Blackey was a fair specimen of his tribe;
they are often pleasant and plausible in a certain way, and it is really
a pity that they cannot be forcibly drafted into the army, for they are
always men of fine physique. They are vermin, if you like, but how
admirably we protect them, and how convenient are the houses of call
which we provide for them.
I went warily to work with Blackey, but I was resolved all the same to
see him in his home. It happens that even Blackey's household has a
hanger-on, who also happens to be a parasite of mine. He is a lanky,
weedy lad, with a foxy face. His dark, oblique-set eyes, his high
cheek-bones, his sharp chin, are vulpine to the last degree, and, as he
slouches along with his shoulders rucked up and his knees bent, he
looks like the Representative Thief. He is called Patsey, and I
frequently spare him a copper; but his chief patron is Blackey, who
often hands him the dregs of a pot of beer.
Yesterday morning Patsey waylaid me, but I waved him off. At night he
caught me going in at the back gate of The Chequers; his hand trembled
as he clutched my arm, and he said with chattering teeth, "Give me a
dollar, and I'll tell you somethin'.
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