"I don't want to drink the stuff," said Bertie. "Drink it up, you fool!"

The lad hesitated a moment, then emptied the gla.s.s at a draught. What happened afterwards he never could describe; for it seemed to him that no sooner had he drunk the contents than he fell asleep; and as he sank into slumber he seemed to hear the sound of laughter ringing in his ears.

Chapter XII

A "DOSS" HOUSE

When he woke it was dark. He did not know where he was. He opened his eyes, which were curiously heavy, and thought he was in a dream. He shut them again, and vainly wondered if he were back at Mecklemburg House or in his home at Upton. He half expected to hear familiar voices. Suddenly there was a crash of instruments; he started up, supporting himself upon his arm, and listened listlessly, still not quite sure he was not dreaming. It was the crash of the circus band; they were playing "G.o.d Save the Queen."

Something like consciousness returned. He began to understand his whereabouts. A cool breeze was blowing across his face; he was in the open air; behind him there was a canvas flapping. It was a tent.

Around him were discords of every kind. It was night; the fair was in all its glory. He was lying in the fair field.

"Hallo, chappie! coming round again?"

Some one spoke. Looking up, peering through his heavy eyes, he perceived that a lean, ragged figure was leaning over him.

Sufficiently roused to dislike further companionship with the Original Badger and his friends, he dragged himself to a sitting posture. The stranger was a lad, not much, if any, older than himself, some ragam.u.f.fin of the streets.

"Who are you?" asked Bertie.

"Never mind who I am. I've had my eyes on you this ever so long. Ain't you been a-going it neither. I thought that you was dead. Was it----?"

He gave a suggestive gesture with his hand, as though he emptied a gla.s.s into his mouth. Bertie struggled to his feet.

"I--I don't feel quite well."

"You don't look it neither. Whatever have you been doing of?"

Bertie tried to think. He would like to have left his new acquaintance. The Original Badger and his friends had been quite enough for him, but his legs refused their office, and he was perforce compelled to content himself with standing still. He did not feel quite such a hero as he had done before.

"Have you lost anything?"

The chance question brought Bertie back to recollection. He put his hand into his trousers pockets--they were empty. Bewildered, he felt in the pockets of his waistcoat and of his jacket--they were empty, too! Some one had relieved him of everything he possessed, down to his clasp knife and pocket handkerchief. Willie Seymour's one and fivepence, and Mr. Bankes' five pounds, both alike were gone!

"I've been robbed," he said.

"I shouldn't be surprised but what you had. What do you think is going to happen to you if you lies for ever so many hours in the middle of the fair field as if you was dead? How much have you lost?"

"Five pounds."

"Five pounds!--crikey, if you ain't a pretty cove! Are you a-gammoning me?"

Bertie looked at the lad. A thought struck him. He put out his hand and took him by the shoulder.

"You've robbed me," he said.

"You leave me alone! who are you touching of? If you don't leave me alone, I'll make you smart."

"You try it on," said Bertie.

The other tried it on, and with such remarkable celerity, that before he had realized what had happened, Bertie Bailey lay down flat. The stranger showed such science that, in his present half comatose condition, Bailey went down like a log.

"You wouldn't have done that if I'd been all right; and I do believe you've robbed me."

"Believe away! I ain't, so there! I ain't so much as seen the colour of your money, and I don't know nothing at all about it. The first I see of you was about five o'clock. You was a-lying just where you are now, and I've come and had a look at you a dozen times since. Why, it must be ten o'clock, for the circus is out, and you ain't woke up only just this minute. How came you to be lying there?"

"I don't know. I've been robbed, and that's quite enough for me,--my head is aching fit to split."

"Haven't you got any money left?"

"No, I haven't."

"Where's your home?"

"What's that to you?"

"Well, it ain't much to me, but I should think it's a good deal to you. If I was you I'd go home."

"Well, you're not me, so I won't."

"All right, matey, it ain't no odds to me. If you likes lying there till the perlice come and walks you off, it's all the same to me so far as I'm concerned."

"I've got no money; I've been robbed."

"I tell you what I'll do, I ain't a rich chap, not by no manner of means, and I never had five pounds to lose, but I've had a stroke of luck in my small way, and if you really haven't got no home, nor yet no coin, I don't mind standing in for a bed so far as four pence goes."

"I don't know what you mean; leave me alone. I've got no money; I've been robbed."

"So you have, chummy, and that's a fact; so you pick yourself up and toddle along with me; there ain't no fear of your being robbed again if you've nothing to lose."

Bertie half resisted the stranger's endeavour to a.s.sist him in finding his feet, but the other managed so dexterously that Bertie found himself accompanying his new friend with a fair amount of willingness.

The fair was still at its height; the swings were fuller; the roundabout was driving a roaring trade; the sportsmen in the shooting gallery were popping away; but all these glories had lost their charm for Bertie. It seemed to him that it was all a hideous nightmare, from which he vainly struggled to shake himself free.

Had it not been for occasional a.s.sistance, he would more than once have lost his footing. Something ailed him, but what, he was at a loss to understand. All the hopes, and vigour, and high spirits of the morning had disappeared, and with them all his dreams had vanished too. He was the most miserable young gentleman in Kingston Fair.

He kept up an under current of grumbling all the way, now and then making feeble efforts to rid himself of his companion; but the stranger was too wide awake for Bertie to shake him off. Had he been better acquainted with the town, and in a fit state to realize his knowledge, he would have been aware that his companion was leading him, by a series of short cuts, in the direction of the apple-market.

He paused before a tumbledown old house, over the door of which a lamp was burning. Bertie shrunk away, with some dim recollection of the establishment into which he had been enticed by the Original Badger and his friends. At sight of his unwillingness the other only laughed.

"What are you afraid of? This ain't a place in which they'd rob you, even if you'd got anything worth robbing, which it seems to me you ain't. This is a doss-house, this is."

So saying he entered the house, the door of which seemed to stand permanently open. The somewhat reluctant Bertie entered with him. No one appearing to receive them, the stranger lost no time in informing the inmates of their arrival.

"Here, Mr. Jenkins, or Mrs. Jenkins, or some one, can I come up?"

In answer to this appeal, a stout lady appeared at the head of a flight of stairs, which rose almost from the threshold of the door.

Hall there was none. She was not a very cleanly-looking lady, nor had she the softest of voices.