“Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!” he cried. “Greetings one and all! Come on! Up and at ’em! Shake a leg! Hats on heads! Let's be off! We don't want to miss it!”
Burton crossed to his friend, shook his hand, slapped his back, and said: “Hello, Algy! Off where? Miss what?”
“I'm delighted to see you too, Richard, but a little less power to your welcome, if you don't mind! Every time you pat my back, I fear bones will break. By George, you look tanned! Was South America fun?”
“Hardly that.”
“Hallo, Pouncer! Hallo, Honesty! How are London's crooks these days?”
“Busy,” Honesty answered.
“Unusually so,” added Trounce, frowning at Swinburne's use of his nickname.
“Maybe they think the steam hides their many sins! Move yourselves! Let's be off!”
“Blast it, Algy!” Burton growled. “Where to? And have you been drinking?”
“To see Kenealy and his corpulent client. They're about to perform at Speakers’ Corner! Yes, I have. Quite frankly, I'm sloshed!”
“Speakers’ Corner?” Trounce cried. “The Claimant's only just been freed from Newgate!”
“I know! But the streets are abuzz with it; he'll be lecturing the heaving throng within the hour! And I, for one, don't want the throng to heave without me!”
“I'm with you, my boy!” Trounce enthused.
Burton took a leash from the hatstand and clipped it to Fidget's collar. Jackets were buttoned, hats were placed on heads, canes were retrieved, and the four men and dog hurried out of the house into the haze of Montagu Place.
“Let's leg it down Gloucester,” Swinburne suggested. “We'll be there in five minutes.”
They strolled eastward, and, as they approached the corner, Mr. Grub's barrow came into view.
Burton touched the brim of his topper in greeting.
“Morning, Mr. Grub! How's business?”
“What's it to do with you?” came the snarled reply.
Burton halted and looked at the man in astonishment.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, do yer? Well, you ain't gettin’ it, you blasted snob!”
“I say!” Swinburne gasped.
Detective Inspector Honesty turned toward the vendor and stuck out his chest. “Better watch your manners!” he said. “Respect your betters!”
“Betters, is it? Ha! You ain't no better than nuffink, an’ that's a fact!”
“Why, what on earth has got into you, Mr. Grub?” asked Burton, and Trounce added: “Come, come, dear fellow. Surely that's no way to talk!”
“Why don'tcha all clear off, hey?” Grub responded.
“Is something troubling you?” Burton enquired. “Has something happened?”
“All that's bleedin’ well ’appened is that you're a-standin’ on me patch gettin’ in the way of them honest workin’ folks what wants to buy cockles an’ whelks.”
“Well, what say I buy a bag?” Swinburne suggested. “I like my cockles with a sprinkling of vinegar, if you please.” He hiccupped.
“I don't please, an’ you can keep yer bloomin’ money, you pipsqueak! Get away from ’ere! Go on! Skedaddle, the lot o’ yer!”
The end of a tremendously long, thin leg thumped onto the road beside them as a harvestman of the order Phalangium opilio passed. The colossal arachnid-called by some a “daddy-long-legs”-was a one-man delivery vehicle. The carapace of its small oval body, which bobbed along twenty feet in the air as the eight elongated legs propelled it forward, had been carved into a bowl-shaped driver's seat, behind which a steam engine chugged. Beneath the body, a wooden crate dangled, held by netting.
The vehicle's twin funnels pumped a thick plume of steam into the air, and a tendril of the vapour curled down and rolled over the men, momentarily obscuring Mr. Grub. When he came back into view, he was holding his hand to his forehead and his face was twisted with pain.
“Why don't you all bugger off!” he mumbled as the bizarre vehicle vanished around a corner.
“I'm placing you under arrest for-” began Detective Inspector Honesty.
“No,” Burton interrupted, gripping the smaller man's upper arm. “Leave him, there's a good chap. Let's move on.”
“But-”
“Come!”
Burton guided the Yard man away, followed by Swinburne and Trounce. The latter looked back at the street vendor in puzzlement.
“By Jove! What extraordinary rudeness!” he muttered.
“And entirely out of character,” Burton observed. “Perhaps he's having trouble at home.”
“Should be arrested!” Honesty grumbled. “Insulting a police officer.”
“There are bigger fish to fry,” Burton noted.
They walked on down Gloucester Place until the northeastern corner of Hyde Park came into view. A big crowd had gathered there, comprised almost entirely of working-class men, with rolled-up shirtsleeves, suspenders, and cloth caps. A few top-hatted gents were hovering at the outer edges of the gathering. Dr. Kenealy and the Claimant could be seen near a podium. They were encircled by a number of foppishly dressed individuals-obviously Rakes-who appeared to be acting as bodyguards.
“What a crowd!” Trounce observed as they pushed their way into the mob.
“All come to goggle at the freak!” Swinburne said.
A man with pocked skin and bad teeth leaned close and said: “He ain't no bloomin’ freak, mister. He's an haristocrat what's been cheated outa what's rightfully ‘is by the blasted lawyers!”
“My good sir!” the poet protested.
“Go about your business,” Trounce commanded.
The man sneered nastily, turned his back, and hobbled away, swearing under his breath.
They stood and waited.
Ten minutes later, Burton asked, “Is it my imagination or are we on the receiving end of some rather hostile glances?”
“Shhh!” Swinburne responded. “The Claimant's about to speak!” He pulled a silver flask from his jacket pocket and swigged from it.
The grossly obese giant had heaved himself up onto the podium. The crowd spontaneously broke into song: “I've seen a great deal of gaiety throughout my noisy life,
With all my grand accomplishments I ne'er could get a wife,
The thing I most excel in is the P. R. F. G. game,
A-noise all night, in bed all day, and swimming in Champagne!”
Swinburne laughed, and in a loud, high-pitched voice, joined in with the chorus: “For Champagne Charlie is my name;
Champagne Charlie is my name,
Good for any game at night, my boys;
Good for any game at night, my boys,
Champagne Charlie is my name;
Champagne Charlie is my name,
Good for any game at night, boys;
Who'll come and join me in a spree?”
“Be quiet, you idiot-you're attracting attention!” Burton hissed.
Dr. Kenealy climbed up beside his client and waved for the crowd to quiet down.
Reluctantly, it did so.
“I'd like to introduce to you,” he began, in a loud voice, “a man who is well acquainted with this country's aristocratic families, due to the fact that he is himself one of their number.”
