



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Scamp and I
A Story of City By-Ways
By L.T. Meade
Published by John F. Shaw and Co, 40 Paternoster Row, London EC.
This edition dated 1891.

Scamp and I, by L.T. Meade.

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SCAMP AND I, BY L.T. MEADE.

CHAPTER ONE.

I'D CHOOSE TO BE A QUEEN.

The time was the height of the London season for 1875; the height of
that gay time when the parks, and streets, and shops are full, when
pleasure-promoters are busy keeping up a fresh supply of every form of
entertainment, when pleasure-seekers are flocking to the garden parties,
and strawberry parties, the operas, and theatres, and all other
amusements provided for them; when the world--the world at least of
Regent Street, and Piccadilly, of Eaton Square, and all Belgravia--looks
so rich and prosperous, so full of life and all that makes life
enjoyable.

It was that gay time when no one thinks of gloom, when ambitious men
dream of fame, and vain women of vanity, when the thoughtless think less
than any other time, and when money seems to be the one god that rules
in every breast.

This was the time in the merry month of May, when one afternoon, at the
hour when Regent Street is brightest and fullest, a little ragged urchin
of about ten pushed his way boldly through the crowd of carriages and
people surrounding Swan and Edgar's, and began staring eagerly and
fearlessly in at the windows.

He was the only ragged child, the only representative of poverty, within
sight, and he looked singularly out of place, quite a little shadow in
the midst of the splendid carriages, and brilliant and prosperous men
and women.

The few who noticed him wondered languidly what brought him there, why
he intruded his disreputable little person in the midst of scenes and
people with which he never had, and never could have, anything in
common.

The little fellow seemed to guess the thoughts which a few in the crowd
favoured him with, and in his own way to resent them.  In and out among
the rich and fashionable people his small head kept bobbing, his agile
body kept pushing.

He avoided the police, he escaped unhurt from under the impatient
horses' legs, he was never stationary, and yet he was always there.  He
pressed his dirty little form against more than one fine lady's dress,
and received more than one sharp reprimand, and sharper tap on the head,
from the powdered and liveried footmen.

Still he held his ground and remained faithful to Swan and Edgar's.  He
was a dirty, troublesome little imp, but on his worn and prematurely old
face might have been seen a curious, bright expression.  Those who
looked at him might have pronounced him hungry, certainly poor, but, for
the time being, not at all unhappy.

Round and round the splendid establishment he dodged rather than walked,
examining with a critical eye the mantles and costumes on view in the
windows; then he carefully looked over and reckoned the carriages, gazed
up with a full, bright, impudent stare into the face of more than one
proud and titled dame, and at last, apparently satisfied, turned his
back on the gay shop and gay crowd, and set off down Regent Street at a
swinging pace.  Presently, by means of a series of short cuts, he found
himself in Old Compton Street, from thence he proceeded through Seven
Dials into a street which we will call Duncan Street.

He had come this distance very quickly, and had withstood several
temptations to linger on his road.  A band of musical <DW65>s, who
danced, and sang, and played the bones, had waylaid him in vain; his own
particular chum, Jenks, had met him, and called to him to stop, but he
had not obeyed; the shrimp man, who always gave him a handful, had come
directly in his path.  He had paused for nothing, and now dashing
headlong, not into a house, but through a hole in the pavement, down a
slippery ladder, into a cellar, he called out "Flo."

From the bright sunshine outside, the gloom of this Place, lit by the
flickering flame of one tallow candle, was profound.  Its roof was on a
level with the road, its floor several feet below the gas-pipes and
sewage; it had no window, and its only means of light and ventilation
was through the narrow opening in the pavement, against which a ladder
was placed.

The ragged boy, rushing down these steps, made his way to a cobbler's
stool, in the middle of the room, on which was seated a little girl
busily repairing an old boot, while a heap of boots and shoes,
apparently in the last stage of decay, were scattered round her.  This
child, a year or so younger than the boy, had the utterly colourless
appearance of a flower shut away from the sunshine.

"Flo," said her companion eagerly.

A little voice, very thin, but just as eager, responded with,--

"Yes, Dick dear."

"Is you up to a bit o' 'joyment this 'ere blessed minit, Flo?"

"Oh, Dick! _is_ it the shops, and the picters, and the fine ladies?
_Is_ it, Dick?"

"Yes; queens, and ladies, and lords goin' about in golden carriages, and
shops full up to bustin', and we a standin' and a lookin' on.  Better'n
wittles, eh?"

"Oh yes, Dick!"

She threw aside the old boot, held out her dirty little hand to Dick,
and together the children scampered up the broken, rickety ladder into
the air and light of day.

