“Thus I reflected, I say, sitting that evening in my garden on the housetop. And passing the painful scene of that day in review before me many times, I always saw that the poor gentleman believed the story readily, because I was one of the Jews—that you believed the story readily, my child, because I was one of the Jews—that the story itself first came into the invention of the originator thereof, because I was one of the Jews. This was the result of my having had you three before me, face to face, and seeing the thing visibly presented as upon a theatre. Wherefore I perceived that the obligation was upon me to leave this service. But Jenny, my dear,” said Riah, breaking off, “I promised that you should pursue your questions, and I obstruct them.”
“On the contrary, godmother; my idea is as large now as a pumpkin—and you know what a pumpkin is, don’t you? So you gave notice that you were going? Does that come next?” asked Miss Jenny with a look of close attention.
“I indited a letter to my master. Yes. To that effect.”
“And what said Tingling-Tossing-Aching-Screaming-Scratching-Smarter?” asked Miss Wren with an unspeakable enjoyment in the utterance of those honourable titles and in the recollection of the pepper.
“He held me to certain months of servitude, which were his lawful term of notice. They expire tomorrow. Upon their expiration—not before—I had meant to set myself right with my Cinderella.”
“My idea is getting so immense now,” cried Miss Wren, clasping her temples, “that my head won’t hold it! Listen, godmother; I am going to expound. Little Eyes (that’s Screaming-Scratching-Smarter) owes you a heavy grudge for going. Little Eyes casts about how best to pay you off. Little Eyes thinks of Lizzie. Little Eyes says to himself, ‘I’ll find out where he has placed that girl, and I’ll betray his secret because it’s dear to him.’ Perhaps Little Eyes thinks, ‘I’ll make love to her myself too;’ but that I can’t swear—all the rest I can. So, Little Eyes comes to me, and I go to Little Eyes. That’s the way of it. And now the murder’s all out, I’m sorry,” added the dolls’ dressmaker, rigid from head to foot with energy as she shook her little fist before her eyes, “that I didn’t give him cayenne pepper and chopped pickled capsicum!”
This expression of regret being but partially intelligible to Mr. Riah, the old man reverted to the injuries Fledgeby had received, and hinted at the necessity of his at once going to tend that beaten cur.
“Godmother, godmother, godmother!” cried Miss Wren irritably, “I really lose all patience with you. One would think you believed in the Good Samaritan. How can you be so inconsistent?”
“Jenny dear,” began the old man gently, “it is the custom of our people to help—”
“Oh! Bother your people!” interposed Miss Wren, with a toss of her head. “If your people don’t know better than to go and help Little Eyes, it’s a pity they ever got out of Egypt. Over and above that,” she added, “he wouldn’t take your help if you offered it. Too much ashamed. Wants to keep it close and quiet, and to keep you out of the way.”
They were still debating this point when a shadow darkened the entry, and the glass door was opened by a messenger who brought a letter unceremoniously addressed, “Riah.” To which he said there was an answer wanted.
The letter, which was scrawled in pencil uphill and downhill and round crooked corners, ran thus:
“Old Riah,
“Your accounts being all squared, go. Shut up the place, turn out directly, and send me the key by bearer. Go. You are an unthankful dog of a Jew. Get out.
The dolls’ dressmaker found it delicious to trace the screaming and smarting of Little Eyes in the distorted writing of this epistle. She laughed over it and jeered at it in a convenient corner (to the great astonishment of the messenger) while the old man got his few goods together in a black bag. That done, the shutters of the upper windows closed, and the office blind pulled down, they issued forth upon the steps with the attendant messenger. There, while Miss Jenny held the bag, the old man locked the house door, and handed over the key to him; who at once retired with the same.
“Well, godmother,” said Miss Wren, as they remained upon the steps together, looking at one another. “And so you’re thrown upon the world!”
“It would appear so, Jenny, and somewhat suddenly.”
“Where are you going to seek your fortune?” asked Miss Wren.
The old man smiled, but looked about him with a look of having lost his way in life, which did not escape the dolls’ dressmaker.
“Verily, Jenny,” said he, “the question is to the purpose, and more easily asked than answered. But as I have experience of the ready goodwill and good help of those who have given occupation to Lizzie, I think I will seek them out for myself.”
“On foot?” asked Miss Wren, with a chop.
“Ay!” said the old man. “Have I not my staff?”
It was exactly because he had his staff, and presented so quaint an aspect, that she mistrusted his making the journey.
“The best thing you can do,” said Jenny, “for the time being, at all events, is to come home with me, godmother. Nobody’s there but my bad child, and Lizzie’s lodging stands empty.” The old man, when satisfied that no inconvenience could be entailed on anyone by his compliance, readily complied; and the singularly-assorted couple once more went through the streets together.
Now, the bad child having been strictly charged by his parent to remain at home in her absence, of course went out; and, being in the very last stage of mental decrepitude, went out with two objects; firstly, to establish a claim he conceived himself to have upon any licensed
