"He don't like to
talk of his age unless you can get him i' the humour; but he once told
me he didn't know why he lived so long, unless it were owin' to a potion
he'd swallowed, vich his master, who was a great conjurer in Queen
Bess's days, had brew'd." "Pshaw!" exclaimed Ginger. "I thought you too knowin' a cove, Tinker, to
be gulled by such an old vife's story as that." "Let's have the old fellow in and talk to him," replied the Tinker. "Here, lazy-bones," he added, rousing the sleeping youth, "go an' tell
Old Parr ve vants his company over a glass o' rum-an'-vater." CHAPTER III

THE HAND AND THE CLOAK


A furious barking from Mr. Ginger's dogs, shortly after the departure of
the drowsy youth, announced the approach of a grotesque-looking little
personage, whose shoulders barely reached to a level with the top of the
table. This was Old Parr. The dwarfs head was much too large for his
body, as is mostly the case with undersized persons, and was covered
with a forest of rusty black hair, protected by a strangely shaped
seal-skin cap. His hands and feet were equally disproportioned to his
frame, and his arms were so long that he could touch his ankles while
standing upright. His spine was crookened, and his head appeared buried
in his breast. The general character of his face seemed to appertain to
the middle period of life; but a closer inspection enabled the beholder
to detect in it marks of extreme old age. The nose was broad and flat,
like that of an ourang-outang; the resemblance to which animal was
heightened by a very long upper lip, projecting jaws, almost total
absence of chin, and a retreating forehead. The little old man's
complexion was dull and swarthy, but his eyes were keen and sparkling. His attire was as singular as his person. Having recently served as
double to a famous demon-dwarf at the Surrey Theatre, he had become
possessed of a cast-off pair of tawny tights, an elastic shirt of the
same material and complexion, to the arms of which little green bat-like
wings were attached, while a blood-red tunic with vandyke points was
girded round his waist. In this strange apparel his diminutive limbs
were encased, while additional warmth was afforded by the greatcoat
already mentioned, the tails of which swept the floor after him like a
train. Having silenced his dogs with some difficulty, Mr. Ginger burst into a
roar of laughter, excited by the little old man's grotesque appearance,
in which he was joined by the Tinker; but the Sandman never relaxed a
muscle of his sullen countenance. Their hilarity, however, was suddenly checked by an inquiry from the
dwarf, in a shrill, odd tone, "Whether they had sent for him only to
laugh at him?" "Sartainly not, deputy," replied the Tinker. "Here, lazy-bones, glasses
o' rum-an'-vater, all round." The drowsy youth bestirred himself to execute the command. The spirit
was brought; water was procured from the boiling copper; and the Tinker
handed his guest a smoking rummer, accompanied with a polite request to
make himself comfortable. Opposite the table at which the party were seated, it has been said, was
a staircase--old and crazy, and but imperfectly protected by a broken
hand-rail. Midway up it stood a door equally dilapidated, but secured by
a chain and lock, of which Old Parr, as deputy-chamberlain, kept the
key. Beyond this point the staircase branched off on the right, and a
row of stout wooden banisters, ranged like the feet of so many cattle,
was visible from beneath. Ultimately, the staircase reached a small
gallery, if such a name can be applied to a narrow passage communicating
with the bedrooms, the doors of which, as a matter of needful
precaution, were locked outside; and as the windows were grated, no one
could leave his chamber without the knowledge of the landlord or his
representative. No lights were allowed in the bedrooms, nor in the
passage adjoining them. Conciliated by the Tinker's offering, Old Parr mounted the staircase,
and planting himself near the door, took off his greatcoat, and sat down
upon it. His impish garb being thus more fully displayed, he looked so
unearthly and extraordinary that the dogs began to howl fearfully, and
Ginger had enough to do to quiet them. Silence being at length restored, the Tinker, winking slyly at his
companions, opened the conversation. "I say, deputy," he observed, "ve've bin havin' a bit o' a dispute vich
you can settle for us." "Well, let's see," squeaked the dwarf. "What is it?" "Vy, it's relative to your age," rejoined the Tinker. "Ven wos you
born?" "It's so long ago, I can't recollect," returned Old Parr rather sulkily. "You must ha' seen some changes in your time?" resumed the Tinker,
waiting till the little old man had made some progress with his grog. "I rayther think I have--a few," replied Old Parr, whose tongue the
generous liquid had loosened. "I've seen this great city of London
pulled down, and built up again--if that's anything. I've seen it grow,
and grow, till it has reached its present size. You'll scarcely believe
me, when I tell you, that I recollect this Rookery of ours--this foul
vagabond neighbourhood--an open country field, with hedges round it, and
trees. And a lovely spot it was. Broad Saint Giles's, at the time I
speak of, was a little country village, consisting of a few straggling
houses standing by the roadside, and there wasn't a single habitation
between it and Convent Garden (for so the present market was once
called); while that garden, which was fenced round with pales, like a
park, extended from Saint Martin's Lane to Drury House, a great mansion
situated on the easterly side of Drury Lane, amid a grove of beautiful
timber." "My eyes!" cried Ginger, with a prolonged whistle; "the place must be
preciously transmogrified indeed!" "If I were to describe the changes that have taken place in London since
I've known it, I might go on talking for a month," pursued Old Parr. "The whole aspect of the place is altered. The Thames itself is unlike
the Thames of old. Its waters were once as clear and bright above London
Bridge as they are now at Kew or Richmond; and its banks, from
Whitefriars to Scotland Yard, were edged with gardens. And then the
thousand gay wherries and gilded barges that covered its bosom--all are
gone--all are gone!" "Those must ha' been nice times for the jolly young vatermen vich at
Black friars wos used for to ply," chanted the Tinker; "but the steamers
has put their noses out o' joint." "True," replied Old Parr; "and I, for one, am sorry for it. Remembering,
as I do, what the river used to be when enlightened by gay craft and
merry company, I can't help wishing its waters less muddy, and those
ugly coal-barges, lighters, and steamers away. London is a mighty city,
wonderful to behold and examine, inexhaustible in its wealth and power;
but in point of beauty it is not to be compared with the city of Queen
Bess's days.