The unfortunate man almost upset the barrow in the shock of the moment; but, recovering himself, began to perform the most extraordinary antics Teddy had ever seen. First he straightened himself from the hips and gave a sudden tilt to his hat with both hands, which threw it dexterously over one eye; next he twisted up the collar of his coat and stuck his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat; then took a little skip backwards and a little skip forwards; put his tongue into his cheek and ejaculated the single word: "Walker!"
[Illustration: "WALKER!"]
Perceiving from these signs, in a dim fashion, that the man doubted the honesty of his intentions, Teddy became more emphatic, assuring the man that he lived quite near at hand, and that lunch would be just about ready; that he would be quite alone with them; even going so far as to enumerate some of the dishes which might be expected. But the costermonger evidently still had his doubts.
The woman, however, with the keenness of her sex, saw farther into the matter than the man. She spoke in a lower voice.
"Sam, there may be summink in it, arter all. 'E's a little swell, by the looks of 'im, an' 'e don't look 'ard-'earted enough to go for to guy us, do 'e?"
The man, who appeared, even under the most distressing circumstances, to have some latent spark of humour about him, scratched his head for a moment, and then addressed the boy with extreme politeness.
"Seein' as 'ow you're so pressin', yer nibs, I dunno but what we won't take a snack wiv yer--me an' me Donah"--he indicated the woman with one hand. "Do yer fink I might leave the barrer in yer front garding?"
Teddy was wise enough to see that the carrying out of the latter suggestion might cause tongues to wag in the aristocratic square, so it was finally decided that the barrow should be left in the care of a worthy man, of disreputable appearance, who lived in a yard near at hand, and who, for its better protection, agreed to sleep in it until their return.
It is probable that, had Master Teddy Kershaw brought in a travelling menagerie with him--including the elephant--to lunch, Wilkins the butler would scarcely have expressed surprise, whatever his private feelings might have been. Therefore, when the boy introduced his two new friends into the house, gravely referring to them as "Mr. and Mrs. Donah," and announcing that they would partake of lunch with him, Wilkins merely bowed and murmured "Very good, Master Edwin"; discreetly waiting until he had gained the seclusion of his pantry before exploding.
Mrs. Donah was very much subdued and decidedly ill at ease; but Mr. Donah, on the other hand, made himself quite at home with much rapidity. He addressed the appallingly stiff footman pleasantly as "Calves," and taunted him with the suggestion that he was quite big enough to be "put into trahsis." Finally, having appeased his appetite, he lounged easily about the room and admired its appointments.
"I say, yer nibs, is this 'ere yer guv'nor's chivvy?" he asked presently, stopping in front of a full-length portrait of Sir Leopold Kershaw--a portrait which, by the way, appeared to frown down upon him with anything but a brotherly expression.
"I beg your pardon?" said Teddy.
"I sed: 'Is this yer guv'nor's chivvy?' 'Chivvy' bein' parlyvoo for face," replied Mr. Donah.
"Oh, I see," said the boy. "Yes, that's my father."
Mr. Donah surveyed the portrait for some moments, with his head on one side; finally turning to Mrs. Donah, with that curious sideways jerk of the head.
"Twig 'is dial, ole gal? Lor' luv us--'e's a 'ot 'un--I giv' yer _my_ word. 'Eard 'im spout once, abaht every bloke bein' 'is bruvver. That was abaht 'lection time las' year. Ain't 'eard nuffink from 'im since, an' I don't fink 'e's bin ter tea dahn our court, 'as 'e?"
"You're quite right about what my father says," broke in Teddy, proudly. "Every man is his brother, and everyone has the right to exactly the same things that he enjoys."
"Yuss; if 'e can git 'em," responded Mr. Donah, with fine scorn. "But if I 'ooked it wiv a dozen or two of 'is spoons 'e wouldn't 'ave nuffink to say abaht it--bless yer eyes--not 'e!"
Mr. Donah was becoming so particularly scornful, and he jerked his head so threateningly in the direction of the portrait, that Teddy deemed it wise to change the subject; accordingly he said:--
"It's because I believe that my father is right that I asked you and Mrs. Donah to come in to lunch to-day. I'm not quite sure--but I think my father would have been delighted to welcome you."
