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Young Whit and the Traitor’s Treasure

© 2018 Focus on the Family. All rights reserved.

Focus on the Family and Adventures in Odyssey, and the accompanying logos and designs, are federally registered trademarks of

Focus on the Family, 8605 Explorer Drive, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—

electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of Focus on the Family.

Editor: Larry Weeden

Cover design by Josh Lewis

Cover illustration by Sergio Cariello

Interior illustrations by Michael Harrigan

For Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data for this title, visit http://www.loc.gov/help/contact-general.html.

ISBN: 978-1-58997-584-2

Build: 2018-07-31 16:11:59 EPUB 3.0

 For
John Colorado
 CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
 Prologue

The dream had returned.

He was falling, backward, through a clear, blue sky—so blue, the
blueness seemed to wash over, in, and through him. Had he been flying? He
didn’t know, but if he had been, the weird tickling sensation he now felt in
his stomach, and the air rushing through his ears and between his fingers,
told him he wasn’t anymore. He was now falling, but he wasn’t scared. If
anything, he was excited. If this was falling, he wanted to fall forever.
 Then a new sound, faint at first but growing louder. It was strange and
unpleasant (though there was something familiar about it), growing more
and more unpleasant by the second. And suddenly it was very loud, and it
shattered everything—the sky, the blueness, the falling, the tickling
sensation, the rushing wind. And he knew what it was and why it was
familiar.
Screams.
His mother’s screams.
He had never heard her scream before, but he knew this was what it
sounded like. The painful cry was horrible, the most horrible thing he had
ever heard. Was someone hurting her? He had to help her, to let her know
he would fix things, that he would somehow get them both back into the
blue sky where everything would be all right again. But he didn’t know
where she was. He needed to find her! He tried to look around for her—
Pain.
Intense, stabbing pain seemed to start in his leg and sear through his
whole body. He couldn’t look for her; he couldn’t move. The slightest
effort, muscle twitch, or breath brought on new waves of agony. He
couldn’t even speak. All he could do was remain still and silent and hope
someone would help his mother so she would stop screaming. Where was
his grandpa? And that’s when he realized his mother’s screams were not for
herself.
They were for him.
Other sounds and images tumbled rapidly at him, hollow, fuzzy, and
dark. His mother’s face appeared, crying, hovering over him like an angel.
He heard yelling and confusion and running about, and then his
grandfather’s voice, barking orders he couldn’t understand. He sensed he
was being lifted, carried, and laid down, setting off another torrent of pain,
so unbearable it shut out everything but his own heartbeat ... all other senses
growing more and more distant until he sank into blackness.
And then, his senses jarred awake at the pleasantest smell, the loveliest
sound, the gentlest touch, the sweetest taste, the most soothing light ... and
an overwhelming sensation he could not name that made him feel warmer,
safer, and stronger than he had ever felt before. And just when he knew,
really knew, beyond all doubt, that things would always stay that way—
forever secure, forever safe, forever protected, forever at peace—stronger
images rushed at him. His mother laughing joyfully—and then collapsing.
Sickness.
A doctor.
Foul-smelling medicine.
Hushed conversations.
Separation and isolation.
His grandfather’s grim face.
His father’s anguished one.
His mother’s weak, lovely, loving smile at him from another room.
A door closing.
A wail of grief.
A cold, harsh, black coffin with his mother’s lifeless body inside, so
still ... so still.

He awoke with a start, shaking uncontrollably, lying in a sleeping bag on a

cot in a dark, bare, unfamiliar room. It took a moment for him to remember
that this was his new room in his new home in his new town. The dream
had come several times in his life, and it always returned when they moved.
He tried with all his might to stop the shaking and calm the tide of emotions
churning inside him, to remember only the beautiful, smiling face of his
mother, but it was no good. The image of her lying lifeless in that black
coffin was too strong. He rolled over on his side, buried his face in his
pillow, and quietly sobbed.
He missed her.
And he hated coffins.
 Chapter One

