Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 171: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SPRING-HEEL'’D JACK: THE TERROR OF LONDON. of the shop was opened—a circumstance which _ created no little surprise in the neighbourhood ; when suddenly a shadow fell upon Mrs. Le VY; who, looking up, perceived a tall postman stand- ing in the doorway. “A letter for you, ma’am’,’ he said, holding one out towards her. “Twopence, if you please.” “‘Twopence!” she gasped, drawing back the hand she had eagerly extended to grasp it. ** Twopence !”’ | ** Yes, ma’am.”’ “* But ain’tit paid for ?”’ **Shouldn’t ask for twopence if it was,” replied the man. “ Be quick, ma’am, please, for I have other letters to deliver.” satay g “Twopence !” she said, half aloud. ‘* Twopence! I wonder if it’s worth it.” , ““ Now, ma’am, I can’t wait all day,” said the man,amazed at her resolution. ‘* Will you take it or not ?” “Yes, yes,” she said, fumbling in the pocket of her dress, and. drawing out the required coins, which she placed in the hands of the man with a sigh, and took the letter. ““‘Twopence,” she muttered, as she turned it over in her hands. ‘ Twopence! there goes the profit on a shirt.” And thus giving vent to her feelings, she dropped down on the heap of clothing, and tore open the note. Running her eyes hastily over the couple of lines which it contained, she suffered the letter to fall, and leaped quickly to her feet. ““ Hal ha!” she laughed ; “ I knew Isaac would not stop out all night, if it was not for something good. He’s watching at the bedside of a wealthy relation who is dying in a ward of Marylebone workhouse, and wants me to go to him at once. I can’t understand it, but Isaac does; catch him wasting his time and neglecting his business for nothing. Oh! he’s too shrewd for that, much too shrewd. I'll lock the shop up, and go at once. I must have a coach—oh ! what an expense—but we shall both profit by it. Isaac’ would do no- thing that we did not profit by—oh, no. Oh, no, he’s too shrewd for that. ) The old lady went to the back of the shop, and hastily put on her bonnet and shawl, and then looking around her to see that all was safe, hur- ried from the shop and double-locked the door behind her. | Having satisfied herself that all was right, she hailed a coach, and after a long bargain with the driver, got in, and was hurried on her way to the workhouse, | Despite her anxiety to meet her husband, and learn more about what had induced him to send for her, she could not resist waiting five minutes in endeavouring to prevail upon the driver of the coach to accept less than the bargain agreed upon between them, and when she found that her per- guasive powers had no effect, she paid the demand with a sigh, and a few bitter remarks upon the inding propensities of the Christians, and walked up to the door of the house. The large knocker fell from her .hand, and the face of Dickson, the porter, peered from the little barred trap. “Now, then,’ said the man, “what do you want 1” a ae eee eee OD, 173 “My husband,” was the reply. “"Who’s he ?” “ Mr. Levy.”’ “‘Levy—Levy! What is he?” ‘A gentleman who—” | os atl did you say ?” interrupted the man. es,” “Oh, the chap that was brought here mad last night, do you mean? ” ‘““Mad!” gasped Mrs. Levy. “Yes, that’s the only Levy that I know of in the house.” “Oh, no; he’s not mad.’’ “Then there ain’t no other Levy here,” said Dickson ; ‘‘ you’ve come to the wrong place.” And he shut to the trap. Rachel stood gazing at the trap for some moments with a perplexed look, and then, lifting the knocker, again summoned the porter to the peep-hole in the door. “Now, then ?” “Tm sure I’m right. Here’s a letter I had from my husband this morning, who has not been home all night, and he bade me come here to see him, as he could not leave the bedside of a wealthy friend and relative of his.” Dickson scratched his head. ‘‘T know they called that mad chap Levy,” he said, as if speaking to himself, ‘‘ but I didn’t know there was any one with him. ['ll let you in,” he added in a louder key, ‘‘ but I must speak to the master before you can go up to the ward.” “Thank you,” said Mrs. Levy. The trap closed and the door opened, and Mrs. Levy walked into the hall. “Stop here,” said Dickson. ‘‘ Oh, there is the master. Sir, this lady wishes to see a Mr. Levy, who is with the mad gentleman that was brought here last night.” The master, who had been thus accosted while crossing the hall, stopped, and measured Rachel with a surprised glance. “ There’s no one there with him that I know of but the doctor. Who did you say ?”’ ‘““Mr. Isaac Levy, the clothier of White- ehapel,”’ said Rachel. ‘Why, that’s the person that the madman fancies himself,’’ said the master. Then, as if a sudden suspicion seemed to enter his mind, he added, quickly— “ What sort of man is your husband? What dress does he wear ?”’ In an instant Rachel described every particular feature and dress of the Jew clothier. The master looked blank, then looked at Rachel, and afterwards at Dickson, then thrusting his hands deep into his breeches’ pockets, balanced himself on his heels, and finally wound up by whistling a prolonged whistle. Wheu—eu—eu! The devil! But surely, it can’t be. We can’t have been imposed upon like this. Why, that’s the very description of the man himself.”’ : “ What man?” asked Rachel, eagerly. The madman ; the—but come this way, you shall see the only person that I know to be aJew in the house, and his name’s Levy. Come up here.”’ The master led the way up the stone staircase eEbooks=econ