Wikkey | Page 2

had so fascinated him. Oddly enough the imputation of cheekiness
rankled in his mind in a most unusual fashion--not that Wikkey
entertained the faintest objection to "cheek" in the abstract, and there
were occasions on which any backwardness in its use would betray a
certain meanness of spirit: for instance to the natural enemy of the
race--the Bobby--it was only right to exhibit as much of the article as
was compatible with safety. Indeed, the inventor of a fresh sarcasm,
biting in its nature yet artfully shrouded in language which might be
safely addressed to an arm of the law was considered by his fellows in
the light of a public benefactor. The errand-boy also, who, because he
carried a parcel or basket and happened to wear shoes, thought himself
at liberty to cast obloquy on those whose profession was of a more
desultory nature, and whose clothing was scantier--he must be held in
check and his pride lowered by sarcasms yet more biting and far less
veiled. These things were right and proper, but Wikkey felt
uncomfortable under an imputation of "cheekiness" from the "big chap"
who had so taken his fancy, and wondered at his own feeling. That
evening, as Lawrence walked briskly homeward, after his day's work,
he became aware of the pale, wizen face again looking up into his
through the dusk, and of a shrill voice at his side.
"I say, guvner, you hadn't no call fur to call me cheeky; I didn't mean
no cheek, only I likes the look of yer; it seems fur to warm a chap."
Lawrence stopped this time and looked curiously at the boy, at the odd,
keen eyes gazing at him so hungrily.
"You are a strange lad if you are not a cheeky one," he said. "Why do
you like the look of me?"
"I dunno," said Wikkey, and then he repeated his formula, "it seems to
warm a chap."
"You must be precious cold if that will do it, poor little lad. What's
your name?"

"Wikkey."
"Wikkey? Is that all?"
"No, I've another name about me somewheres, but I can't just mind of it.
They allus calls me Wikkey."
"Poor lad!" Lawrence said again, looking at the thin skeleton frame,
sadly visible through the tattered clothing. "Poor little chap! it's sharp
weather for such a mite as you. There! get something to warm you."
And feeling in his pocket he drew out half-a-crown, which he slipped
into Wikkey's hand, and then turned and walked away. Wikkey stood
looking after him with two big tears rolling down his dirty face; it was
so long since any one had called him a poor little chap, and he repeated
the words over and over as he threaded his way in the darkness to the
dreary lodging usually called "Skimmidges," and kept by a grim
woman of that name.
"It seems fur to warm a chap," he said again, as he crept under the
wretched blanket which Mrs. Skimmidge designated and charged for as
a bed.
From that day forward Wikkey was possessed by one idea--that of
watching for the approach of the "big chap," following his steps along
the crossing, and then, if possible, getting a word or look on which to
live until the next blissful moment should arrive. Nor was he often
disappointed, for Lawrence, having recently obtained employment in a
certain government office, and Wikkey's crossing happening to lie on
the shortest way from his own abode to the scene of his daily labor, he
seldom varied his route, and truth to say, the strange little figure,
always watching so eagerly for his appearance, began to have an
attraction for him. He wondered what the boy meant by it, and at first,
naturally connected the idea of coppers with Wikkey's devotion; but he
soon came to see that it went deeper than that, for with a curious
instinct of delicacy which the lad would probably have been quite
unable to explain to himself, he would sometimes hang back as
Lawrence reached the pavement, and nod his funny "Good night,
guvner," from midway on his crossing, in a way that precluded any

suspicion of mercenary motives.
But at last there came a season of desolation very nearly verging on
despair. Day after day for a week--ten days--a fortnight--did Wikkey
watch in vain for his hero. Poor lad, he could not know that Lawrence
had been suddenly summoned to the country, and had arranged for a
substitute to take his duty for a fortnight; and the terrible thought
haunted the child that the big chap had changed his route, perhaps even
out of dislike to his--Wikkey's--attentions, and he should never see his
face again. The idea was horrible--so horrible that as it became
strengthened by each day's disappointment, and at