“When God handed out curiosity, he gave you a second helping, Johnny!
And a third helping of mischief!”
John Avery Whittaker heard his stepmother’s words in his mind as
clearly as if she were sitting next to him. Fiona wouldn’t like being here
with me now, though, he thought with a smile, but he knew she had a point.
In his nearly 10 years of existence on planet Earth, he had experienced
more than his share of curiosity and seen much more than his share of
mischief—and this misty early morning was a great example of both.
Though the skies were threatening to storm, he was holding a metal rod
while sitting atop an old, wooden water tower near the center of
Provenance, the small town in North Carolina his family had just moved to,
near the university where his father was about to start a new job.
Johnny brushed his strawberry blond hair back from his eyes with a
grimy hand, smudging his freckled face in the process. He looked around.
He could have seen for miles from way up here if it weren’t so cloudy and
murky. Through the mist, he could still see the spires of the ancient mansion
on the grounds next to the water tower. But he could barely make out the
shape of the old town hall clock tower a few blocks away, even though it
was built on a rise and taller than the water tower.
When the Whittaker family first drove through Provenance a few days
ago, Johnny had noticed that the clock’s hands seemed stuck at 12:30. He’d
made a mental note to explore both the mansion and the clock tower
someday soon. For now, though, he was happy that the grounds around the
water tower were deserted. At this hour, there weren’t even any cars on the
streets. Perfect.
Johnny pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and examined it. Across
the top was written, “Attempt to Store Electrical Energy from Lightning
Bolts in Dead Battery Cells.” Under that, he had drawn a diagram of his
experiment. It was simple. Set up a lightning rod, wrap two wires around it,
and attach the other end of the wires to the terminals of a dead car battery.
Ben Franklin would be proud, Johnny thought, smiling again.
He removed a hammer and nails from his backpack and skillfully
nailed the rod in place on the water tank’s wooden roof. He then used a pair
of pliers to twist the ends of two long, coiled strands of heavy-duty wire to
the rod. After securing the connections, he crawled to the edge of the roof
and, one at a time, tossed the coils of wire over the side. He peered over the
edge, checking to see that the wires were untangled all the way to the
ground. All he had to do now was climb down the ladder attached to one of
the tower’s legs, hook up the other ends to the battery, and wait for the
storm to start.
 But as he swung his leg over the edge to begin his descent, a sudden
wind gust blew the diagram out of his hand. Johnny watched as the paper
fluttered to the ground and skittered across the lawn, flattening against a
high, wrought iron fence that bordered the water tower property. The fence
ran the entire distance between the tower land and the unkempt grounds of
the ancient, abandoned mansion. The barrier was overgrown with shrubbery
in places on the mansion side.
“Rats,” Johnny muttered as he swung his other leg over the roof’s
edge. Then suddenly he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.
Through a gap in the overgrown bushes and trees lining the fence,
Johnny saw a boy about his own age standing in the mansion’s knee-high,
weed-filled yard, watching his every move.
The boy had large, brown eyes and hair to match. He was barefoot,
dirty, and dressed in a threadbare shirt and raggedy overalls. During the
drive to Provenance, Johnny had seen similar kids in the surrounding farm
country, from the back seat of his father’s black Ford Victoria Model 18.
The Great Depression, which had been going on for nearly six years now,
had ravaged the country, but it had hit farmers and farm families the
hardest.
The raggedy boy and Johnny stared at each other, and for a moment
time seemed to stand still. Then Johnny smiled and waved, and the boy
smiled and waved back. Johnny was about to signal for the boy to meet him
at the fence when he saw something that nearly made his heart stop.
A tall man in a hooded cloak emerged from a small thicket of trees
behind the boy. The hood covered the man’s face. His right hand wielded a
long, wicked-looking dagger, while his left gripped a coil of rope.
He was slinking straight toward the boy.
Johnny swallowed hard, yelled, “Hey!” and pointed frantically behind
the boy at the man in the cloak. The boy’s smile faded. He turned, let out a
yelp, and ran off, disappearing into the shabby bushes. The man in the cloak
slunk after him.
 Johnny grabbed the rungs of the ladder and started down rapidly. This
was the first person his age he had seen since moving to Provenance two
days ago, and he wasn’t about to let him get away—or get murdered!
He zipped down the ladder but stepped down too hard on one of the
old, wooden rungs. It snapped in two. Fortunately, his hands were still on
the rungs in front of him. If they hadn’t been, he would have plummeted to
the bottom of the tower. Plummeting may be inevitable, though, he thought,
