“Which brings me to the events of today. I was on my usual corner with my cup in hand. It was a slow morning, barely had tuppence, when this young lad comes up to me. Now most of the people, even those that put a little something in my cup, they don’t ever look at me. Fact is that when they do, they lift their nose in the air, like they just came across a foul rotting pile of trash. It’s not that they hate me – they just don’t like acknowledging what I represent, for they know a slip-up like what done me in could make them suffer the same fate.
“But here’s this lad. Different sort of lad, too. Dressed nice, frock coat and a tied red cravat you see the gentlemen wearing nowadays. He was thin, maybe six feet tall with dark hair, and he had quite a beak of a nose. But what really caught me about the man were his eyes. They were the color of silver, like shiny coins they were, and unlike everyone else who walked by, he looked directly at me, almost like he was looking through me with his piercing gaze, as if his eyes were microscopes that the doctors use, and I was one of his specimens.
“The lad stood over me and rubbed his chin with his forefinger, as if he was making up his mind on a matter. Then he says to me, ‘You are different.’
“‘Don’t know what you mean sir. I’m just a beggar and,’ I shook my cup before him, ‘I’d appreciate anything you could spare. I haven’t had any food today.’
“‘No,’ the lad said sternly, and I lowered my cup and my thoughts soured. Wasn’t sure what he meant ‘no’ about, and his statement put me ill at ease. I was afraid he was going to cause trouble with me, and I was so weak that I wasn’t sure I could do anything to defend myself.
“‘No,’ he repeated. ‘You are not an ordinary beggar, not at all. I’ve seen you the last three days, and you have a much different history than the other beggars I’ve seen.’
“‘I swear that I don’t know what you mean, sir. I’m just trying to survive.’
“‘No,’ The lad stated as fact. “You are not just trying to survive. You have a story behind you. When I first noticed you, I could see that your injury put you in your current situation. You were a sailor for a time, but the life did not agree with you, so you became a laborer. That occupation did not suit you, so you became a dock worker until your accident forced you to beg on the streets. You are new to the work, which is what made me pay more attention to you. You are not good at this, not good at all.’
“Course, Father, I was taken aback by all the lad said, like he had been following me around for years. ‘How?’ I stammered, my eyes all wide and my lips a quivering for fear this lad was the Devil himself come to take my soul away. ‘Are you a spirit?’ I finally asked him.
“The lad had a long bout of laughter, but it was the strangest thing, Father. You’d think the boy would have let out some booming guffaws, but his laughter, which did bring tears to his eyes, was completely silent. No sound escaped his lips, and I started to believe I was in the presence of something otherworldly.
“‘I have not had a good laugh like that in many days,’ he said, still tittering on occasion. ‘I can assure you that my body is made up of flesh and blood, same as yours, sir. Let me explain what I know. First, your tattered sleeve revealed a tattoo of a whale on your arm, a common enough design for fishermen. It appears to be your sole tattoo, and it is one in a not prominent position, which alludes to your uncertainty of adopting the life of a sailor. The fact that you have but one tattoo leads me to conclude that you gave up that life shortly after starting it. Beneath your collar I have noticed deep bruises from leather straps that laborers use to pull tilling devices and haul hay. The marks are faded, which again leads me to conclude that this was not your most recent line of work. Your hands still have some noticeable rope burns which could possibly come from farming; However, with your injured leg, I doubt you would have traveled to London from the fields with your injury. So, what did you do for work to get your more recent callouses and burns? With your experience as a fisherman, it is easy to assume that you were a dock worker. It combines both your knowledge of ships with your strength as a laborer. Unfortunately, you were injured. I’d note that – from the way the foot has been flattened – a rather heavy crate fell on your leg, crushing it, and that is what made you end up on the streets.’
“Father, I must admit that hearing the lad speak so plainly about my situation and how he was able to piece it together – Well, I chuckled, so impressed was I with the boy and how he was very good at noticing things. I told him he should join a carnival as a ‘Mr. Memory’.
“The lad smiled and said his father wouldn’t approve of such a career. I asked him if he was a college lad.
“‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘I
