I

He was hardly fit to figure in the great review of life. A boy of ten or

twelve, in tattered clothes, with an accordion in a case swung over one

shoulder like a sack, and under the other arm a wooden cage containing a

grey squirrel. It was a December night in London, and the Southern lad

had nothing to shelter his little body from the Northern cold but his

short velveteen jacket, red waistcoat, and knickerbockers. He was going

home after a long day in Chelsea, and, conscious of something fantastic

in his appearance, and of doubtful legality in his calling, he was

dipping into side streets in order to escape the laughter of the London

boys and the attentions of policemen.

Coming to the Italian quarter in Soho, he stopped at the door of a shop

to see the time. It was eight o'clock. There was an hour to wait before

he would be allowed to go indoors. The shop was a baker's, and the

window was full of cakes and confectionery. From an iron grid on the

pavement there came the warm breath of the oven underground, the red

glow of the fire, and the scythe-like swish of the long shovels. The boy

blocked the squirrel under his armpit, dived into his pocket, and

brought out some copper coins and counted them. There was ninepence.

Ninepence was the sum he had to take home every night, and there was not

a halfpenny to spare. He knew that perfectly before he began to count,

but his appetite had tempted him to try again if his arithmetic was not

at fault.

The air grew warmer, and it began to snow. At first it was a fine

sprinkle that made a snow-mist, and adhered wherever it fell. The

traffic speedily became less, and things looked big in the thick air.

The boy was wandering aimlessly through the streets, waiting for nine

o'clock. When he thought the hour was near, he realised that he had lost

his way. He screwed up his eyes to see if he knew the houses and shops

and signs, but everything seemed strange.

The snow snowed on, and now it fell in large, corkscrew flakes. The boy

brushed them from his face, but at the next moment they blinded him

again. The few persons still in the streets loomed up on him out of the

darkness, and passed in a moment like gigantic shadows. He tried to ask

his way, but nobody would stand long enough to listen. One man who was

putting up his shutters shouted some answer that was lost in the

drumlike rumble of all voices in the falling snow.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024