as he was still dangling a considerable distance from the ground.
The next lower rung was too far for him to reach. Johnny fought his
panic and tried to pull himself up, but the added weight of his backpack
sapped his strength.
To make matters worse, his hands, already greasy from the rod and the
wire, started to sweat. He was quickly losing his grip.
Just when he thought he couldn’t hold on a moment longer, he felt a
strong arm around his waist. “Don’t worry, son,” a deep voice drawled. “I
gotcha.”
Johnny and his rescuer moved carefully down the remaining rungs of
the ladder. When they were finally on the ground, Johnny turned and found
himself face-to-chest with a sheriff’s deputy.
“You all right?” asked the deputy.
Johnny nodded. “Yes, thanks, but—”
“You wanna tell me what you were doing up there?”
“I was conducting an experiment, but that’s not important right now.
There’s a man in a cloak with a dagger on that property over there, chasing
after a kid!”
The deputy’s brow furrowed. “Where, the old Granville House
property?”
“Yes!” Johnny almost screamed, pointing. “Right over there!”
The deputy looked over, then back at Johnny, and smirked. “Okay,
that’s a good one. But ol’ Deputy Miller wasn’t born yesterday. I know
when someone’s makin’ up a tale to get outta trouble.”
 Johnny grabbed the deputy’s sleeve. “I’m not making it up, sir! I
promise! The man in the cloak is chasing after the kid! He has a dagger and
rope! I think he wants to kill him!”
Deputy Miller’s smirk faded. “You’re serious?”
Johnny fairly jumped up and down. “Yes! Completely!”
The deputy took a deep breath, swallowed, and nodded. “All right, all
right. Let’s go.”
They made their way to the street, past the deputy’s Ford Model A
police car, and around to the front gates of the Granville House property.
The gates sat ajar. “See?” said Johnny. “Someone is in there!”
“That don’t mean anything,” the deputy replied. “Them gates have
been that way since I was a kid—before that, even.”
Johnny couldn’t believe the deputy was being so casual about this.
“Please, we need to hurry!”
They slid through the opening and crossed the dried-up, weed-infested
lawn. The trees were so overgrown they made the already dank day seem
even gloomier, casting hazy shadows across their path. The statues of
people and animals were slimy with moss at their bases and covered with
bird droppings at their tops.
“There!” Johnny pointed. “That’s the spot!” He recognized the thicket
of trees and the weedy clearing beyond. He and Deputy Miller ran to the
clearing. It was definitely the right place. Johnny could see the water tower
from it, clear as a bell.
But there was nothing there. No footprints or cloak prints. “Well?”
asked Deputy Miller.
“The dew from the trees must have covered up the prints,” said Johnny.
“I’m telling you, they were here!”
At his urging, they searched the thicket of trees and the nearby bushes,
but there was still no sign that anyone but them had been on the grounds
that morning. “Okay,” said the deputy, “that’s enough. Joke’s over.”
“It wasn’t a joke! Honest!” Johnny insisted. He scratched his head. “I
... I don’t understand it.”
 Deputy Miller smiled. “Well, whatever it was, there’s nothin’ here
now.” He put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
The two walked back to the gates in silence, Johnny lost in thought.
Just before they reached the street, Deputy Miller asked, “What was the
experiment?”
Johnny jolted out of his contemplation. “Hmm?”
“Before we came over here, you said you were on the water tower
conducting an experiment.” He slipped through the gap between the gates.
“So, what was it?”
Johnny followed him and said, “I was attempting to store electrical
energy from lightning bolts in dead battery cells.”
Deputy Miller’s eyebrows rose, and he whistled. “You don’t say! And
just how’s it supposed to happen?”
As they walked, Johnny explained the details of the experiment,
finishing up just as they reached the deputy’s patrol car. “Hmm,” the deputy
grunted. “Think it’ll work?”
Johnny shrugged, distracted. “I dunno, I didn’t finish setting it up.”
Then in a small voice he asked, “Are you gonna arrest me?”
Deputy Miller considered him for a moment, scratching his chin.
“Weeeeell,” he drawled, “seein’ as how you’re new here ... and how you’re
a scientist ... and how no real harm was done ... and how you took me on a
nice little adventure to break up the morning doldrums ... I figure I can let
you slide—this time.”
Johnny heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you! Thank you very
much!”
Deputy Miller’s eyes narrowed. “Just make sure you get permission
before you go climbing around on the tower again.”
Johnny smiled. “Yes, sir.” He then nodded toward the Granville House.
“And I really did see a boy and a man in there.”
Deputy Miller nodded. “Yeah, well, if you see ’em again—and can
prove it—let me know.” He spat on the ground and said, “Now, where do
you live?”
“Uh, live?”
Other documents randomly have
different content
Log. With all my heart; but, zounds! we’ve almost buzz’d the bowl.
Let’s have another, and dy’e hear, Tom, serve it up in your prize cup;
Jerry hasn’t seen it, and we mustn’t omit that.
Cribb. With all my heart, Doctor; but you must stand a bottle to see
the cup.

