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Updated: May 31, 2025
To Aunt M'riar, cockney to the core, a ship was only a convention, necessary for character, in an offing with an orange-chrome sunset claiming your attention rather noisily in the background. There were pavement-artists in those days as now.
Argument proved unavailing, and, ten minutes later, poor M'riar, screaming as if red-hot irons were begrilling her most tender spots, was being led into the "pen." "We'll keep her here a while," the man explained, as he endeavored to avoid the child's astonishingly skilful and astonishingly painful kicks. "Maybe you can find somebody to go bond for her. There ain't no other way.
"So long as the Court's watched, so long this here gentleman won't come anigh it. He's dodged the London police long enough to be too clever for that. But so long as he keeps touch with M'riar, you've got touch of him." Uncle Mo seemed to consider this profoundly. "Not if I keep square with M'riar," said he at last. "How do you make that out, Mo?"
He was as good as his word about not stopping long at The Sun. Although he found his friend awaiting him, he did not remain in his company above half an hour, including his seven-minutes' walk back to the Court, to which Jerry accompanied him, saying farewell at the archway. He didn't go on to No. 7 at once, remembering that M'riar had said she wouldn't be sorry to go to bed.
The little tenement-house apartment was a lonely place, when he was there, after Anna took up her new work and could come to it but once a week and M'riar was a comfort to him. An astonishing companionship grew up between the strangely differing pair. Indeed she made him very comfortable. Monday afternoons were what made life worth living, though, to him.
The convict made for the street-door peeped out furtively. "He's turned in at young Ikey's," said he. Then to M'riar, using an epithet to her that cannot be repeated: "Down on your knees and pray that your bully may stick there till I'm clear, or ... Ah! smell that!" It was his knife-point, open, close to her face.
That evening the evening, that is, of the day when Dave told the tale of the Man in the Park Uncle Moses showed an unusual restlessness, following on a period of thoughtfulness and silence. After supper he said suddenly: "I'm a-going to take a turn out, M'riar. Any objection?" "None o' my making, Mo. Only Mr. Jerry, he'll be round. What's to be told him?" "Ah I'll tell you.
They said no more; what more was there to be said? Aunt M'riar came round, refusing restoratives. Oh no, she would be all right! It was only a turn she got that common event! They adjourned, respectively, to where Dolly and Dave were sleeping balmily, profoundly. But Uncle Mo was discontented with the handiwork of Creation.
She knew that he had many times refused alluring offers of the sort in London, always without an explanation of his reasons for so doing. In the little rooms which they had found for temporary lodging place, Herr Kreutzer sat that evening, with a well-cleaned M'riar standing by and trying to devise some way of adding to his comfort.
Anna, alarmed for both the threatened child and angry flute-player, stood, woefully distressed between the two, a hand upon the arm of each and big, alarmed and wondrously appealing eyes fixed on the gruff official, who stirred uneasily beneath the power of their petition; Kreutzer was frightened, also, now that his wrath was passing and he took time to reflect that if he should involve himself with this new government inquiries would certainly be started which would result in the revelation of his whereabouts to those whom he had hoped utterly to evade; M'riar, the cause of all the trouble, wept like a Niobe, quite soundlessly, shaking like an aspen, managing to maintain her weight upon her weakening knees with desperate effort only.
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