Page:Mysteries of Melbourne Life.djvu/15

Rh Mrs. Moran, that's the cook, to feed me. O! Lord, wasn't it beautiful to sit by the warm fire, and eat till you couldn't take in more!"

"Don't know," said Patsy, "never 'sperienced anything like that."

"Then she came and listened to what I told her—"

"A good story, I'll be bound," said Patsy.

—"And she believed me, and got Mr. Wilton to take me as a generally useful boy, for they want one to chop wood, dig the garden, and mind Valentine, the horse, and Lucy, the cow; and here I've been, happy as the day's long, and hopin' to grow better. It's wonderful the way missus is bringing me on; my mind seems to grow and grow, and I appear to be getting to know so much."

"And you're growing in statter, too," said Patsy. "Fillin' out nicely, eh?"

"Yes," replied Bill stoutly, "and I don't want to return to that dreadful life I once led. There's only one thing I want. I'd like to meet the cowardly wretch who killed the poor gal. I'd give him up, I would. Lord? Patsy, I'm not the same fellow I used to be at all."

"Not you," said Patsy; "forgot all your old friends, but yer old friends won't forget you—specially the bluebottles. I could do you a nice trick now; I could have you took up for that search after knowledge, and other little jobs. But I 'spect you've gone in for what the chaps in the Gospel Hall blow about: meekness and charity. If I hit you on one cheek you'd turn the other—"

"Just try," laconically observed Bill.

"Well, well" said Patsy, dropping his voice; "we won't quarrel, old boy. Ha'n't they got lots o' nice things inside?"

"Perhaps they have," said Bill.

"Silver spoons as can walk off by their own selves, purses as can't feel comfortable 'ceptin' in my pocket—you know."

"I know nothing," said Bill doggedly.

"Of course," said Patsy, edging close to Bill. "You know, old chap, we could manage matters nicely, just as Bob Smith did—you let me in at night, and leave all the rest to me. Lord I I'm so small, they couldn't see me."

"Look here," said Bill, in a determined voice, "if you don't shut up I'll make you."

"All right. Rec'lect how you could give up work, dress fine, an' 'ave cigars and brandy, just like Bob Smith."

"Shut up," cried Bill, "I'll kick you out of the gate."

"Oho?" continued the aggravating Patsy; "why, how you've lost your bad temper lately. You're grown quite an angel, only I don't see your wings—"

"Then feel them," cried Bill, who could no longer stand the sarcasms of his quondam ally, and he made lights dance before Patsy's eyes such as he had not seen for a few days. Hereupon a regular stand-up fight took place. Patsy, though small, was wiry, and hitting seemed to have the same effect upon him as on an iron post. He was used to blows, and took them kindly; like Antaeus, in re the earth, they gave him fresh strength. But Bill was strong, and an expert at his fists, so that it is likely Patsy would have had to fly, had not Mrs. Moran, who was attracted by the noise, become a witness of the conflict; and she at once raised such an outcry, that Linda and Harry Robertson, who had just arrived, came running round to ascertain what was the matter. The boys were then separated, and Patsy sent about his business.

"Oho! my cove," said he, scowling on Bill as he went out; "I'll be even with you yet, you meek and holy repperbate, blowed if I don't."

"How do you like the angel's wings?" cried Bill triumphantly, as he shut-to the gate with a bang.

"Better'n you'll like the bluebottles' darbies," cried Patsy with a frightful grin.

Bill's explanation of the fight was satisfactory, though Harry could not but question the policy of having such a boy about the house. As he had been the associate of thieves and rogues, he might be persuaded to assist in robbing the place. But Linda stoutly maintained that he was a true-hearted fellow, and that she would stake her life on his truth. So, for the present, the matter ended. Bill was at first a little frightened for fear Patsy would carry his threats into execution; but when he reflected that the police-office was about the last place on earth that interesting youth would willingly visit, for certain reasons well-known to himself, he felt more at his ease; and having groomed Valentine, proceeded to milk Lucy with all the comfort imaginable. The individual most ruffled by the encounter had been Scrix, the cat, which, owing to the unexpected shower-bath did not thoroughly recover her temper until she had had it out with Snix, the poodle after which was all amity.

In the drawingroom Harry Robertson and Linda sat conversing, Linda's eyes ever wandering to see if "Bobs" was coming. What