Log. Yes, yes, I’ll stand a bottle to christen the cup.

Jerry. Aye, aye; I’ll stand a bottle, Tom.
Tom. Ditto for me.
Green. Yes, and I’ll stand a bottle of ditto, too.
Jerry. This may, indeed, be called the very Temple of the Fancy.
Log. Yes, and here are some of the finest fancy sketches in the
kingdom.
Tom. Well, Jerry, after our last night’s divertisement at Almack’s, the
set-to I gave you this morning at the great Commissary-General
Jackson’s rooms cannot be better followed up than by a turn in the
sporting parlour of honest Tom Cribb.
Cribb. Thank’ye, Mr. Corinthian; I’ll always do my best to satisfy you
in any way.
Tom. There is one way, Tom, in which you would very soon satisfy
us.
Jerry. Yes, and I’m thinking not a little to our dis-satisfaction. I am of
opinion that every gentleman should practice the art of self defence,
if it were only to protect him from the insults of vulgar ignorance;
though I by no means set myself up as a champion for boxing.
Log. No, for if you did we’ve a champion here who would set you
down. We’ll drink his health, and may he ever prove as successful as
when he floor’d the Black Miller at Thistleton Gap. (All drink).
Tom. Tom, your health. (Cribb rises). Silence for Tom’s speech—doff
your castor, Tom—that’s the time of day.
Cribb. Gentlemen, my humble duty to you. Here’s all your healths,
and your families. Bless your soul, I can claim no merit for what I’ve
done; fighting came naturally like, and thinking others might be as
fond of it as myself, why, I always gave them a bellyfull.
Tom. Bravo, Tom, an excellent speech—Cicero never spoke better.
Log. No, nor anything like it.
Tom. Oh, here comes the cup. Look out, Jerry.
 Cribb’s Parlour.[32]
Enter WAITER, with the Champion’s Cup.
Come, Tom—I pledge you. (Cribb drinks; the Cup is passed).
Jerry. Well, this is the pleasantest way of cupping a man I ever
heard of—but come, Bob, give us a song.
Log. With all my heart, only let me sluice my whistle first.
SONG.—Logic. Air.—“Such a beauty I did grow.”
Oh, when I was a little boy,
Some thirty years ago;
I prov’d such an anointed one,
They made me quite a show.
Chorus.—Such a knowing one I did grow.

At tea I stole the sugar,

And I slyly pinched the girls;
I roasted mammy’s parrot,
Shod the cat in walnut shells.
Such a knowing, &c.
 At school I play’d the truant,
And would robbing orchards go;
I burned my master’s cane and rod,
And tore the fools’-cap, too.
Such a knowing, &c.

As I learnt nought but mischief there,

To College I was sent,
Where I learn’d to game and swear,
On fun and frolic bent.
Such a knowing, &c.

In town I mill’d the Charlies,

Aim’d at all within the ring;
Became one of the fancy,
And was up to everything.
Such a knowing, &c.
Jerry. Bravo!—but, zounds! Tom, Tom! what are you musing so
profoundedly about?
Tom. I was thinking about the women, Jerry; those enchanting girls
we danced with a Almack’s—could they be the incognitas that
challenged us thither? There is some secret charm about those girls
that hasn’t allowed me to rest all night.
Jerry. Well, and do you know, Tom, to tell you the truth, I haven’t
been a whit better than yourself. But, I say, only see how
confoundedly the dustman’s getting hold of Logic,—we’ll funk him.
(Tom and Jerry smoke Logic).
Log. Oh, hang your cigars, I don’t like it; let’s have no funking.
Tom. Well, come, come, rouse up; don’t be crusty, Bob—let’s start
on some spree; no doubt we shall spring a lark somewhere. (Rattles
heard).
There’s one! go it, Jerry!—Come, Green.
Log. Aye, come, Jerry, there’s the Charlies’ fiddles going.
Jerry. Charlie’s fiddles!—I’m not fly, Doctor.
Log. Rattles, Jerry, rattles! you’re fly now, I see. Come along, Tom!
Go it, Jerry! Exit.

Night Scene.—Tom and Jerry upsetting the Charlies.

Hark! the watchman springs his rattle,

Now the midnight’s lark begun;
Boxes crashing, lanthorns smashing,
Mill the Charlies—oh! what fun.

Pigs are hauling, girls are bawling,

Wretch, how durst you bang me so,
My sconce you’ve broken—for your joking,
You shall to the watch-house go.
SCENE.—The City side of Temple Bar, by Moonlight. Watchbox—
Watchmen crying the hour at different parts of the stage.
Enter drunken BUCK.
Buck. Steady! steady!—now where shall I go?—I think I’ll go strait
home. (Reels). No, I won’t! I’ll go where I think proper—I’ll go out
again—I’ll go—where I like.
(Exit.)
Enter GAS-LIGHT MAN, who lights the Lamp.
SONG.—Gas.
Air.—“I’m Jolly Dick the Lamplighter.”
I’m saucy Jack, the gas-light man,
I put the prigs to rout;
For where I light do all they can,
They’re sure to be found out.
Your beaks and traps are fools to me,
For in the darkest night;
’Tis I that lets the people see,
And bring their tricks to light.
(Exit)
 The City Watchman.
Enter O’BOOZLE.—CHAUNT.
Past twelve o’clock—a moon-light night!
Past twelve o’clock—and the stars shine bright!
Past twelve o’clock—your doors are all fast like you!
Past twelve o’clock—and I’ll soon be fast too!

