The Amateur Gentleman

"But--how? What do you mean?"

"I means as I'll be valking along a street, say, looking at every

face as I pass. Vell, all at once I'll spot a cove or covess vith

vot I calls a capital mug, I'll follow that cove or covess, and by

'ook or by crook I'll find out that there cove or covess's name,

and--down it goes in my little book, d' ye see?" and he tapped the

little book.

"But surely," said Barnabas, "surely they don't all prove to be

murderers?"

"Vell no, sir--that's hardly to be expected,--ye see, some on 'em

wanishes away, an' some goes an' dies, but they mostly turns out

true capitals--if I only vaits for 'em long enough, and--up they goes."

"And are you always on the lookout for such faces?"

"Yes, sir,--v'en I ain't busy on some case. A man must 'ave some

little relaxation, and that's mine. Lord love you, sir, scarcely a

day goes by that I don't spot one or two. I calls 'em my children,

an' a werry large, an' a werry mixed lot they are too! Rich an' poor,

men an' women,--rolling in their coaches an' crawling along the

kennel. Aha! if you could look into my little reader an' see the

names o' some o' my most promisin' children they'd as-tonish you.

I've been to 'ave a look at a couple of 'em this mornin'. Aha! it

would a-maze you if you could look into my little reader."

"I should like to," said Barnabas, eyeing the small, shabby book

with a new interest. But Mr. Shrig only blinked his wide, innocent

eyes, and slipping the book into his pocket, led the way round a

sudden corner into another alley narrower than the last, and, if

possible, dirtier.

"Where are we going?" Barnabas demanded, for Mr. Shrig, though

always placid, had suddenly taken on an air that was almost alert,

his bright, roving eye wandered more than ever, and he appeared to

be hearkening to distant sounds. "Where are we going?" repeated

Barnabas.

"Gray's Inn is 'andiest, sir, and I must ask you to step out a bit,

they're a rough crowd as lives 'ereabouts,--scamps an' hunters,

didlers an' cly-fakers, so I must ask you to step out a bit, this is

a bad country for me."

"Bad for you? Why?"

"On account o' windictiveness, sir!"

"Of what?"

"Windictiveness, sir--windictiveness in every shape an' form, but

brick-ends mostly--vith a occasional chimbley-pot."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Barnabas began.

"Veil then," explained Mr. Shrig as they strode along, "I vere the

means o' four coves bein' topped d' ye see, 'ighvay robbery vith

wiolence,--'bout a month ago, used to live round 'ere, they did, an'

their famblies an' friends is windictive against me accordingly, an'

werry nat'ral too, for 'uman natur' is only 'uman natur', ain't it?

Werry good then. Now their windictiveness,--or as you might say,

'uman natur',--generally takes the shape of chimbley-pots and

brick-ends, though I 'ave met windictiveness in the form o' b'iling

vater and flat-irons, not to mention saucepans an' sich, afore now,

and vunce a arm-cheer, all of vich is apt to vorry you a bit until

you gets used to it. Then there's knives--knives is allus awk'ard,

and bludgeons ain't to be sneezed at, neither. But, Lord! every

perfession and trade 'as its drawbacks, an' there's a sight o'

comfort in that, ain't there?"