workhouse, Mr. Granby?" asked the doctor, preparing to depart.
Wikkey's beseeching eyes rose up before Lawrence, and he stammered out hastily:
"No--no thank you; not just at present. I'll think about it;" and the doctor took his leave, wondering whether it could be possible that Mr. Granby intended to keep the boy; he was not much used to such Quixotic proceedings.
Lawrence stood debating with himself.
"Should he send Wikkey to the workhouse? What should he do with a boy dying in the house? How should he decide?" Certainly not by going back to meet those wistful eyes.
The decision must be made before seeing the boy again, or, as the soft-hearted fellow well knew, it would be all up with his common sense. Calling Mrs. Evans, therefore, he bade her tell Wikkey that he would come back presently; and then he said, timidly:
"Should you mind it very much,