Cleg Kelly, Arab of the City 6

Cleg Kelly, Arab of the City 6

ADVENTURE IX.

 

THE WARMING OF THE DRABBLE.

 

 

The Kavannahs lived in the Tinklers' Lands at the foot of Davie Dean's

Street. That was where Sheemus Kavannah left them when he went to

Liverpool to seek work. Originally they had lived on the second floor

of this great rabbit-warren of a land, but now they had sunk till they

occupied one room of the cellar. Their sole light came from an iron

grating let into the pavement.

 

The Kavannahs had no furniture. It was just possible for Vara to get

some little things together during the periods when her mother was

under the care of the authorities. But as soon as Sal Kavannah came

out, everything that would sell or pawn was instantly dissolved into

whisky.

 

At all times it was a sore battle in the Tinklers' Lands, for these

were the days before city improvements. In his wildest days Cleg Kelly

had always befriended the Kavannahs, and he had been as much Vara's

friend on the sly as a boy could be who valued the good opinion of

his companions. But when Cleg grew stronger in his muscles and less

amenable to public opinion, he publicly announced that he would "warm"

any boy who said a word to him about the Kavannahs.

 

One day he heard that Archie Drabble had kicked over the Kavannahs'

family bed, and left it lying, when Vara was out getting some things

for the children. Cleg started out to look up the Drabble. He

had formerly had an interview with that gentleman, which has been

chronicled elsewhere.[1] Cleg Kelly was on the way to reformation now,

so would not kick him. But as a faithful friend he would "warm" him

for his soul's good. Cleg did not mind doing this. It was a congenial

sphere of Christian work.

 

The Drabble was found trying to steal collars off a clothes-line at the

back of Arthur Street. Cleg Kelly had no objections to this feat. He

was not a policeman, and if the Drabble wished to get into the lock-up,

it was not his business. But first of all he must settle the matter

of the Kavannahs' bed. After that the Drabble, an it liked him, might

steal all the collars in the Pleasance.

 

"Drabble," cried Cleg, "come here, I want ye!"

 

"Want away," cried the Drabble, "gang and say yer prayers!"

 

This was intended for an insult, and so Cleg took it.

 

"Ye had better say yours!" he retorted. "When I catch you it'll no be

ordinar' prayers that will help you!"

 

Cleg had a disbelief in the efficacy of the prayers of the wicked which

was thoroughly orthodox. The Drabble was of the wicked. Once he had

thrown mud at a Sunday school teacher. Cleg only threw snow, as soft as

he could get it.

 

There was a wall between Cleg and the Drabble, a wall with a place for

your toes. With his boots off Cleg could have shinned up like a cat.

But three-shilling boots with toe caps are tender things and need to be

treated with respect. Whereupon Cleg had resort to guile.

 

"Hae ye seen the last number o' 'Gory Dick, the Desprader of the

Prairies,' Drabble?" cried Cleg over the wall.

 

"Gae 'way, man, an' eat sawdust, you paper boy!" cried the Drabble over

the wall.

 

The Drabble was of the more noble caste of the sneak thief. He had

still his eye on the collars. Cleg raged impotently. All his Irishry

boiled within him.

 

"Be the powers, Archie Drabble, wait till I catch ye. I'll not leave a

leevin' creature on ye from head to fut!"

 

The completeness of this threat might have intimidated the Drabble,

but he was on the safe side of the wall, and only laughed. He had

a vast contempt for Cleg, inasmuch as he had forsaken the good and

distinguished ways of Timothy Kelly, his father, and taken to missions

and Sunday schools. Cleg foamed in helpless fury at the foot of

the wall. He grew to hate his boots and his mended clothes, in his

great desire to get at the Drabble. To the original sin with regard

to the bed of the Kavannahs, the Drabble had now added many actual

transgressions. Cleg was the vindicator of justice, and he mentally

arranged to a nicety where and how he would punch the Drabble.

 

But just then the Drabble came over the wall at a run. He had been

spotted from a distance by an active young officer, Constable

Gilchrist, who was noted for his zeal in providing for the youth of

the south side. The Drabble dropped to the ground like a cat, with the

drawn pale face and furtive eyes which told Cleg that the "poliss" were

after him.

 

Without doubt Cleg ought to have given the offender up to justice, as

a matter of private duty. He might thus have settled his own private

matters with the pursued. But the traditional instincts of the outlaw

held. And, seeing the double look which the Drabble turned up and down

the street, he said softly—

 

"Here, Drabble; help me to deliver thae papers."

