Then in that moment of despair he came across it accidentally. It was as empty as the reticule!
“I am sorry,” said Johnny to the cabman, “but I appear to have come out without my purse.”
The cabman said he had heard that tale before, and was making preparations to descend. The crowd, now numbering eleven, looked hopeful. It occurred to Johnny later that he might have offered his umbrella to the cabman; at least it would have fetched the eighteenpence. One thinks of these things afterwards. The only idea that occurred to him at the moment was that of getting home.
“’Ere, ’old my ’orse a minute, one of yer,” shouted the cabman.
Half a dozen willing hands seized the dozing steed and roused it into madness.
“Hi! stop ’er!” roared the cabman.
“She’s down!” shouted the excited crowd.
“Tripped over ’er skirt,” explained the slatternly woman. “They do ’amper you.”
“No, she’s not. She’s up again!” vociferated a delighted plumber, with a sounding slap on his own leg. “Gor blimy, if she ain’t a good ’un!”
Fortunately the Square was tolerably clear and Johnny a good runner. Holding now his skirt and petticoat high in his left hand, Johnny moved across the Square at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. A butcher’s boy sprang in front of him with arms held out to stop him. The thing that for the next three months annoyed that butcher boy most was hearing shouted out after him: “Yah! who was knocked down and run over by a lidy?” By the time Johnny reached the Strand, viâ Clement’s Inn, the hue and cry was far behind. Johnny dropped his skirts and assumed a more girlish pace. Through Bow Street and Long Acre he reached Great Queen Street in safety. Upon his own doorstep he began to laugh. His afternoon’s experience had been amusing; still, on the whole, he wasn’t sorry it was over. One can have too much even of the best of jokes. Johnny rang the bell.
The door opened. Johnny would have walked in had not a big, raw-boned woman barred his progress.
“What do you want?” demanded the raw-boned woman.
“Want to come in,” explained Johnny.
“What do you want to come in for?”
This appeared to Johnny a foolish question. On reflection he saw the sense of it. This raw-boned woman was not Mrs. Pegg, his landlady. Some friend of hers, he supposed.
“It’s all right,” said Johnny, “I live here. Left my latchkey at home, that’s all.”
“There’s no females lodging here,” declared the raw-boned lady. “And what’s more, there’s going to be none.”
All this was very vexing. Johnny, in his joy at reaching his own doorstep, had not foreseen these complications. Now it would be necessary to explain things. He only hoped the story would not get round to the fellows at the club.
“Ask Mrs. Pegg to step up for a minute,” requested Johnny.
“Not at ’ome,” explained the raw-boned lady.
“Not—not at home?”