"Now, Flo, you 'as got to put your best foot forrard, 'cos we 'as a
goodish bit o' a way to tramp it.  Then I'll plant you front o' me, Flo;
and when we gets there, you never mind the perleece, but look yer fill.
Oh, my heyes! them is hosses!"

Flo, seen by daylight, had brown eyes, very large and soft; curling,
golden brown hair, and a sweet gentle little face.  Had she been a lady
she would have been pronounced a lovely child, and in all probability
would have been a lovely child, but her cellar-life had produced sharp
shoulders, a complexion of greyish-white, and a certain look of
premature age and wisdom, which all children so brought up possess.  She
raised her hand now to shade her face, as though the daylight pained
her, looked round eagerly, then tightened her clasp of Dick.

"Is there blue, and yaller, and red, and majinta dresses in them 'ere
winders, Dick? and is there lace on 'em? and is there welwet and silk
dresses, Dick?"  Dick winked, and looked mysterious.

"Silk gownds, and satin gownds, and welwet gownds," he replied, "and
gownds--some trimmed with wot looks like paper cut into 'oles, and
gownds made o' little round 'oles hall over.  And the bonnets in them
shops!  My heyes, Flo! them bonnets 'ave got about hevery bird in Saint
Martin's Lane killed and stuffed, and stuck in 'em.  But come," he
added, hastily bringing his vivid description to a close, "the lords and
ladies will be gone."

He held the slight little fingers placed in his, with a firm hold, and
together they trotted swiftly from their dark Saint Giles's cellar, to
the bright fairy-land of Regent Street.

There were plenty of people, and carriages, and grand ladies and
gentlemen still there; and the dresses were so fine, and the feathers so
gay, that Flo, when she found herself really in their midst, was
speechless, and almost stunned.  She had dreamed of this day for
months--this day, when Dick was to show her the other side of London
life, and she had meant when the time came to enter into it all, to
realise it if possible.

She and Dick were to carry out quite a pretty play; they were to suppose
_themselves_ a grand lady and gentleman; Flo was to single out the
nicest looking and most beautifully dressed lady present, and imagine
_herself_ that lady; those clothes were _her_ clothes, those silken
dresses, those elegant boots and gloves, that perfect little bonnet,
were all Flo's; the carriage with its spirited horses was hers, and the
fine gentleman with the splendid moustache seated by her side, was none
other than Dick.

They had arranged the whole programme; the carriage was to drive off
rapidly--where?

Well, _first_ Dick said they would stop at a restaurant, and instead of,
as the real Flo and Dick did, standing a sniffin' and a sniffin'
outside, they would walk boldly in, and order--well, beef, and potatoes,
and plum-pudding were vulgar certainly, but once in a way they _would_
order these for dinner.  Then back in the carriage to Swan and Edgar's,
where Flo would have the creamiest of silk dresses, and a new bonnet
with a pink tip, and Dick, who was supposed to be in perfect attire as
it was, would talk loudly of "my tailor," and buy the most beautiful
flower, from the first flower-girl he met, to put in his button-hole.
Then at night they would have a box at the theatre.

Their whole plan was very brilliantly constructed, and Dick, having got
Flo into a capital position, just opposite a row of lovely dresses, with
carriages close up to the footway, and grand ladies sweeping against her
tattered gown each moment, was very anxious for her to begin to carry
out their play.

"Come, Flo," he said, giving her a nudge.  "S'pose a bit, Flo.  Which
fine lady'll yer be?  Look at that 'ere little 'un, in blue and white, I
guess she's an hearl's wife.  Come, Flo, choose to be her.  I'll be the
hearl, and you the hearl's wife, Flo."

"Be hearls the biggest swells?" asked Flo.

Dick opened his eyes.

"Bless us!" he said.  "Why, Flo, I'm'shamed o' yer hignorance.  Why
there's markises, and dooks, and there's kings and queens--all them's
bigger than hearls, Flo."

"Is queens the biggest of all swells?" asked Flo.

"Sartinly, they be the biggest woman swells."

"Then, Dick, I'll s'pose to be the biggest swell, I'll s'pose to be a
queen.  Find me hout a queen to take Pattern of, Dick."

"Oh!  Flo, there ain't none yere, there be but one queen, Flo, and 'ers
away, locked hup at Bucknam Palace.  You can't s'pose to be the queen,
Flo, but I guess we'll be the hearl and the hearl's wife, and let us
s'pose now as we is turnin' in fur our dinners, and the kivers is orf
the roast beef, and the taters is 'ot and mealy, and a whackin' big
puddin' is to foller."  At this juncture, when Dick's imagination was
running riot over his supposed dinner, and Flo's little face was raised
to his with a decided gesture of dissent, a hand was laid