Supper was not yet over, when there arrived at the Jolly Sandboys two more travellers bound for the same haven as the rest, who had been walking in the rain for some hours, and came in shining and heavy with water.One of these was the proprietor of a giant, and a little lady without legs or arms, who had jogged forward in a van; the other, a silent gentleman who earned his living by showing tricks upon the cards, and who had rather deranged the natural expression of his countenance by putting small leaden lozenges into his eyes and bringing them out at his mouth, which was one of his professional accomplishments.The name of the first of these newcomers was Vuffin; the other, probably as a pleasant satire upon his ugliness, was called Sweet William.To render them as comfortable as he could, the landlord bestirred himself nimbly, and in a very short time both gentlemen were perfectly at their ease.
'How's the Giant?' said Short, when they all sat smoking round the fire.
'Rather weak upon his legs,' returned Mr Vuffin.'I begin to be afraid he's going at the knees.'
'That's a bad look-out,' said Short.
'Aye! Bad indeed,' replied Mr Vuffin, contemplating the fire with a sigh.'Once get a giant shaky on his legs, and the public care no more about him than they do for a dead cabbage stalk.'
'What becomes of old giants?' said Short, turning to him again after a little reflection.
'They're usually kept in carawans to wait upon the dwarfs,' said Mr Vuffin.
'The maintaining of 'em must come expensive, when they can't be shown, eh?' remarked Short, eyeing him doubtfully.
'It's better that, than letting 'em go upon the parish or about the streets," said Mr Vuffin.'Once make a giant common and giants will never draw again.Look at wooden legs.If there was only one man with a wooden leg what a property he'd be!'
'So he would!' observed the landlord and Short both together.
'That's very true.'
'Instead of which,' pursued Mr Vuffin, 'if you was to advertise Shakspeare played entirely by wooden legs,' it's my belief you wouldn't draw a sixpence.'
'I don't suppose you would,' said Short.And the landlord said so too.
'This shows, you see,' said Mr Vuffin, waving his pipe with an argumentative air, 'this shows the policy of keeping the used-up giants still in the carawans, where they get food and lodging for nothing, all their lives, and in general very glad they are to stop there.There was one giant--a black 'un--as left his carawan some year ago and took to carrying coach-bills about London, making himself as cheap as crossing-sweepers.He died.I make no insinuation against anybody in particular,' said Mr Vuffin, looking solemnly round, 'but he was ruining the trade;--and he died.'
The landlord drew his breath hard, and looked at the owner of the dogs, who nodded and said gruffly that he remembered.
'I know you do, Jerry,' said Mr Vuffin with profound meaning.'Iknow you remember it, Jerry, and the universal opinion was, that it served him right.Why, I remember the time when old Maunders as had three-and-twenty wans--I remember the time when old Maunders had in his cottage in Spa Fields in the winter time, when the season was over, eight male and female dwarfs setting down to dinner every day, who was waited on by eight old giants in green coats, red smalls, blue cotton stockings, and high-lows: and there was one dwarf as had grown elderly and wicious who whenever his giant wasn't quick enough to please him, used to stick pins in his legs, not being able to reach up any higher.I know that's a fact, for Maunders told it me himself.'
'What about the dwarfs when they get old?' inquired the landlord.
'The older a dwarf is, the better worth he is,' returned Mr Vuffin;'a grey-headed dwarf, well wrinkled, is beyond all suspicion.But a giant weak in the legs and not standing upright!--keep him in the carawan, but never show him, never show him, for any persuasion that can be offered.'
While Mr Vuffin and his two friends smoked their pipes and beguiled the time with such conversation as this, the silent gentleman sat in a warm corner, swallowing, or seeming to swallow, sixpennyworth of halfpence for practice, balancing a feather upon his nose, and rehearsing other feats of dexterity of that kind, without paying any regard whatever to the company, who in their turn left him utterly unnoticed.At length the weary child prevailed upon her grandfather to retire, and they withdrew, leaving the company yet seated round the fire, and the dogs fast asleep at a humble distance.
After bidding the old man good night, Nell retired to her poor garret, but had scarcely closed the door, when it was gently tapped at.She opened it directly, and was a little startled by the sight of Mr Thomas Codlin, whom she had left, to all appearance, fast asleep down stairs.
'What is the matter?' said the child.
'Nothing's the matter, my dear,' returned her visitor.'I'm your friend.Perhaps you haven't thought so, but it's me that's your friend--not him.'
'Not who?' the child inquired.
'Short, my dear.I tell you what,' said Codlin, 'for all his having a kind of way with him that you'd be very apt to like, I'm the real, open-hearted man.I mayn't look it, but I am indeed.'
The child began to be alarmed, considering that the ale had taken effect upon Mr Codlin, and that this commendation of himself was the consequence.
'Short's very well, and seems kind,' resumed the misanthrope, 'but he overdoes it.Now I don't.'
Certainly if there were any fault in Mr Codlin's usual deportment, it was that he rather underdid his kindness to those about him, than overdid it.But the child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.
'Take my advice,' said Codlin: 'don't ask me why, but take it.
As long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you can.Don't offer to leave us--not on any account--but always stick to me and say that I'm your friend.Will you bear that in mind, my dear, and always say that it was me that was your friend?'
'Say so where--and when?' inquired the child innocently.