Re-enter BUCK.
Buck. Past two did you say, Watchey? didn’t think it had been half so
late—I think it’s time for me to go home to bed.
O’Booz. Why, yes, I thinks as how it is, Sir—you’ve been taking a
little too much refreshment—steady! steady! hold up, Sir,
(Pretends to assist him, and picks his pocket of his handkerchief).
Buck. Good night, old Clockey. (Reels off).
O’Booz. Good night, Sir—take care nobody robs your honour. Why,
the gentleman’s left his vipe behind him, and I musn’t go off my
beat to give it him: how unfortinate—I’ll call him back! Sir, Sir.
(Whispers). Bless my soul how wery deaf that ere gentlemen is!—
well I must take care of it for him till he calls again!—I don’t know
what would become of these here young chaps if it wasn’t for such
old coveys as we are—Oh, here comes that cursed Gas!
Re-enter GAS.
Gas. Well, Watchey, and what have you to say about the gas? Eh?
O’Booz. Why, that you have been the ruin of our calling—that’s all!
Gas. Pooh! pooh! nonsense! I only throw a light upon the abuses of
it. (Pushes by O’Boozle).
O’Booz. Hollo! you had better mind what you are at with your Jacob,
or I shall just— (Sounds rattle).
Gas. Come, come, silence your coffee-mill.
O’Booz. What I’ve got to say is this—yes, the matter of the business
is this here:—Since you sprung up, my beat a’nt worth having—I
havn’t had a broken head for these ten days past, and there’s no
such thing as picking up a couple of sweethearts now—why there
isn’t a dark corner in the whole parish.
Gas. No more there should be. Folks have been kept a little too long
in the dark.
O’Booz. Have they.
Gas. But good night, for I suppose as how you won’t stand a drop o’
nothin’, old Bacon-face?
O’Booz. No, I suppose I von’t stand a drop of nothing! young Calf’s-
head? (Exit Gas singing, “I’m saucy Jack” &c).
O’Booz. I think I’ve given him his change. Well I don’t see the use of
kicking my heels about here,—people’s clocks can tell them the time,
just as well as I can, I’m sure! and a great deal better, if they knew
all! so I shall go into my box, after I’ve called the half-hour, and have
a regular snooze. It looks damned cloudy too.
CHAUNT.
Half-past twelve—and a cloudy morning.
Half-past twelve—mind, I give you warning,
Half-past twelve—now I’m off to sleep!
And the morning soon my watch will keep!
(Goes into box and falls asleep).

Tom, Jerry, and Logic in a Row.

 Mercy! what a din and clatter
Breaks the stillness of the night,
Lamps do rattle—’tis a battle,
Quick, and let us see the sight.

Old and young at blows like fury,

Tom and Jerry leads the row,
Milling, flooring all before them,
This is Life in London, boys.
Enter KATE and SUE disguised as two young bucks.
Kate. Well, here we are, just before them—and now to cure them of
their love and rambling it must be our plan to involve them in all the
scrapes we can, we shall never have a better opportunity.
Sue. No, ’tis now the very witching hour of night, as Shakspere says.
SONG.—Kate.
Air.—“Ackee oh! Ackee oh!”

When the moon o’er Temple Bar

Glimmers slow, and gaslights glow;
And locked in sleep, grave big wigs are
Snoring sound asleep.