"Take yer oaf of it!" replied Mr. Donah, with a chuckle. "'E'll be that upset w'en 'e finds 'e's missed us, there won't be no 'oldin' 'im. As to me--I'm fair bowed down wiv it--an' the missis--w'y, ole gal, wot yer blubbin' for?"
Mrs. Donah, who had really eaten very sparingly of everything put before her, had suddenly begun to dab her eyes in a most suspicious manner with the corner of her shawl. Mr. Donah's question, however, appeared at once to rouse her; she got up hurriedly and jerked her hat straight with some fierceness, and told him angrily to--"Come aht of it!"
"'Ere we've bin a-settin' and shovin' grub into ourselves, like beasts, and that poor little nipper at 'ome wivaht so much as a bite!"
Mr. Donah, appeared instantly to droop; his fine spirits were gone in a moment. Indeed, Teddy had a suspicion that he saw the man draw his sleeve hurriedly across his eyes. Curiously, too, there was a sort of dull, heavy anger upon him as he made for the door.
"Come back ter the barrer, ole gal," he said, in a voice more husky even than usual. "An' don't fink that I was fergettin' the nipper--'cos I wasn't." Stopping awkwardly at the door, he came back to the boy. "As fer you, my nibs--you're a nobleman--that's wot _you_ are. There ain't no flam abaht you, an' no partic'ler gas-works. It's a deal pleasanter ter fill a man's stummick than to fill 'is bloomin' 'ed. If yer don't mind, I'd be prahd ter shake a fin wiv yer."
Understanding by this that Mr. Donah desired to shake hands, Teddy promptly responded. He had but dimly understood the half of what they said, or he might have pressed something further upon them; but they were gone before he had had time to make up his mind what to do; and the house returned to its normal condition.
With a curious distrust of that loud-voiced father of his, the boy refrained from saying anything about his extraordinary guests; so that nothing of the matter came to the ears of Sir Leopold Kershaw.
Some three nights later little Teddy Kershaw had a dream. He thought in his dream that he had just sat down comfortably to dinner, and that in some extraordinary fashion the dining-room was open to the street; and that first one hungry child and then another crept in upon him unawares, and snatched desperately the very food from before him; that although Thomas, the large footman, and Wilkins, the equally large butler, and even his father, Sir Leopold, strove hard to drive the famished mites away, they swarmed thicker and faster--until at last, by some subtle dream-change not to be explained in waking hours, his seat at the table was usurped and he had taken the place of a shivering street-boy, who seemed the hungriest of them all; so that he stood outside the house, among the ragged ones, shivering with cold and hunger. Waking suddenly he still seemed to shiver, and found, to his astonishment, that the window of his room was wide open.
While he was meditating sleepily upon this circumstance a stranger thing happened--the head and shoulders of a man appeared against the light of the sky, and the man himself dropped, with a soft thud, into the room.
Teddy started up in bed and opened his mouth with the full intention of giving vocal effect to his alarm; but in an instant a hand--rough, and not particularly sweet-smelling--had closed over it, and a gruff voice, which seemed in the darkness curiously familiar, whispered huskily in his ear:
"Lie dahn, will yer! If yer so much as breave I'll be the death of yer!"
Teddy Kershaw could see nothing distinctly in the darkness; only the dim form of the man seemed to hover above him. On the man releasing his grip Teddy lay down passively, and tried to breathe as little as possible.
"'Oller, an' I'll be back afore yer can say 'knife' an' do fer yer," whispered the man again. Then, quite noiselessly, he crept to the door and opened it, and glided out into the house.
Master Teddy Kershaw, consumed by curiosity, waited for a few moments and then slipped out of bed and went through the door also. Outside on the stair-case a dim light was burning; and, leaning over the stair-head, Teddy could see the man gliding down and keeping as much as possible within the shadow of the wall. A door creaked on its hinges and the man disappeared.
[Illustration: "LEANING OVER THE STAIR-HEAD, TEDDY COULD SEE THE MAN GLIDING DOWN."]
Teddy, mindful of the threat which had been breathed into his ear, was just about to creep back again when he heard another door open more noisily than the first, and then a quick challenging voice; the sound of running feet--a scuffle--and a fall: then other doors opening and more running feet; and lights seemed to flash up all over the house. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Teddy scuttled downstairs in his small pyjamas and headed straight for the fray.