If I Had a Father

he’d hate me, and I couldn’t bear that. Oh me! my side! It’s so bad! Susan Let’s try for home, Mattie. It’s a long way, and there’s nothing to eat when you’re there; but you can lie down, and that’s everything to them as can’t sit up. Mattie Rising. I keep fancying I’m going to meet my father. Susan Let’s fancy it then every turn all the way home, an’ that’ll get us along. There, take my arm. There!⁠—Come along. Exeunt. Slow music. Twilight. Enter Bill with a three-legged stool, brushes, etc. Bill Come! it’s blackin’ all over! When gents can’t no longer see their boots, ’tain’t much use offerin’ to shine ’em. But if I can get a penny, I will. I must take a tart to Mattie, or this here damaged one laying his hand on his stomach won’t go to sleep this night. Enter Waterfield. Bill Black your boots for a party, sir? Waterfield Aside. The very rascal I saw her speaking to! But wasn’t she a brick not to split! That’s what I call devotion now! There are some of them capable of it. I’ll set her up for life. I’d give a cool thousand it hadn’t happened, though. I saw her father too hanging about Gervaise’s yesterday. Bill Clean your boots, sir? Shine ’em till they grin like a Cheshire cat eatin’ cheese! Waterfield Shine away, you beggar. Bill Turning up his trousers. I ain’t no beggar, sir. Shine for a shiner’s fair play. Waterfield Do you live in this neighbourhood? Bill No, sir. Waterfield Where, then? Bill Feeling where a pocket should be. I don’t appear to ’ave a card about me, sir, but my address is Lamb’s Court, Camomile Street⁠—leastways I do my sleepin’ not far off of it. I’ve lived there, what livin’ I have done, sin’ ever I wor anywheres as I knows on. Waterfield Do you happen to know a girl of the name of Pearson? Bill No, sir. I can’t say as how I rec’lect the name. Is she a old girl or a young un? Waterfield You young liar! I saw you talking to her not two hours ago! Bill Did ye now, sir? That’s odd, ain’t it? Bless you! I talks to everybody. I ain’t proud, sir. Waterfield Well, do you see this? Holding up a sovereign. Bill That’s one o’ them tilings what don’t require much seein’, sir. There! Bright as a butterfly! T’other twin, sir! Waterfield I’ll give you this, if you’ll do something for me⁠—and another to that when the thing’s done. Bill ’Tain’t stealin’, sir? Waterfield No. Bill Cos, you see, Mattie⁠— Waterfield Who did you say? Bill Old Madge as lets the beds at tuppence a short night. ’Tain’t stealin’, you say, sir? Waterfield What do you take me for? I want you to find out for me where the girl Pearson lives⁠—that’s all. Bill Snatching the sovereign and putting it in his mouth. Now then, sir!⁠—What’s the young woman like? Waterfield Rather tall⁠—thin⁠—dark hair⁠—large dark eyes⁠—and long white hands. Her name’s Matilda⁠—Mattie Pearson⁠—the girl you were talking to, I tell you, on this very spot an hour or two ago. Bill Dropping the sovereign, and stooping to find it. Golly! it is our Mattie! Waterfield Shall you know her again? Bill Any boy as wasn’t a hass would know his own grandmother by them spots. Besides, I remember sich a gal addressin’ of me this mornin’. If you say her it was, I’ll detect her for ye. Waterfield There’s a good boy! What’s your name? Bill Timothy, sir. Waterfield What else? Bill Never had no other⁠—leastways as I knows on. Waterfield Well, Timothy⁠—there’s the other sov.⁠—and it’s yours the moment you take me to her. Look at it. Bill My eye!⁠—Is she a square Moll, sir? Waterfield What do you mean by that? Bill Green you are, to be sure!⁠—She ain’t one as steals, or⁠— Waterfield Not she. She’s a sempstress⁠—a needlewoman, or something of the sort. Bill And where shall I find you, sir? Waterfield Let me see:⁠—tomorrow night⁠—on the steps of St. Martin’s Church⁠—ten o’clock. Bill But if I don’t find her? It may be a week⁠—or a month⁠—or⁠— Waterfield Come whether you find her or not, and let me know. Bill All serene, sir! There you are, sir! Brush your trousers, sir? Waterfield No; leave ’em.⁠—Don’t forget now. Bill Honour bright, sir! Not if I knows it, sir! Waterfield There’s that other skid, you know. Bill All right, sir! Anything more, sir? Waterfield Damn your impudence! Get along. Exit. Bill watches him into Mrs. Clifford’s. Bill Now by all the ’ungry gums of Arabiar, ’ere’s a swell arter our Mattie!⁠—A right rig’lar swell! I knows ’em⁠—soverings an’ red socks. What’s come to our Mattie? ’Ere’s Daddy Longlegs arter her, vith his penny and his blessin’! an’ ’ere’s this ’ere mighty swell vith his soverings⁠—an’ his red socks! An’ she’s ’ungry, poor gal!⁠—This ’ere yellow-boy?⁠—I ’ain’t got no faith in swells⁠—no more ’n in Daddy Longlegses⁠—I ’ain’t!⁠—S’posin’ he wants to marry her?⁠—Not if I knows it. He ain’t half good ’nough for her. Too many quids⁠—goin’ a flingin’ on ’em about like buttons! He’s been a crackin’ o’ cribs⁠—he has. I ain’t a goin’ to interduce our Mattie to no sich blokes as him. No fathers or lovyers for me⁠—says I!⁠—But this here pebble o’ Paradise!⁠—What’s to be done wi’ the cherub? I can’t tell her a lie about it, an’ who’ll break it up for a cove like me, lookin’ jes’ as if I’d been an’ tarred myself and crep’ through a ragbag! They’d jug me. An’ what ’ud Mattie say then? I wish I ’adn’t ’a’ touched it. I’m blowed if I don’t toss it over a bridge!⁠—Then the gent ’ain’t got the weight on his dunop out o’ me. O Lord! what shall I do with it? I wish I’d skied it in his face! I don’t believe it’s a good un; I don’t! Bites it. It do taste wery nasty. It’s nothin’ better ’n a gilt fardin’! Jes’ what a cove might look for from sich a swell! Goes to a street lamp and examines it. Lor! there’s a bobby!