CHAPTER V

The New Lodger

BERT read the Princess's letter over and over again, till he knew the words by heart. To keep it safely, he pinned it within his ragged jacket; but it was often in his hands, till from constant handling the paper became soiled and ragged. It was well he treasured it, for he got no second letter from Prin.

Week after week passed on. Spring grew into summer, and the sun's heat was fervid, and the air close and tainted in the narrow street in which Bert lived; but Prin, enjoying the fresher, sweeter atmosphere, and more wholesome life of the country, sent no token of remembrance to her brother. She did not write again, and it never occurred to Bert to write to her.

He could write, after a fashion, but it was an accomplishment he never practised out of school hours, and he had not written a letter in his life. He began to long for the summer to pass, for he believed that in the autumn Prin would come back to him.

"When will the summer be over?" he asked Mrs. Kay one day.

"Over!" she repeated. "Why, it's hardly begun yet. This is only the beginning of June, though it's hot enough for August. You are in a hurry."

Bert sighed. It was of no use to be in a hurry. He could not make the days move faster.

That June was a memorable one in the life of London. It was the June of 1887. Already every one was talking of the magnificence with which the Queen's Jubilee was to be celebrated. Even amongst the poorest dwellers in the metropolis it was a subject of absorbing interest. Most persons meant to see something of the splendour, and many hoped to turn the occasion to good account for themselves.

Bert eagerly gleaned all the information he could on the subject. He likened as people talked of the decorations, the illuminations, the grand stands for the spectators, the horses and carriages, the royal personages who were to appear, and all the pomp and show which were to mark the occasion. The thought of it excited and bewildered him. If only Prin were with him, what a time they would have! The Princess would know what to do. She would manage to see everything. No one was more clever than the Princess in pushing her way to the front and securing the best possible position when there was anything to be seen or gained. Bert was profoundly conscious of his inferiority to her in this respect.

Another new interest had come into Bert's life, and shared, with the Jubilee, his thoughts. This was the landlady's new lodger. He took possession of the room in the area three days after Prin's departure. He was an old sailor, and earned his living by bill-sticking and kindred occupations of a somewhat precarious nature. Apparently he was poor, as were all the inhabitants of that street; but his poverty was not, like that of most of the dwellers there, caused by drink. Watching the new lodger with a boy's keen curiosity, which lets nothing escape it, Bert soon observed that he never entered any of the public-houses in the neighbourhood, and that he drank nothing stronger than tea or ginger-beer. This was enough to distinguish him from every other man with whom Bert was acquainted.

Though he had brought nothing with him to the room that could be called furniture, the man had a few possessions on which he seemed to set great value. Among these was a great black cat, between which and his master there seemed to be a perfect understanding, and which was evidently very dear to him. Bert had never seen so fine a cat. The cats belonging to that street were a poor, half-starved race, with the mean and treacherous habits fostered by ill-treatment. This was a noble animal, with a coat as black as jet and as glossy as satin. He was supremely conscious of his superiority, and bore himself with much dignity. Nor would he suffer any familiarity; for when Bert once ventured to touch him, the cat instantly arched his back, spat fiercely, and showed a formidable set of claws. But with his master he was very different. Bert, peering down from the street between the railings, noted how the cat would spring on the man's shoulder and rub his head lovingly against his cheek. And whatever his master was doing, the cat was sure to be close beside him, and evidently he shared all his meals.

The stranger also possessed several books, and from what Bert saw, he judged him to be fond of reading. There was one book, a somewhat bulky, well-worn book, which was constantly in his hands. He would sit reading this by the open window with his cat perched on his shoulder, and the noises of the street did not seem to disturb him, nor did he appear aware of the little boy who stood so often by the railings, furtively watching his every movement.

Like most sailors, this man was very cleanly in his habits. Bert was amazed to see how clean he made his room, scrubbing the floor and polishing the window till they looked as Bert had never seen them look. Then he pasted clean paper over the soiled and torn wall-paper, and put up a bright picture here and there, and did a little carpentering where it was necessary.

"It looks like another room," thought Bert, as he caught glimpses through the open window of the improvement within; "Prin would not know it, if she saw it now." Then he sighed as he thought of Prin, who had been gone so long.

The new lodger seemed to have no friend save his cat. Not that he was unfriendly in his ways. He was ready enough to bid his neighbours "good day," and to exchange a kind word with them; but his manner of life was so different from theirs that they instinctively held aloof from him. But, if lonely, he was not unhappy. He was generally singing as he tidied his room or cooked his bit of food. Sometimes Bart caught the words he was singing.

"I've found a Friend, oh, such a Friend!" he heard him sing one day.

"Then he has got a friend," thought Bert. "It seemed as if he were as much left to himself as I am. I did not want a friend as long as Prin was with me, but now—"

And Bert sighed. He would have liked the old sailor to be his friend, but he was far too shy to make the first advances.

One day Bert heard the landlady tell Mrs. Kay that the old sailor was going away.

"Going away!" he exclaimed in dismay. "Going to give up his room?"

"Now then, what business is it of yours, Mr. Sharp-ears?" asked the landlady. "I wasn't a-speaking to you. But don't you make no mistake. He ain't giving up his room. He's just going away for a day or two—to Liverpool, he tells me."

"When does he go?" asked Mrs. Kay.

"Early to-morrow morning. He's a rare hand at getting up early. He's up at four most mornings, and off to his work."