We for pleasure gaily run,

 Full of frolic, full of fun;
Whisking oh! frisking oh!
To pick up a beau.
Sue. Stand aside, my dear Kate, I see occasion for our being active
here! If I may trust my eyes, yonder comes a lovely girl—I must
have some sport with her.
Enter MRS. TARTAR.
Mrs. T. There, I’ve shut up the shop, and as it’s Mr. Tartar’s turn to
sit as constable of the night, I’ll just take him the street-door key,
and then he can let himself in when he pleases—I hope the dear
man won’t be long.
Kate. Never mind, ma’am, if he should be—anything in my power
——
Mrs. T. Keep your distance, sir—I’ll call the watch.
Sue. Nay, but my dear madam, when beauty like yours is neglected,
it is the duty of every man. (Kisses her).
Mrs. T. Don’t take liberties, sir.
Kate. I wouldn’t take liberties for the world. (Kisses her).
Mrs. T. Eh, I shall be ruin’d, I’ll call out—here, watch! watch! (Rattles
heard).
Enter TOM, JERRY, and LOGIC, with Umbrella.
Jerry. Ay, ay, ay, put down the rain napper, Doctor, the shower is
over now. What’s the matter?
Mrs. T. I’m in the greatest distress imaginable.
Tom. Holloa, what’s the row?—a woman in distress! Where’s the
man would refuse his assistance?
Kate. Who are you, sir?
Sue. Yes, who are you, sir?
Tom. What, show fight! I’m your man; (To Kate).
Jerry. And I’m your man, my little one. (To Sue).
Log. (To Mrs. T.) And I’m your man, ma’am.
Mrs. T. Watch! watch! (Rattles are heard).
Enter TEDDY M’LUSH, an Irish Watchman.
M’L. Ulloa, here! What the devil have you got a fire?
Tom. What do you ask for your beaver, Charley?
Mrs. T. Why, my goodness, watchman, you are quite drunk.
M’L. Eh, drunk are you,—then I’ll take care of you.
Mrs. T. But I want to give charge of these two gentlemen, who have
behaved in the most extravagant manner—almost kissed me to
death.
M’L. Oh, you want to charge these gentlemen in an extravagant
manner, for almost kissing them to death, do you?—but I’ll soon put
a stop to it.
Kate. That’s right, watchman.
Tom. Zounds! fellows, do you think we’re to be bullied in this
fashion?
M’L. Oh, you’re bullies dressed in the fashion, are you?—I’ll soon
take charge of ye. (Springs rattle—it is answered without, r. and l).
Tom. A surprise! I’ll make sure of this fellow, at all events. Now,
Jerry, I’ll show you how to box a Charley.
Log. Stop, my boys, secure your tattlers. (They put up their
watches).
Tom. Now, go it, Jerry,—can you play at cricket?
Jerry. Yes, Tom.
Tom. Then catch—here’s the gentleman’s toothpicker, and here’s his
glim. (Throw stick and lanthorn to Jerry).
Tom upsets O’Boozle’s box.—enter Watchmen.—General row—Rattles
—Logic fights M’Lush.—Kate, Mrs. Turtar and Sue, run off.—Green
enters with a bloody nose and two watchmen; he runs off.—Jerry
fights with three watchmen.—Tom fights with three watchmen, floors
them.
CHORUS. (Omnes).
Air.—From the Spectacle of “Don Juan.”

Watch! watch! watch! Lord how they’re bawling!

Catch! catch! catch! That’s if you can.
Scratch! scratch! scratch! Pulling and hauling—
Wretch! wretch! wretch! You are the man.
Patch! patch! patch! Lots of heads breaking!
Fetch! fetch! fetch! The constable, John.
Match! match! match! Match them for raking.
Watch! watch! watch! My watch is gone.
Mill renewed.—The Women get away as before.—Tom and Jerry
perform prodigies of valour, but are at length overpowered by
numbers, and borne off.—Green enters alarmed, flies on all sides for
safety, but is at length caught up by a watchman in his arms, and
carried off.—Scene closes on two watchmen cuffing one another by
mistake.
 Tom and Jerry in Trouble after a Spree.

And please your Worship here’s three fellows

Been hammering of us all about;
Broke our boxes, lanthorns, smellers,
And almost clos’d our peepers up.

