“I’m going to train you,” continued he, presently, in a patronising tone, and with his thumbs hooked in at the arm-holes of his waistcoat.
There was no use in contradicting him, and, seeing that I was expected to say something, I replied, “Thanky, sir I if you’re a-goin’ to do me any good, I’m werry much obliged to you.”
“Do you good! it’s a chance that a dozen boys in this street would jump out of their skins for. You’ll see. You think yourself a wonderfully clever chap, no doubt; kids always are conceited—I was. Now I’ll warrant, in less than a month, to bring you along so that you won’t be able to think of a job like this” (here he tapped the pocket into which he had placed the pocket-book I had stolen) “without feeling downright ashamed of yourself. That’s saying something, isn’t it?”
I began to feel more at my ease with Mr. Hopkins, and I answered that I thought it was saying a great deal.
“Exactly; it’s saying everything. In fact,” said he, taking out a meerschaum pipe from a handsome case, and filling and lighting it, “it’s saying ten times more tin, and twenty times less risk in getting it. It’s as plain as A, B, C. ‘It’s a wretched life, and you’d better turn your hand to honest ways,’ say the Johnny Greens, who know no more how to lighten a pocket than they do of well-boring; and they’re right enough; as they find it, honesty is the best policy, no doubt. What’s your name?”
“Jim Smith”—
Wishing to conceal my real name from Mr. Hopkins, I was about to give him the one that Mouldy and Ripston had conferred on me, but having doubts as to how he would take it, I hesitated when I had got thus far.
“Very well, Jim Smith, so far so good; now let us go a little further into the business. You haven’t been doing by any means first-rate, now, I’ll wager, in spite of all your good luck?”
“Well, as for that”—
“You’ve no need to tell me; I know all about it,” interrupted Mr. Hopkins, waving his hand. “It’s always the same; meat to-day, banyan tomorrow—no certainty; never a regular half-crown in your pocket, eh?”
“Nor a reg’ler shillin’ either,” I answered. “How can it be reg’ler when you’re ’bliged to take it as it comes, and when you can get it?”
“Of course, it can’t be regular. Well, well, it’s the light of other days, with all that sort of thing, if you will only mind yourself, as I told you before. I teach you your business—I provide you grub and bub, while you’re learning it, all free and without charge—and, when you’re knowing enough, you work for me. You understand? You work for me, and I dress you as handsome as any young gentleman in the land. I feed you on the best; I lodge you like a duke. Slack times or busy shall make no sort of difference to you; there’s always a good dinner, and if you want a crown to spend of evenings, all you’ve got to do is to ask for it. How do you like the offer?” And Mr. Hopkins grinned to see the expression of astonishment and incredulity that, naturally enough, was visible on my countenance.
“I couldn’t be off likin’ it,” I replied; “but what’s it all goin’ to be done on the strength on? that’s what I want to know.”
“On the strength of your going to work, and bringing me home all your earnings,” answered Mr. Hopkins.
“You mean, bring home all I can—can—get?” I observed, taking much more kindly to the generous fellow now than at first.
“Just so,” nodded he, puffing out a mouthful of smoke.
“Oh, well! I don’t think there need be any hagglin’ over it,” said I eagerly, and only afraid, either that he might be joking or presently see cause to alter his mind, “I’m quite willin’; it’s just the sort of place as’ll suit me, I think.”
“No doubt of it,” replied Mr. Hopkins. “That’s one side of the picture; now let’s have a look at the other side. You heard what Mrs. Hopkins said when we first came in, didn’t you?”
“’Bout you bein’ back sooner than she”—
“Pish! no, stupid head; about you not lasting longer”—
“Longer than the last lodger? Oh, yes, sir! I remember.”
“You didn’t know what she meant, of course?”
“Course not.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. Our last lodger—about two years older than you he was, and as clever a little fellow as ever turned his hand to diving—he lasted as a lodger of mine only nine weeks. He’s lodging now at Coldbath Fields—getting up the stairs without a landing. Three months of it, and twice privately whipped. Bad for him, isn’t it?”
When Mr. Hopkins spoke of “the stairs without a landing,” he rose for a moment from his chair, and gave a correct imitation (according to the imitations I had seen of the same process as given by the boys under the Dark Arches) of the working of the prison treadmill.
“Should say it jest was bad for him,” I answered. “How did he come to get to Coldbath Fields?”
“Because he was a swindling young whelp, who thought he could give me a chalk in the game I had taught him,” replied Mr. Hopkins, savagely. “It’s like this, Jim Smith. The boys who come to lodge here, and don’t stay, are the boys I trust, and who cheat me. It’s a foolish game for ’em to play, ’pon my word and honour, Jim, it is. You see there’s no mistake about me. To the boy that sticks to me, I’m a brick. Not only do I do by him as I’ve already told you, but if he should be so unlucky as to get hampered, he still finds a friend in me. I get him bail, I get him a lawyer to defend him, and if love or money’ll do it, I get him off. If he can’t be got off, whatever can be done for him while he’s laying by I do, and I’m a father to him the moment he comes out. Only don’t let him fancy that he is cleverer than I am. Money does wonders, you know, Jim. So sure as a boy of mine takes to fiddling, I’d manoeuvre him into quod before he sleeps that night, if I paid five pound an oath against him.”
“And serve him right,” said I, earnestly.
“That’ll do, then. I’ve nothing more to say—at present, at all events. Now you can go for a walk, or to the play—whichever you like—till eleven o’clock. Have you got any money?”
“I’ve got a fourpenny-bit, sir.”
“I’ve some loose silver somewhere. Ah? here’s three-and-sixpence. We mustn’t be extravagant, you know, until we see our way a bit clearer. Be off. Don’t be later than eleven.”
Chapter XXXIII. In which I meet with an old friend in a new character, who gives me some startling information.
As Mr. Hopkins gave me his parting injunction not to stay out later than eleven o’clock, he shut the door of his house on me, leaving me free to wander whithersoever I pleased.
I never felt so utterly bewildered in all my life as, fingering the three-and-sixpence he had presented me with as it lay in my pocket, I made my way by various short cuts known to me towards Shoreditch Church. I didn’t know what to make of Mr. Hopkins. He seemed earnest enough, else why had he taken the trouble to show me where he lived?—why had he given me three and sixpence? He had revealed enough to me to convince me that he was a rogue—indeed, it was enough for me to remember his unscrupulous appropriation of the pocket-book to convince me of that; but if that was all he wanted, why didn’t he be off with it and leave me, as I so broadly hinted to him that he was at liberty to do? Clearly it was not all he wanted; he wanted me.
But on what terms? I was to be dressed like a young gentleman; I was to be fed on the best; lodged like a duke; and only have to ask for five shillings to be sure of getting it! For what? For doing what I had already been doing for nearly two months, and had grown quite used to. For doing, with all ease and confidence, inspired by the comforting reflection that, come the worst, all that money could do would be done for me, that which I had never yet done without fear and trembling. Why, all the pull was clearly on my side, and it would be a very foolish thing not to take him at his word. There couldn’t be any harm in sticking to him, at all events, while he acted up to the proposed terms; if he ceased to do so, what was to hinder my running away? I could scarcely forbear laughing outright in the street What a fool Mr. Hopkins was, with all his wise words and knowing winks!