Odd Craft, Complete

“You’re a good son, Peter,” ses old Isaac, “and I wish there was more like you. I’ll come down with you, if you like; I’ve got nothing to do.”

Peter said it was very kind of ‘im, but ‘e’d sooner go alone, owing to his mother being very shy afore strangers.

“Well, I’ll come down to the station and take a ticket for you,” ses Isaac.

Then Peter lost ‘is temper altogether, and banged ‘is fist on the table and smashed ‘arf the crockery. He asked Isaac whether ‘e thought ‘im and Ginger Dick was a couple o’ children, and ‘e said if ‘e didn’t give ‘em all their money right away ‘e’d give ‘im in charge to the first policeman they met.

“I’m afraid you didn’t intend for to go and see your mother, Peter,” ses the old man.

“Look ‘ere,” ses Peter, “are you going to give us that money?”

“Not if you went down on your bended knees,” ses the old man.

“Very good,” says Peter, getting up and walking outside; “then come along o’ me to find a police-man.”

“I’m agreeable,” ses Isaac, “but I’ve got the paper you signed.”

Peter said ‘e didn’t care twopence if ‘e’d got fifty papers, and they walked along looking for a police-man, which was a very unusual thing for them to do.

“I ‘ope for your sakes it won’t be the same police-man that you and Ginger Dick set on in Gun Alley the night afore you shipped on the Planet,” ses Isaac, pursing up ‘is lips.

“‘Tain’t likely to be,” ses Peter, beginning to wish ‘e ‘adn’t been so free with ‘is tongue.

“Still, if I tell ‘im, I dessay he’ll soon find ‘im,” ses Isaac; “there’s one coming along now, Peter; shall I stop ‘im?”

Peter Russet looked at ‘im and then he looked at Ginger, and they walked by grinding their teeth. They stuck to Isaac all day, trying to get their money out of ‘im, and the names they called ‘im was a surprise even to themselves. And at night they turned the room topsy-turvy agin looking for their money and ‘ad more unpleasantness when they wanted Isaac to get up and let ‘em search the bed.

They ‘ad breakfast together agin next morning and Ginger tried another tack. He spoke quite nice to Isaac, and ‘ad three large cups o’ tea to show ‘im ‘ow ‘e was beginning to like it, and when the old man gave ‘em their eighteen-pences ‘e smiled and said ‘e’d like a few shillings extra that day.

“It’ll be all right, Isaac,” he ses. “I wouldn’t ‘ave a drink if you asked me to. Don’t seem to care for it now. I was saying so to you on’y last night, wasn’t I, Peter?”

“You was,” ses Peter; “so was I.”

“Then I’ve done you good, Ginger,” ses Isaac, clapping ‘im on the back.

“You ‘ave,” ses Ginger, speaking between his teeth, “and I thank you for it. I don’t want drink; but I thought o’ going to a music-’all this evening.”

“Going to wot?” ses old Isaac, drawing ‘imself up and looking very shocked.

“A music-’all,” ses Ginger, trying to keep ‘is temper.

“A music-’all,” ses Isaac; “why, it’s worse than a pub, Ginger. I should be a very poor friend o’ yours if I let you go there—I couldn’t think of it.”

“Wot’s it got to do with you, you gray-whiskered serpent?” screams Ginger, arf mad with rage. “Why don’t you leave us alone? Why don’t you mind your own business? It’s our money.”

Isaac tried to talk to ‘im, but ‘e wouldn’t listen, and he made such a fuss that at last the coffee-shop keeper told ‘im to go outside. Peter follered ‘im out, and being very upset they went and spent their day’s allowance in the first hour, and then they walked about the streets quarrelling as to the death they’d like old Isaac to ‘ave when ‘is time came.

They went back to their lodgings at dinner-time; but there was no sign of the old man, and, being ‘ungry and thirsty, they took all their spare clothes to a pawnbroker and got enough money to go on with. Just to show their independence they went to two music-’ails, and with a sort of idea that they was doing Isaac a bad turn they spent every farthing afore they got ‘ome, and sat up in bed telling ‘im about the spree they’d ‘ad.