 

The Drabble glanced at Cleg to make out if he meant to sell him to

justice. That was indeed almost an impossibility. But the Drabble did

not know how far the evil communications of Sunday schools might have

corrupted the original good manners of the Captain of the Sooth-Back

Gang.

 

However, there was that in Cleg's face which gave him confidence. The

Drabble grabbed the papers and was found busily delivering them up one

side of the street while Cleg Kelly took the other, when Constable

Gilchrist, reinforced by a friend, came in sight over the wall by the

aid of a clothes-prop and the nicks in the stones.

 

Now the peaceful occupation of delivering evening newspapers is not

a breach of the peace nor yet a contravention of the city bylaws.

Constable Gilchrist was disappointed. He was certain that he had seen

that boy "loitering with intent"; but here he was peacefully pursuing a

lawful avocation. The Drabble had a reason, or at least an excuse, for

being on the spot. So the chase was in vain, and Constable Gilchrist

knew it. But his companion was not so easily put off the scent.

 

"Cleg Kelly," he cried, "I see you; hae you a care, my son, or you'll

end up alongside of your father."

 

"Thank ye, sir," said Cleg Kelly. "Buy a News, sir?"

 

"Be off, you impudent young shaver!" cried the sergeant, laughing.

 

And Cleg went off.

 

"That's a smart boy, and doing well," said Constable Gilchrist.

 

"Decent enough," returned the sergeant, "but he's in a bad shop at

Roy's, and he'll get no good from that Drabble loon!"

 

And this was a truth. But at that moment, at the back of the Tinklers'

Lands, the Drabble was getting much good from Cleg Kelly. Cleg had off

his coat and the Drabble was being "warmed."

 

"That'll learn ye to touch the Kavannahs' bed!" cried Cleg.

 

And the Drabble sat down.

 

"That's for miscaain' my faither!"

 

The Drabble sat down again at full length.

 

"That's for tellin' me to say my prayers! I learn you to meddle wi' my

prayers!"

 

Thus Cleg upheld the Conscience Clause.

 

But the Drabble soon had enough. He warded Cleg off with a knee and

elbow, and stated what he would do when he met him again on a future

unnamed occasion.

 

He would tell his big brother, so he would, and his big brother would

smash the face of all the Kellys that ever breathed.

 

Cleg was not to be outdone.

 

"I'll tell _my_ big brother o' you, Drabble. He can fecht ten

polissmen, and he could dicht the street wi' your brither, and throw

him ower a lamp-post to dry."

 

Cleg and the Drabble felt that they must do something for the honour of

their respective houses, for this sort of family pride is a noble thing

and much practised in genealogies.

 

So, pausing every ten yards to state what their several big brothers

would do, and with the fellest intentions as to future breaches of the

peace, the combatants parted. The afternoon air bore to the Drabble

from the next street—

 

"_You—let—the Kavannahs—alane frae this oot—or it'll be the waur for

you!_"

 

The Drabble rubbed his nose on his sleeve, and thought that on the

whole it might be so.

 

Then he took out three papers which he had secreted up his sleeve,

and went joyfully and sold them. The Drabble was a boy of resource.

Cleg had to come good for these papers to Mistress Roy, and also bear

her tongue for having lost them. She stopped them out of his wages.

Then Cleg's language became as bad as that of an angry Sunday school

superintendent. The wise men say that the Scots dialect is only Early

English. Cleg's was that kind, but debased by an admixture of Later

Decorated.

 

He merely stated what he meant to do to the Drabble when he met him

again. But the statement entered so much into unnecessary detail that

there is no need to record it fully.

 

 

 

 

ADVENTURE X.

 

THE SQUARING OF THE POLICE.

 

 

Cleg was free and barefoot. His father was "in" for twelve months.

Also it was the summer season, and soft was the sun. The schools were

shut—not that it mattered much as to that, for secular education was

not much in Cleg's way, compulsory attendance being not as yet great

in the land. Cleg had been spending the morning roosting on railings

and "laying for softies"—by which he meant conversing with boys in nice

clean jackets, with nice clean manners, whose methods of war and whose

habit of speech were not Cleg's.