"That's how it is I never see him, I suppose," said Mrs. Kay. "Funny, ain't it? I've never set eyes on your new lodger yet."

"Well, he ain't much to look at, but he's a good 'un," said the landlady; "pays his rent reg'lar to the day, which is more than many folks do."

The words had a significance which made Mrs. Kay uneasy. She remembered that her rent was over-due. When she was "on the drink," she was wont to forget that there was such a thing as rent.

Just then Bert tugged at her gown.

"There he is Mrs. Kay," he whispered. "Look, if you ain't seen him, there he is."

Mrs. Kay glanced into the street. A man stood at the top of the area steps—a bundle of papers was strapped to his back, and he carried a paste-pot and a big brush. He had paused for a moment to adjust his burden ere he descended to his room. Mrs. Kay had a good view of him. The next moment she staggered back into the passage, her face wearing such a startled look that Bert exclaimed in alarm,—

"Oh, what is the matter, Mrs. Kay? Do you know him? Have you seen him before?"

For answer, she dealt him a stinging box on the ears, then vanished into her room, slamming the door behind her.

The landlady laughed at Bert's discomfiture. "She's a queer one, she is," she said, "but it serves you right for asking impertinent questions. You want to know too much, you do."

Very early the next morning, Bert, sleeping in his corner under the stairs, was roused by the noise of the area gate swinging on its hinges. Noiselessly, on bare feet, he sped to the house door, which was never locked—for the lodgers came in at all hours of the night—and opening it a few inches peeped out. It was as he thought, the sailor was departing on his trip to Liverpool. He was wearing the blue pilot coat and peaked cap which he usually reserved for Sundays, and he carried in his hand a neatly-made bundle.

Bert saw him walk away with regret.

There was a fascination in watching the ways of this man, and the boy was sorry to think that some days must elapse ere he saw him again.

"I wonder if he's gone to see that friend he's always singing about," he said to himself. Then a grand idea came like a sudden inspiration to Bert. What if he were to go to see the Princess! If she would not come to him, why should he not go to her? If only he had money enough, no doubt a train would take him to the place where she was. Thrilled with excitement at the thought, Bert hastened to count his precious hoard. His coppers amounted to eleven-pence half-penny—almost a shilling! Surely, if he went on saving, he would soon have money enough to pay his fare to Hampshire. The idea acted on him like a stimulant. He rose at once and began to don his ragged clothes. He would lose no time in seeking to earn money. He hurried away, first to a coffee stall to get his breakfast, and then to secure his papers.

Fortune smiled on him this morning. He was lucky enough to make sixpence ere it was time for him to go to school.

When he came back to the house at mid-day, he found a crowd of children gathered at the top of the area steps. The cause of their gathering was soon evident. Loud and distressful mews resounded from the sailor's room. It was clear that his cat, shut up within, was both hungry and indignant.

"Did you ever hear anything like that cat?" cried the landlady, as she stood at her door, to the assembled neighbours. "It drives me frantic to hear it, and there's no getting to the creature, for he's locked the door and taken the key with him, and the shutters are fastened on the inside."

"What a shame to leave a poor dumb animal like that! He did ought to know better than to do such a thing," was the opinion expressed by more than one.

"Oh, as for that, he did not mean to do it. He must have forgot it just at the last, for he asked me to look after his cat, and he gave me money to buy it milk and meat. He'll be as mad as mad when he knows what he's done."

Bert knew that this was true. The lodger was far too fond of his cat to willingly cause it to suffer. Bert ran down the steps into the area, and standing by the door said, "Poor puss! Poor puss!" several times in encouraging tones. The cat's cries ceased for a few moments, then quickly began again, louder than ever.

A happy thought occurred to Bert. He remembered that the door was ill-fitting, and that a wide crevice at the top used to let in many a cruel draught upon him and Prin. If he stood on a chair, he might be able to drop some pieces of meat through the aperture.

He confided his plan to the landlady, and she helped him to carry it out. The lodger had nailed a piece of cloth along the top of the doorway to keep out the draught; but this Bert succeeded in tearing away, and then there was room for him to push the pieces of meat through. He soon heard sounds that told him that the cat was snapping them up as they fell. In this way he got a good meal. He still continued to mew, for he missed his master and disliked the confinement; but gradually his cries grew fainter, till at last they ceased.

"I suppose he has gone to sleep," thought Bert. "Well, I'm glad I remembered that hole. I can keep him from starving anyhow."

Then he went off to get his own dinner, which was not a very sumptuous repast.

When he came back from selling his papers late that evening, he found that the cat needed his supper, and was announcing the fact by loud and piercing mews. Bert hastened to beg some food for him from the landlady, and then proceeded to feed him as before. He was standing on a chair, stretching upward on tip-toe in order to supply the cat's wants, when he was startled by a voice which said:

"What are you doing at my door?"

Bert started, and almost fell off the chair. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the old sailor descending the steps.

"I'm feeding your cat," he said; "I—I didn't know you was coming home to-night."

"Nor did I mean to," he said. "It's just my cat that has brought me back. I can't think how I came to forget him. I couldn't bear to think of the poor beastie being shut up here without food or drink."

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the landlady, leaning over from the doorstep above. "To think of your coming back, all the way from Liverpool, Mr. Corney, just for the sake of an old cat! And you meant to stay there three days!"

The old sailor smiled, and made no attempt to defend his conduct as he advanced to where Bert was stationed.