Our pipkins broke, Sir!—’tis no joke, Sir,

Faith we’re crush’d from head to toe;
We’re not the men, Sir!—Hold your tongue, Sir,
You must find bail before you go!
SCENE.—Interior of St. Dunstan’s Watch-house.—Mr. Tartar,
Constable of the Night, discovered at table; pen, ink, &c.—
Watchman in attendance. Noise heard without.—Cries of “Charge!
charge!”
Mr. T. Holloa! a charge! I must get into my big chair, pull off my
night-cap, cock my wig, and look official. (Watchman opens the door,
and is knocked down by rush).
Enter TOM, JERRY, LOGIC, WATCHMEN, KATE, JANE, SUE, MRS.
TARTAR, O’BOOZLE, and M’LUSH, very uproariously. MRS. TARTAR
makes signs to MR. TARTAR.
Omnes. Mr. Constable! Mr. Constable—Please your worship, this
man!—this woman!
Mr. T. Silence! silence!—Eh, the devil! Sally Tartar, my wife!—and
winking at me not to take any notice.
Omnes. Please your worship—I—I——
Mr. T. Silence! silence! Watchman, do you speak first.
Mrs. T. (aside to Tom). Be quiet—I’ll soon turn the tables.
M’L. Plaise your honour, I have brought before your worship a most
notorious substitute and common street talker, who, for her foul
doings, has been cooped up in the Poultry Compter, as often as
there are years in a week.—I caught her charging these honest
gentlemen, (pointing to Tom and Jerry) in a most impositious
manner, and when I civilly axed her, how she could think of getting
drunk, and acting so, she called her bullies here. (Pointing to Kate
and Sue).
Kate. Zounds, fellow, you don’t mean us?
Sue. Why, you rascal, I’ll twist your neck for you.
M’L. Yes; they, your worship, who half murdered me first, and then
buried poor little Teddy O’Boozle in his box, that he mightn’t prevent
them murdering t’other half of me; och, they’re terrible
desperadoes!
Kate. Here’s a scoundrel for you!
Mr. T. Silence! we’ll soon get to the bottom of all this.
Kate. Zounds, sirrah, we gave the charge ourselves. (To M’Lush).
M’L. Och, murder!
Kate. Those were the assailants. (Pointing to Tom, Jerry, and Logic).
Mr. T. This is a very intricate affair.
M’L. Sure, won’t I be after telling you my own story:—as I was going
my rounds quietly enough, up comes these young sparks, and gave
me such a maulagaran, that they knock’d me into the middle of next
week—besides tipping me this here black eye—only see how red it
is!
Mr. T. I’ll soon set all to rights,—first let me hear what you have to
say to all this, woman: these are very serious allegations. (To Mrs.
Tartar).
Tom. Aye, aye, let the woman speak.
O’Booz. Oh, the woman will speak fast enough.
Mrs. T. Hold your tongue fellow.—Please your worship, it’s all false
from beginning to end—it’s he that’s drunk! nay, you may perceive
he’s so drunk he cannot even give a charge—doesn’t know one
person from the other, and can scarcely stand.
M’L. Plaise your honour it’s only the ague, I have it every Saturday
night regularly, what I’ve said is all true, so help me Bob,—sure,
she’s not a woman to put whiskey in a jug, and throw stones at it.
Mr. T. Why, you impudent vagabond you’re drunk now—instead of
giving charge of her, the good lady ought to have given charge of
you,—what business had you off your beat, and in such a situation?
Tom and Jerry. Aye, what business had you off your beat, old
Charley?
M’L. They bate me off my beat.
Mrs. T. I give charge of him, your worship.
Mr. T. And I take it—off with him to the black hole.
Tom. Aye, aye, take him up the spout.
Mr. T. My dear wife! (Embraces Mrs. Tartar). My dear Sally Tartar.
M’L. His wife! Och, by the powers, then I’ve caught a Tartar.
Mr. T. Take him away.
M’L. Och, sure I’m the boy that cares for nobody—so there’s my
coat, there’s my hat, there’s my rattle and lanthorn,—and to the
devil I pitch the whole of you. (He is carried off).
Kate. They musn’t get off so easily. (Aside).
Tom. A fortunate turn-up for us, faith.
Mr. T. Gentlemen, you are at liberty.
O’Booz. Stay, your honour, I’ve got a charge. This here chap
(pointing to Tom) with the Roosian head of hair—he comes up to me
like a warment—
Tom. Why, you impudent—(Knocks O’Boozle down—a row ensues).
Mr. T. Silence! silence!—be quiet all of you, can’t you?
Kate. Mr. Constable, I have a charge—(to O’Boozle). Watchman,
there’s a crown—what I say, swear to. (Aside).
O’Booz. I’ll swear to anything, your honour.
Log. What the devil’s in the wind now?
Kate. I charge those gentlemen with assaulting this young woman—
(pointing to Jane)—the watchman saw the whole transaction.
O’Booz. I’ll swear it, your worship.
Tom. Why, zounds, fellow, I never saw the girl!
Sue. (To Jerry). Come, sir, you can’t say you never saw her.
Jerry. Why I have a recollection of seeing her somewhere, though I
am at fault as to the place, at present.
Kate. It’s a clear case.
O’Booz. I’ll swear to it, your worship!
ROUND. (Omnes).
Air.—“’Twas you, Sir.”
’Twas you, Sir, ’twas you, Sir;
Your worship, it is true, Sir,
’Twas you that pull’d the girl about,
’Twas you, Sir, you.

Untrue, Sir, untrue, Sir,

It was the man in blue, Sir,
’Twas he that pulled the girl about,
’Tis true, Sir, true.

