Tom, in the most unblushing manner, was about to asseverate, upon his soul and body, that he was not near the Royal Exchange, when Jimmy Virtue's warning finger, and Jimmy Virtue's ominous eye, stopped the lie on his lips.
'----On the Royal Exchange,' continued Mr. Merrywhistle, 'and gave you--a--a shilling, were you really ill, as you seemed to me to be?'
A look of triumphant delight flashed into Tom Beadle's eyes. 'Did I. do it well, sir? he cried, nudging Blade-o'-Grass. 'Did I look as if I was a-dyin' by inches?'
Mr. Merrywhistle winced, as if he had received a blow.
'O, Tom, Tom!' he exclaimed gently, 'are you not ashamed of yourself?'
'No,' answered Tom, without hesitation, his manner instantly changing.
Blade-o'-Grass perceiving, with her quick instinct, that something was wrong, and that Tom was likely to get into disgrace because he had made the gentleman believe that he was dying by inches, stepped forward chivalrously to the rescue.
'If you please, sir,' she said, 'you mus'n't blame Tom. It was all along o' me he did it.'
Thereupon the following colloquy took place:
Mr. MERRYWHISTLE [_only too ready to receive justification_]. Come here, child. How was it all along of you?
TOM BEADLE [_taking moral shelter behind Blade-o'-Grass_]. Tell the gent the truth, Bladergrass; he won't 'urt you. Tell him about the tiger.
Mr. MERRYWHISTLE [_in amazement_]. The tiger!
BLADE-O'-GRASS [_gravely_]. Yes, sir; I got a tiger in my inside.
Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. Who on earth put such a monstrous idea into the child's head?
BLADE-O'-GRASS. Mr. Wirtue knows all about it, and so does all the others in Stoney-alley.
JIMMY VIRTUE [_nodding gravely in confirmation_]. Yes, she's got a tiger. Tell the gentleman what it does to you, Blade-o'-Grass.
BLADE-O'-GRASS. Eats up everythink as goes down my throat, sir; swallers every blessed bit I puts in my mouth; and when I ain't got nothink to give it, tears at me like one o'clock. Tom's giv me grub for it orfen and orfen, sir; I don't know what I should a' done lots o' times if it 'adn't been for 'im. [_Mr. Merrywhistle sheds a kindly glance on Tom Beadle, who receives it with an air of injured innocence_.] Well, sir, last Monday the tiger was a'-goin' on orfle, and I was so sick that I begins to cry. Then Tom comes up, and arks me what I'm cryin' for; and I tells 'im that the tiger's a-worryin' the inside out o' me. Tom feels in 'is pockets, but he ain't got a copper to giv me, so he ses, 'Come along o' me,' ses Tom; and he ketches 'old of my 'and, and takes me to the Royal Igschange. Then he ses, ses Tom, 'If anybody arks you, Bladergrass, just you say that I'm your brother, a-dyin' of consumption. I'm a-dyin' by inches, I am.' And I cries out, sir, for Tom looked jist as if he _was_ a-dyin' by inches. [_A smile of triumph wreathes Tom Beadle's lips; he has the proper pride of an artist_.] But Tom tells me not to be frightened, for he's only a-shammin'. Then the peeler tells us to move on, and you comes up and gives Tom a shillin'; and the first thing Tom does is to buy a poloney for me and a 'unk o' bread for the tiger.