At five o’clock in the morning Peter woke up and saw, to ‘is surprise, that Ginger Dick was dressed and carefully folding up old Isaac’s clothes. At first ‘e thought that Ginger ‘ad gone mad, taking care of the old man’s things like that, but afore ‘e could speak Ginger noticed that ‘e was awake, and stepped over to ‘im and whispered to ‘im to dress without making a noise. Peter did as ‘e was told, and, more puzzled than ever, saw Ginger make up all the old man’s clothes in a bundle and creep out of the room on tiptoe.

“Going to ‘ide ‘is clothes?” ‘e ses.

“Yes,” ses Ginger, leading the way downstairs; “in a pawnshop. We’ll make the old man pay for to-day’s amusements.”

Then Peter see the joke and ‘e begun to laugh so ‘ard that Ginger ‘ad to threaten to knock ‘is head off to quiet ‘im. Ginger laughed ‘imself when they got outside, and at last, arter walking about till the shops opened, they got into a pawnbroker’s and put old Isaac’s clothes up for fifteen shillings.

First thing they did was to ‘ave a good breakfast, and after that they came out smiling all over and began to spend a ‘appy day. Ginger was in tip-top spirits and so was Peter, and the idea that old Isaac was in bed while they was drinking ‘is clothes pleased them more than anything. Twice that evening policemen spoke to Ginger for dancing on the pavement, and by the time the money was spent it took Peter all ‘is time to get ‘im ‘ome.

Old Isaac was in bed when they got there, and the temper ‘e was in was shocking; but Ginger sat on ‘is bed and smiled at ‘im as if ‘e was saying compliments to ‘im.

“Where’s my clothes?” ses the old man, shaking ‘is fist at the two of ‘em.

Ginger smiled at ‘im; then ‘e shut ‘is eyes and dropped off to sleep.

“Where’s my clothes?” ses Isaac, turning to Peter. “Closhe?” ses Peter, staring at ‘im.

“Where are they?” ses Isaac.

It was a long time afore Peter could understand wot ‘e meant, but as soon as ‘e did ‘e started to look for ‘em. Drink takes people in different ways, and the way it always took Peter was to make ‘im one o’ the most obliging men that ever lived. He spent arf the night crawling about on all fours looking for the clothes, and four or five times old Isaac woke up from dreams of earthquakes to find Peter ‘ad got jammed under ‘is bed, and was wondering what ‘ad ‘appened to ‘im.

None of ‘em was in the best o’ tempers when they woke up next morning, and Ginger ‘ad ‘ardly got ‘is eyes open before Isaac was asking ‘im about ‘is clothes agin.

“Don’t bother me about your clothes,” ses Ginger; “talk about something else for a change.”

“Where are they?” ses Isaac, sitting on the edge of ‘is bed.

Ginger yawned and felt in ‘is waistcoat pocket—for neither of ‘em ‘ad undressed—and then ‘e took the pawn-ticket out and threw it on the floor. Isaac picked it up, and then ‘e began to dance about the room as if ‘e’d gone mad.

“Do you mean to tell me you’ve pawned my clothes?” he shouts.

“Me and Peter did,” ses Ginger, sitting up in bed and getting ready for a row.

Isaac dropped on the bed agin all of a ‘cap. “And wot am I to do?” he ses.

“If you be’ave yourself,” ses Ginger, “and give us our money, me and Peter’ll go and get ‘em out agin. When we’ve ‘ad breakfast, that is. There’s no hurry.”

“But I ‘aven’t got the money,” ses Isaac; “it was all sewn up in the lining of the coat. I’ve on’y got about five shillings. You’ve made a nice mess of it, Ginger, you ‘ave.”

“You’re a silly fool, Ginger, that’s wot you are,” ses Peter.

“Sewn up in the lining of the coat?” ses Ginger, staring.

“The bank-notes was,” ses Isaac, “and three pounds in gold ‘idden in the cap. Did you pawn that too?”

Ginger got up in ‘is excitement and walked up and down the room. “We must go and get ‘em out at once,” he ses.

“And where’s the money to do it with?” ses Peter.