Wikkey

Wikkey, by YAM

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Title: Wikkey A Scrap
Author: YAM
Release Date: October 25, 2007 [EBook #23195]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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WIKKEY
A SCRAP
By YAM

NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 31 WEST
TWENTY-THIRD STREET
1888

WIKKEY.
A SCRAP.
CHAPTER I.
Mr. Ruskin has it that we are all kings and queens, possessing realms
and treasuries. However this may be, it is certain that there are souls
born to reign over the hearts of their fellows, kings walking about the
world in broad-cloth and fustian, shooting-jackets, ulsters, and what
not--swaying hearts at will, though it may be all unconscious of their
power; and only the existence of some such psychological fact as this
will account for the incident which I am about to relate.
Lawrence Granby was, beyond all doubt, one of these royal ones, his
kingdom being co-extensive with the circle of his acquaintance--not
that he was in the least aware of the power he exercised over all who
came in contact with him, as he usually attributed the fact that he "got
on" with people "like a house on fire" to the good qualities possessed
by "other fellows." Even the comforts by which he was surrounded in
his lodging by his landlady and former nurse, Mrs. Evans, he
considered as the result of the dame's innate geniality, though the
opinion entertained of her by underlings and by those who met her in
the way of business was scarcely as favorable. He was a handsome
fellow too, this Lawrence, six feet three, with a curly brown head and
the frankest blue eyes that ever looked pityingly, almost wonderingly,
on the small and weak things of the earth.
And the boy, Wikkey Whiston, was a crossing-sweeper. I am sorry for
this, for I fancy people are becoming a little tired of the race, in
story-books at least, but as he was a crossing-sweeper it cannot be

helped. It would not mend matters much to invest him with some other
profession, especially as it was while sitting broom in hand, under the
lamp-post at one end of his crossing that he first saw Lawrence Granby,
and if he had never seen Lawrence Granby I should not be writing
about him at all.
It was a winter's morning in 1869, bright as it is possible for such a
morning to be in London, but piercingly cold, and Wikkey had brushed
and re-brushed the pathway--which scarcely needed it, the east wind
having already done half the work--just to put some feeling of warmth
into his thin frame before seating himself in his usual place beneath the
lamp-post. There were a good many passers-by, for it was the time of
day at which clerks and business men are on their way to their early
occupation, and the boy scanned each face in the fashion that had
become habitual to him in his life-long look out for coppers. Presently
he saw approaching a peculiarly tall figure, and looked at it curiously,
tracing its height upward from his own stunted point of view till he
encountered the cheery glance of Lawrence Granby. Wikkey was
strangely fascinated by the blue eyes looking down from so far above
him, and scarcely knowing what he did, he rose and went shambling on
alongside of the young man, his eyes riveted on his face. Lawrence,
however, being almost unconscious of the boy's presence till his
attention was drawn to him by the friend with whom he was walking,
who said, laughing and pointing to Wikkey, "Friend of yours, eh?
Seems to know you." Then he looked down again and met the curious,
intent stare fixed upon him.
"Well, small boy! I hope you'll know me again," he said.
To which Wikkey promptly returned in the shrill, aggressively
aggrieved voice of the London Arab: "I reckon it don't do you no harm,
guvner; a cat may look at a king."
Lawrence laughed, and threw him a copper, saying, "You are a cheeky
little fellow," and went on his way.
Wikkey stood looking after him, and then picked up the penny, holding
it between his cold hands, as though it possessed some warming

properties, and muttering: "It seems fur to warm a chap to look at him;"
and then he sat down once more, still pondering over the apparition that