 

Cleg had recently entered upon a new contract with the mistress of

Roy's paper shop. He was now "outdoor boy" instead of "indoor boy," and

he was glad of it. He had also taken new lodgings. For when the police

took his father to prison, to the son's great relief and delight, the

landlord of the little room by the brickfield had cast the few sticks

of furniture and the mattress into the street, and, as he said, "made a

complete clearance of the rubbish." He included Cleg.

 

But it was not so easy to get rid of Cleg, for the boy had his private

hoards in every crevice and behind every rafter. So that very night,

with the root of a candle which he borrowed from a cellar window to

which he had access (owing to his size and agility), he went back and

ransacked his late home. He prised up the boards of the floor. He

tore aside the laths where the plaster had given way. He removed the

plaster itself with a tenpenny nail where it had been recently mended.

He tore down the entire series of accumulated papers from the ceiling,

disturbing myriads of insects both active and sluggish which do not

need to be further particularised.

 

"I'll learn auld Skinflint to turn my faither's property oot on the

street," said Cleg, his national instinct against eviction coming

strongly upon him. "I'll wager I can make this place so that the man

what built it winna ken it the morn's morning!"

 

And he kept his word. When Nathan, the Jew pawnbroker and cheap

jeweller, came with his men to do a little cleaning up, the scene

which struck them on entering, as a stone strikes the face, was, as

the reporters say, simply appalling. The first step Mr. Nathan took

brought down the ceiling-dust and its inhabitants in showers. The next

took him, so far as his legs were concerned, into the floor beneath,

for he had stepped through a hole, in which Cleg had discovered a rich

deposit of silver spoons marked with an entire alphabet of initials.

 

The police inspector was summoned, and he, in his turn, stood in amaze

at the destruction.

 

"It's that gaol-bird, young Kelly!" cried Nathan, dancing and

chirruping in his inarticulate wrath. "I'll have him lagged for it—sure

as I live."

 

"Aye?" said the inspector, gravely. He had his own reasons for

believing that Mr. Nathan would do nothing of the sort. "Meantime, I

have a friend who will be interested in this place."

 

And straightway he went down and brought him. The friend was the Chief

Sanitary Inspector, a medical man of much emphasis of manner and

abruptness of utterance.

 

"What's this? What's this? Clear out the whole damnable pig-hole! What

d'ye mean, Jackson, by having such a sty as this in your district?

Clean it out! Tear it down! It's like having seven bulls of Bashan in

one stable. Never saw such a hog's mess in my life. Clear it out! Clear

it out!"

 

The miserable Nathan wrung his hands, and hopped about like a hen.

 

"Oh, Doctor Christopher, I shall have it put in beautiful

order—beautiful order. Everything shall be done in the besht style, I

do assure you——"

 

"Best style, stuff and nonsense! Tear it down—gut it out—take it all

away and bury it. I'll send men to-morrow morning!" cried the doctor,

decidedly.

 

And Dr. Christopher departed at a dog-trot to investigate a misbehaving

trap in a drain at Coltbridge.

 

The police inspector laughed.

 

"Are you still in a mind to prosecute young Kelly, Mr. Nathan?" he

said.

 

[Illustration: "I shall be ruined!"]

 

But the grief and terror of the pawnbroker were beyond words. He sat

down on the narrow stair, and laid his head between his hands.

 

"I shall be ruined—ruined! I took the place for a debt. I never got a

penny of rent for it, and now to be made to spend money upon it——"

 

The police inspector touched him on the shoulder.

 

"If I were you, Nathan," he said, "I should get this put in order. If

it is true that you got no rent for this place, the melting-pot in your

back cellar got plenty."

 

"It's a lie—a lie!" cried the little man, getting up as if stung. "It

was never proved. I got off!"

 

"Aye," said the inspector, "ye got off? But though 'Not proven' clears

a man o' the Calton gaol, it keeps him on our books."

 

"Yes, yes," said the little Jew, clapping his hands as if he were

summoning slaves in the Arabian Nights, "it shall be done. I shall

attend to it at once."

 

And the inspector went out into the street, laughing so heartily within

him that more than once something like the shadow of a grin crossed the

stern official face which covered so much kindliness from the ken of

the world.

 

The truth of the matter was that Cleg Kelly had squared the police. It

is a strange thing to say, for the force of the city is composed of men

staunchly incorruptible. I have tried it myself and know. The Edinburgh

police has been honourably distinguished first by an ambition to

prevent crime, to catch the criminal next, and, lastly, to care for the

miserable women and children whom nearly every criminal drags to infamy

in his wake.

