Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 308: what you’re looking at

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

oL0 howls being of too frequent an occurrence in that disreputable place of refreshment. She was still wondering what she should do, and how she should act, when the burly form of the landlord appeared in the doorway of the Pigeon Flyers. The gaslight played on his besotted face, and showed it pale as that of a corpse—a circum- stance very much to be remarked in features naturally so red and bloated as his were. In an instant he was joined by one of his customers, who spoke to him in a low tone ; but low as it was, Mrs. Jackson heard the words, and uttered a loud shriek. ‘* Bill’s a goner, sure enough. Pappy hit him slap under the ear, and it’s done for him.” Such were the words the poor woman heard ; and, after giving utterance to the cry, she suf- fered the five golden coins to fall from her hand on to the floor of the passage, and staggered back against the wall, where her heart seemed to stand still, and all power to be denied her, save that of hearing, which now was horribly acute. | “It'll damn up the Flyers,” said the land- lord. ‘ There’ll be an awful row, now! What can be done? If we send for a doctor, it'll be as bad as not sending for one. There ’ll be an inquest, and we'll all be getting lagged, see if we don't! You go and tell his old woman, and we'll get him took home. Better have all the shine over there.” ** What shall I tell her ?” ‘*God’s truth ! tell her what you like, only let her get him out of my skittle-cround. We mustn’t have a row here, for the police have had an eye on this crib for a long time, you know.” ‘* Blowed if I like to go! can patter better nor I can.” — ‘“‘ No, you go, and I’ll give you a pint. me lucky ! there she is at the door!” ‘€ Call her over.” * There was no need for this ; for Mrs. Jackson, recovering from the momentary prostration, uttered another cry, and sped over the way to the Flyers, her face pale as death, her limbs trem- bling, and a choking sensation at her throat. ‘Bill! Bill!” she eried. ‘Oh, where’s my Bill ? ” “Don’t make a row, Mrs. Jackson,” cried the landlord. ‘‘ Bill’s got a knock, that’s put him out of time ; but if you get him home, it will be all right.” _ “ Don’t deceive me!” cried the woman. “ Bill is—is ” : “Hush! Don't speak so loud ; for we don’t want the police here,” said the man. “1 will speak ! ” ‘* Be quiet, and have a drop of ‘““No!”’ cried the woman. “Let me go to Bill! Let mesee him! Where is he? ”’ ‘In the skittle-ground.” The woman pushed the man aside, and rushed through the house into the yard where the skittle-alley was situated, and, hurrying into the place, saw a number of men standing round the form of her husband, who lay in the sawdust, with his face turned upwards. With a shriek, she sprang among them, and, You Strike You do it. beer.” P Se St - AZ SPRING-HEEL’D JACK: THE TERROR OF LONDON. . See I eanran them on either side, flung herself on her nees. ‘Bill! Bill!” she cried, erasping his shoulder, and looking into his blood-stained face. “ Bill! speak tome! It’s Poll, your wife! ”’ She paused, as if for an answer; looked round upon the assembled men; then shrieked aloud— ~“ Oh, my God! He is dead—he is dead! Who killed him ?—who? Show me the man! I'll hang him! I’ll—oh, Bill! Bill!” Her feelings overpowered her. For, brutal husband as he had been to her, she loved him with all that rough devotion which was as sincere a3 the more tender love of those whose natures are more kind and gentle; and in that moment she saw only the father of her children —the man who had won her heart in days of happiness. No thought of his cruelty—his neglect—his harshness, then crossed her mind. She looked only upon the corpse of her husband—not the brute who had caused her a life of wretchedness and want. ‘Don’t make a row about it,’ said the land- lord, entering the ground with a pot of ale, and offering it to Mrs. Jackson. “It’s an unfortu- nate affair; but it was his own fault. He would fight Pappy for five bob, and got a knock under the ear.” The woman dashed the pot of ale from his hand, and, turning round, glared upon Pappy, who shrank back before her. ‘“Wretch!” she cried, “it is you, and such as you, who have kept him from his home, made him spend the money which should buy his children bread, and left me to starve, while he drank all he got with you. See what you have brought him to! Oh, this cursed place! I knew it would be his ruin. But I will ruin this place! You are all guilty—you have all helped to murder my Bill, and I will have justice. Oh, Bill! Poor Bill! Oh, the poor children! what will they do now 2?” ‘‘ Don’t be so hard on a cove,” said Pappy. ‘You know as I wouldn’t have hurt Bill, who was always a pal of mine. We was only a larking,”’ “Ts murder a lark?” cried the woman. “Is it a lark to make me a widow, and my children fatherless ? Is it a lark to bring your own neck to the rope? This cursed place should - have been burned down years ago. It has been a curse to the neighbourhood—a curse to every woman who lives init. It has dragged the men from their homes—the bread from their mouths. at this shall destroy it. I will fetch the police, She was hurrying to the door as she spoke, when the landlord placed himself before her. ‘No, you don’t,” he said. ‘You'll take that ey, away ; J ain’t a-going to have no scenes dere, ‘‘ Let me go out, said the woman, or it will be worse for you.” | “You slope, Pappy,” said the landlord, ‘* while you've got a chance.” ‘““He shall not escape,” cried the woman, turning, and catching at the shirt-sleeve of the man. Cont IOOKS;-CcOoOmMm