Original Penny Readings: A Series of Short Sketches. Fenn George Manville

may be used in evidence agen you at yer trial.’ Wherefore, don’t you see, I takes notice of the caution?”

      I’d give something to be able to transfer to paper the solemn wink he gave me, but that is impossible, and we both talked on indifferent subjects until my visitor had had another mix, when thoughtfully poking at the sugar, he said, —

      “You see, sir, we do sometimes have cases on hand as makes a feller quite savage; and then people as looks on will make it ten times wuss for the pleeceman by siding with them as is took. Here we gets kicked and butted, knocked down and trod upon; clothes tore, hats once, ’elmets now, crushed; hair pulled out by the roots, and all sorts o’ nice delicate attentions o’ that sort, which naterally puts a feller out, and makes him cut up rough; then the crowd round cries out ‘shame,’ or, ‘oh, poor feller,’ or what not, and makes the poor feller as has half killed a couple o’ pleecemen wuss than he was afore. Pleecemen oughter to keep their tempers says the papers, arter what they calls a ‘police outrage,’ jest as if the force was recruited out of all that’s amiable. We ain’t angels, sir, not a bit of it; and it’s a wonder we don’t get more outer temper than we does. Jest you go to take a chap inter custody and adwise him to come quietly; and then offer to take him all decent and orderly. Jest you go and do that, and let him turn round and give you a spank in the mouth, as cuts yer lip open and knocks a tooth loose – jest see how angelified you’ll feel then; and try what a job it is not to pull yer staff out and half knock his blessed head off. Why, if Lord Shaftesbury hisself had on the bracelet that night I know he’d give my gentleman one or two ugly twists. Wun knows wun oughter keep cool, but yer see a feller ain’t made o’ cast iron, which would be a blessin’ to some of our fellers’ legs – being a hard material. After taking a rough sometimes I’ve seen our chaps with legs black, blue, and bleeding with kicks, while ’ceptin’ a little touzlin’ and sech, the prisoner hasn’t had a spot on him. Yes, it’s all werry fine, ‘Keep yer temper,’ – ‘Don’t be put out,’ – ‘Take it all coolly,’ – be pitched outer winder and then ‘come up smilin’,’ as Bell’s Life says. Get kicked in the stummick, and then make a bow; but that you’d be sure to do, for you’d get reg’larly doubled up. Never mind havin’ yer whiskers pulled, and bein’ skretched a bit, it’s all included in yer eighteen bob or pound a week; and, above all – keep yer temper.

      “A niste job two on us had in Oxford-street, I think it was, one day. It was over a horinge chap as had been making an obstruction in the busiest part o’ the thoroughfare. We’d been at him for about a week, arstin’ him civilly to drop it; for the vestry had been laying the case before the magistrate, and we had our orders. You see it was a good pitch; and this chap used to do a roaring bit o’ business, and of course it warn’t pleasant to give it up; but then he’d no call to be there, yer know, for he was interfering with the traffic; so in course we had to put a stop to it.

      “Well, yer know, it had come to that pitch at last that if he wouldn’t go why we was to take him, and Dick Smith was the one that was in for it along with me. We neither on us liked it, for this was a civil-spoken chap in a suit o’ cords, a bird’s-eye handkercher, and a fur cap. He’d got a smart way, too, o’ doing his hair, which was black and turned under at the two sides afore his ears; and besides he was only trying to get a honest living; but dooty’s dooty, yer know, sir, and we ain’t got much chance o’ pickin’ and choosin’. So I says to Dick, as we goes along —

      “‘Now, then, Dick,’ I says, ‘which is it to be, the cove or his barrer?’

      “‘Oh!’ says Dick, ‘I’m blest if I’m a-goin’ to wheel the barrer through the public streets. Look well for a pleece-constable in uniform, wouldn’t it?’

      “‘Well,’ I says, rather chuff, ‘some one’s got it to do, and I ain’t a-goin’ to have it shoved on to me. Tell yer what we’ll do – we’ll toss up.’

      “‘All right,’ says Dick, ‘so we will.’

      “So I fetches out a copper, the on’y one we could furridge out between us, and to Dick I says, ‘Now, then, sudden death?’

      “‘Not a bit of it,’ says he, ‘I’ll go off lingerin’ – best two out o’ three.’

      “‘Werry well,’ I says, ‘anything for peace and quietness.’ And so we tossed.

      “‘Heads,’ says Dick.

      “‘Woman it is,’ says I. ‘One to me;’ and then I passes the brown over to Dick, and he spins up.

      “‘Lovely woman,’ says I, and lovely woman it was.

      “‘Blowed if here ain’t two Bobbies a tossin’,’ says one o’ them niste boys as yer meets with in London.

      “Didn’t I feel savage, though I had won; and for a moment I almost wished it had been that werry young gentleman as we had to take. But my boy gives a grin and a hop, skip, and a jump, and then cuts behind a gentleman’s carriage as was passing, when the Johnny put out his foot and gave him a push, and down he goes into the mud”; which was, of course, pleasant to our outraged feelings, though it would have taken a great deal of mud to spoil that boy’s clothes.

      “‘Now then, Dick,’ I says, ‘let’s be off.’

      “‘Wot’s the hurry?’ says Dick, who was a thinking of the barrer, I could see.

      “‘Oh, come on,’ I says; for, thinks I to myself, ‘you’re on the right hand side of the way, my boy.’

      “So off we goes, till we comes to the well-known spot, and there stood my chap, a-doing a raging trade.

      “‘Now then, young feller,’ I says, ‘you must move on.’

      “‘What for?’ says he.

      “‘Obstructing the thoroughfare,’ says I.

      “‘Taste ’em,’ he says, ‘they’re fust-rate to-day. Shove two or three in yer pocket for the young Bobbies.’

      “‘Won’t do,’ I says; ‘we’ve got our orders, and off yer goes.’

      “‘Get out,’ he says, ‘you’re chaffin’.’

      “‘Not a bit of it,’ I says; ‘so stow nonsense and go on quietly, there’s a good feller.’

      “‘All right,’ he says, seeing as we was serious, ‘all right.’ And then he sells a horinge to this one, and a horinge to that one, and sixpenn’orth to another one; but not a hinch would he move. So we waits a bit, and then I gives him another gentle hint or two.

      “‘All right,’ he says agin, ‘wait a bit.’

      “Well, yer knows, sir, this went on for about half an hour, and a crowd gets collected, and every time as I speaks to him, ‘All right,’ he says, ‘wait a bit,’ and then the crowd laughed and the boys hoorayed.

      “I thinks to myself ‘This here won’t do,’ but neither Dick nor me wanted to begin, so I has one last try, and I says quietly, —

      “‘Now, are you a-goin’ or not? Becos if you ain’t we must make yer.’

      “‘All right,’ he says, ‘wait a bit,’ and the people bust out a laughin’ again, and the crowd gets bigger than ever.

      “‘Now, then, Dick,’ I says to my mate, ‘come on,’ for I see as it was no use to be played with any longer.

      “So Dick goes to the barrer, and I collars the chap, and the row began. Dick lays hold o’ the barrer handles quite savagely, and shoots a dozen o’ horinges off inter the road, when, of course, there was a regular scramble, and somebody calls out ‘Shame!’ Then my chap takes and throws hisself down, and gives my wrist such a screw as a’most sprained it, and then somebody else calls out ‘Shame!’

      “‘Now you’d better come on quietly,’ I says to my chap. ‘You’ll do no good by making a row.’ And then I tries to get him up on his legs, when some one calls out ‘Shame!’ agin.

      “‘What’s a shame?’ I says, which