A Dog with a Bad Name Part 59

"Why don't you jump?" shouted another.

"Booh?" shouted a third. "Who skinned the cripple?"

The woman gave a scared look up and down. The flames at that moment wrapped round the window, and, with a wild howl, the crowd saw her disappear into the room.

Jeffreys all this time had been standing wedged in the crowd, a spectator of that hideous scene, and now a witness of this last tragedy.

With a desperate effort he fought his way to the front, hitting right and left to make himself a pa.s.sage. It was a minute before he got through. Then the crowd, realising as if by intuition his purpose, staggered back, and raised a howl as he dashed into the door of the half-consumed building.

The first flight of steps was still intact, and he was up it in a moment; but as he dashed up the second the smoke whirled down in his face and half-choked him. He groped--for it was impossible to see--in search of the door; and guided partly by the roar of the crowd without, and partly by the shrieks within, he found the room.

It was full of flame as he entered it, and to all appearance contained nothing else. The wretched woman, finding the stairs worse to face than the window, had rushed back there and flung herself desperately onto the heads of the crowd below. As he turned to save himself, Jeffreys, amid the roar of the flames, caught the sound of a shout from the corner of the room which he had imagined to be empty.

Rus.h.i.+ng towards it, he caught sight of a figure of a lad on the floor, blackened with smoke, and evidently unable to move.

Yet he was not senseless, for he called, "I can't walk--help me."

Jeffreys caught him in his arms in a moment, and only just in time. He had literally to wade through flame to the door; and when he reached the stairs outside, the dense smoke, reddening every instant, burst upon him well-nigh overwhelmingly.

How he struggled down that awful flight with his burden he knew not.

More than once he stumbled; and once a shower of fallen embers all but stunned him. It was all done in a minute.

Those who watched without marvelled how soon he returned; and when they perceived that he bore in his arms a living creature, even Driver's Court swayed back to let him pa.s.s, and cheered him. Happily a cry of "Engines!" at the other end of the court diverted the crowd still further, and enabled him to stagger forward clear of danger.

"Drop him, he's a dead 'un!" shouted some one who stopped a moment to peer into the face of the senseless lad.

"I'll give you a s.h.i.+lling to help me with him out of this," said Jeffreys.

It was a s.h.i.+lling well spent. Unaided he could never have done it, but with the st.u.r.dy gladiator to clear the way he was able at last to reach the comparative seclusion of Storr Alley. The offer of another s.h.i.+lling prevailed on the man to carry the lad to the attic.

Then for the first time left to himself, he looked in the face of this unexpected guest. And as he did so the room seemed to swim round him.

He forgot where he was or what he was. He looked down on an upturned face, but one not blackened with smoke. It was white and livid, with green gra.s.s for a background--and the roar he heard was no longer the distant yell of a panic-stricken mob, but boys' voices--voices shouting at himself! Yes, for the last time that vision rose before him. Then with a mighty effort he shook off the dream and looked once more in the face of the boy who lay there on the floor of the Storr Alley garret.

And as he did so young Forrester slowly opened his eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

COME BACK.

Raby had come home with a strange story from Storr Alley that afternoon.

She was not much given to romance, but to her there was something pathetic about this man "John" and his unceremonious adoption of those orphan children. She had not seen anything exactly like it, and it moved both her admiration and her curiosity.

She had heard much about "John" from the neighbours, and all she had heard had been of the right sort. Jonah had talked bitterly of him now and then, but before he died he had acknowledged that John had been his only friend. Little Annie had never mentioned him without a smile brightening her face; and even those who had complaints to pour out about everybody all round could find nothing to say about him. Yet she seemed destined never to see him.

The next day, at her usual time, Raby turned her steps to Storr Alley.

Groups of people stood about in the court, and it was evident, since she was last there, something untoward had happened. A fireman's helmet at the other end of the alley, in the pa.s.sage leading to Driver's Court, told its own tale; and if that was not enough, the smell of fire and the bundles of rags and broken furniture which blocked up the narrow pathway, were sufficient evidence.

The exiles from Driver's stared hard at the young lady as she made her way through the crowd; but the people of Storr Alley treated her as a friend, and she had no lack of information as to the calamity of the preceding night.

Raby paid several visits on her way up. Then, with some trepidation, she knocked at the door of the garret. There was no reply from within till she turned the handle, and said--

"May I come in?"

Then a voice replied,--

"Yes, if you like," and she entered.

It was a strange scene which met her eyes as she did so. A lad was stretched on the bed, awake, but, motionless, regarding with some anxiety a baby who slumbered, nestling close to his side. On the floor, curled up, with his face to the wall, lay a man sleeping heavily; while Tim, divided in his interest between the stranger on the bed and the visitor at the door, stood like a little watchdog suddenly put on his guard.

"May I come in?" said Raby again timidly.

"Here she is!" cried Tim, running to her; "John's asleep, and he,"-- pointing to the figure on the bed--"can't run about."

"Correct, Timothy," said the youth referred to; "I can't--hullo!"

This last exclamation was caused by his catching sight of Raby at the door. He had expected a lodger; but what was this apparition?

"Please come in," said he, bewildered; "it's a shocking room to ask you into, and--Timothy, introduce me to your friend."

Raby smiled; and how the crippled lad thought it brightened the room!

"Tim and I are friends," said she, lifting up the child to give him a kiss. "I'm afraid you are very badly hurt. I heard of the fire as I came up."

"No, I'm all right; I'm never very active. In fact, I can only move my hands and my head, as Timothy says. I can't run, I'm a cripple. I shouldn't be anything if it wasn't for Jeff. Hullo, Jeff! wake up, old man!"

Raby started and turned pale as she raised her hand to prevent his waking the sleeper.

"No, please, don't wake him; what did you say his name was?"

"Jeffreys--John Jeffreys--commonly called Jeff. He hauled me out of the fire last night, and guessed as little at the time who I was as I guessed who he was. I can't believe it yet. It's like a--"

"You haven't told me your name," said Raby faintly.

"Gerard Forrester, at your service. Hullo, I say, are you ill? Hi!

Jeff, wake up, old man; you're wanted."

Raby had only time to sink on a chair and draw Tim to her when Jeffreys suddenly woke and rose to his feet.

"What is it, Forrester, old fellow? anything wrong?" said he, springing to the bedside.

"I don't know what's the matter--look behind you."

"Why did she cry?" asked Tim presently, when she had gone. "I know; because of that ugly man," added he, pointing to Forrester.

"Excuse me, young man, I have the reputation of being good-looking; that cannot have been the reason. But, Jeff, I'm all in a dream. Who is she? and how comes she to know you or me? And, as Timothy pertinently remarks, 'Whence these tears?' Tell us all about it before the baby wakes."