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She always spoke of Lem as the "little chap," though he was in fact precisely of a height with his brother; and she gave as the reason for the preference, that "the little chap wasn't a ramper." Unfortunately for Lem, perhaps, she was right. He was not a ramper. As Lem stepped out into the other room, the caller-out was shouting, "Promen-ade all you know where!"
I could have sworn that my lad called to me. Then I went back and dropped into The Chequers. The Ramper said, "Wot cher, yer old bugaboo?" The Wanderer shouted, "Now let the trumpet to the kettle speak; the kettle to the cannoneer without. He comes! He comes!" And I went home and stayed till dawn with the Wanderer. That is the way we live.
He never takes the trouble to show any deference towards his admirers; their amorous glances and giggling are inevitable tributes to his fascinations, and he takes it all as a matter of course. Like Blackey and the Ramper, Jerry never does any work, and he is supposed to have private means.
This singular piece of behaviour incensed Miss Ramper so much that she cried, "D n your pitiful soul, you are as arrant a poltroon, as ever was drummed out of a regiment. Stop the waggon, Joey let me out, and by G d, if I have rhetoric enough, the thief shall not only take your purse, but your skin also." So saying she leaped out with great agility.
The more the Ramper screeched, the more I laughed; he durst not strike, and at last, when I reminded him that he had already divided a little plunder with the capitalist, he grumbled a curse or two and lapsed into affability. You cannot shame one of these beings, and the Ramper is now on the most confidential terms with me.
I am very glad we did not fight, because he introduced me to one of the most interesting and estimable of all my acquaintances. Said the Ramper, blowing his sickly breath into my very ear, "There's a bloke yere as knows suthin' good for Lincoln. Up in the corner there. Let's sit down."
I am a loafer, and I suppose I shall never be anything else, so it is not for me to solve the ugly problem. The Ramper fawned on me, and asked me if I had heard of "that there pore young bloke wot kicked the bucket upstairs." I said, "Yes; I fancy he was murdered. Do you know who took the brandy up to him?" The Ramper looked very wicked, but merely answered, "'Ow should I know?
His hatchet face with its piggish eyes, his thin, cruel lips, his square jaw, are all murderous, and, indeed, I cannot help thinking that he will commit a murder some day. When he is in his affable mood he is very loathsome, but I cannot afford to loathe anyone, and we smile and smile, though we dislike each other, and though the Ramper hardly knows what to make of me.
Meet me to-night, or say to-morrow, as I am to be drunk to-night; go to the beer-house at the end of my street, and I'll show you something." Just then the Ramper came up and hailed the Gentleman. "Here you old swine! Are you sober enough to scratch off a letter?" "I'm all right."
The gas flared with drowsy refulgence through the reek, and the low masks of the roaring crew somehow left on me an impression that I was gazing on one bestial, distorted face. A man who is a racecourse thief and "ramper" hailed me affably. A beast of prey he is, if ever there was one.
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