 

Yet with all these honourable titles to distinction, upon this occasion

the police had certainly been squared, and that by Cleg Kelly. And in

this wise.

 

When Cleg had finished his search through the receptacles of his father

and his own hidie-holes, he found himself in possession of as curious a

collection of miscellaneous curiosities as might stock a country museum

or set a dealer in old junk up in business. There were many spoons

of silver, and a few of Britannia metal which his father had brought

away in mistake, or because he was pressed for time and hated to give

trouble. There were forks whole, and forks broken at the handle where

the initials ought to have come, teapots with the leaves still within

them, the toddy bowl of a city magnate—with an inscription setting

forth that it had been presented to Bailie Porter for twenty years of

efficient service in the department of cleaning and lighting, and also

in recognition of his uniform courtesy and abundant hospitality. There

were also delicate ormulu clocks, and nearly a score of watches, portly

verge, slim Geneva, and bluff serviceable English lever.

 

Cleg brought one of his mother's wicker clothes-baskets which had been

tossed out on the street by Mr. Nathan's men the day before, and,

putting a rich Indian shawl in the bottom to stop the crevices, he

put into it all the spoil, except such items as belonged strictly to

himself, and with which the nimble fingers of his father had had no

connection.

 

Such were the top half of a brass candlestick, which he had himself

found in an ash-backet on the street. He remembered the exact "backet."

It was in front of old Kermack, the baker's, and he had had to fight a

big dog to get possession, because the brass at the top being covered

with the grease, the dog considered the candlestick a desirable

article of _vertu_. There was a soap-box, for which he had once fought

a battle; the basin he used for dragging about by a string on the

pavement, with hideous outcries, whenever the devil within made it

necessary for him to produce the most penetrating and objectionable

noise he could think of. There was (his most valuable possession) a

bright brass harness rein-holder, for which the keeper of a livery

stable had offered him five shillings if he would bring the pair, or

sixpence for the single one—an offer which Cleg had declined, but which

had made him ever after cherish the rein-holder as worth more than all

the jewellers' shops on Princes Street.

 

These and other possessions to which his title was incontrovertible

he laid aside for conveyance to his new home, an old construction hut

which now lay neglected in a builder's yard near the St. Leonards

Station.

 

All the other things Cleg took straight over to the police-office near

the brickfield, where his friend, the sergeant's wife, held up her

hands at sight of them. Nor did she call her husband till she had been

assured that Cleg had had personally nothing to do with the collection

of them.

 

When the sergeant came in his face changed and his eyes glittered,

for here was stolen property in abundance, of which the Chief—that

admirable gentleman of the quiet manners and the limitless memory—had

long ago given up all hope.

 

"Ah! if only the young rascal had brought us these things before Tim's

trial, I would have got him twenty years!" said the Chief.

 

But though Cleg Kelly hated and despised his father, his hatred did not

quite go that length. He did not love the police for their own sake,

though he was friendly enough with many of the individual officers,

and, in especial, with the sergeant's wife, who gave him "pieces" in

memory of his mother, and, being a woman, also perhaps a little in

memory of what his father had once seemed to her.

 

Cleg did not stay to be asked many questions as to how he came into

possession of so many valuables. He had found them, he said; but

he could not be induced to condescend upon the particulars of the

discovery.

 

So the sergeant was forced to be content. But ever after this affair

it was quite evident that Cleg was a privileged person, and did not

come within Mr. Nathan's power of accusation. So it was manifest that

Cleg Kelly had corrupted the incorruptible, and crowned his exploits by

squaring the metropolitan police.

 

 

 

 

ADVENTURE XI.

 

THE BOY IN THE WOODEN HUT.

 

 

The wooden hut where Cleg had taken up his abode was on the property

of a former landlord, who in his time had tired of Tim Kelly as a

tenant, and had insisted upon his removal, getting his office safe

broken into in consequence. But Mr. Callendar had never been unkind

to Isbel and Cleg. So the boy had kindly memories of the builder, and

especially he remembered the smell of the pine shavings as Callendar's

men planed deal boards to grain for mahogany. The scent struck Cleg as

the cleanest thing he had ever smelled in his life.

 

So, with the help of an apprentice joiner, he set up the old

construction hut, which, having been used many years ago in the making

of the new coal sidings at the St. Leonards Station, had been thrown aside at the end of the job, and never broken up.