No, no, Sir, no, no, Sir,

How can you tell lies so, Sir?
I did not pull the girl about,
But I know who.
Mr. T. Gentlemen, here are four witnesses against you; and ’tis my
painful duty to commit you, unless you can find good bail.
Tom. We’ll give you leg bail.
Kate. Aye, find good bail, and mind that it is good. There’s our card
—come, watchman—Come, Sir Jeremy.
Sue. Good-night—Sorry to leave you in such bad company—but
beauty calls; we must obey.
Tom. Aye, aye, your mamma waits for you.
Log. Go and get a pennyworth of elycampane.
Jerry. There’s a pair of men-milliners—I say; go home and sleep
under the counter.
(Exeunt Sue, Kate, and watchmen).
 Tom and Jerry among the “Swell Broad Coves.”

At St. James’s they dine, when, flushed with new wine,

To the Gaming Tables they reel,
Where blacklegs and sharps, often gammon the flats,
As their pockets do presently feel.

Success at first Jerry delighted,

But ere the next morning he found
That his purse was most cleverly lighted
Of nearly Five Thousand Pounds.
SCENE.—Interior of a fashionable Hell at the West-end of the Town;
a large looking-glass in the flat.
 Enter GROOM PORTER and MARKERS.
G. Porter. Come, lads, bustle about; play will soon begin—some of
the Pigeons are here already, the Greeks will not be long following.
Enter KATE, SUE, TRIFLE, and GREEN, the latter with a large patch
on his nose.
Kate. Assist us in this, my dear Trifle, and we ask no more.—The
card we left at the Watchhouse will soon bring our sparks to demand
satisfaction,—you and Green must act the parts of conciliators, and
propose to end the affair in a game of cards; the insight you have
given Green and us into all the arcana of play, will enable us, with
the aid of the servant, to fleece them to admiration; thus we may
pursue our plan, and cure them of this first of vices of Life in
London, gaming! and save their fortune from those who may play
for a less disinterested stake.
Trifle. I’faith you ought to be very much obliged to me, girls, pan
hanour, for letting Green into the secret,—it cost me fiteen cool
thousands, demme! but I’ll assist you.—Green, my dear fa-e-llow,
take your post near the glass while they’re playing; and, by the
number of fingers you hold up, we shall easily know how many
honours they have, and every other particular.
Green. Vith the greatest of pleasure.—I suppose I may hold up my
thumb as well as my fingers, may’nt I—because they may have five
honours? you know!
Sue. Oh, certainly, Mr. Green—Ah, man, vain glorious man, how
easily art thou duped?
Trifle. They come, you must mind your eye, pan hanour, Green.
Green. Oh, you shall find me quite avake—I’m glad I got avay and
vas’nt taken to the vatchouse; I was forc’d to give half-a-crown
though.
Enter TOM, JERRY, and LOGIC.
Tom. Where is this Sir Jeremy Brag? Oh, here you are, Sir—well met.
Trifle. Ah, my dear Tom, how are you?
Green. My dear Corinthian, how do you do? I’m glad they didn’t put
you in the black ’ole.
Tom. Excuse me a moment, Green, I have an affair with this
gentleman that will not admit of a moment’s delay.
Trifle. What, my friend, Brag,—honest Sir Jeremy? You musn’t hurt
him, he’s a cursed good fellow.—It must be some mistake.
Green. Yes, it must be some mistake.
Kate. Entirely a mistake, I assure you—I’m extremely sorry, if that
will give you any satisfaction.
Tom. Oh, if you apologize, I’m satisfied; otherwise nothing would
have done, but Chalk Farm! pistols! half-past six! pooh!
Log. That’s the time of day my flower.
Green. Vell, I’m glad it’s settled without bloodshed—Chalk Farm!
pistols! half-past six, and pooh!
Jerry. (to Green). Sorry to see your nose in mourning, Green—here,
Waiter, take my hat. (Gives waiter the Charley’s old beaver to take
care of, who brushes it up ironically, and takes it off).
Green. What say you to burying all differences in a friendly game of
vhist? Trifle and I vill cut out.
Trifle. Yes; it’s too great an exertion for me to play, pan han-our—I’m
only scarcely endurable to the fatigue of looking on, r-e-a-l-y.
Tom. A rubber at whist? I have no objection,
Jerry. Nor I—you’ll not find me at fault here, coz—no one is better
skilled in the mystery of the odd trick, than I am, I flatter myself.
Trifle. (To Tom). Well you and your country friend can pair with Sir
Jeremy and the Captain, and this worthy vegetable, Green, and I will
see fair play, pan hanour.
(Kate, Sue, Tom and Jerry sit down to cards; Trifle and Green stand
behind them, overlooking Tom’s and Jerry’s hand).
Log. (Drinking and looking on). They’ll be done, as sure as my name
is Logic.—Upon that suit some of the best judges in London have
been had.—Inviting a man to a swell dinner, and making him pay
five guineas a mouthful for it afterwards, is no new feature of Life in
London—Go it, ye flats—“Thus for men the women fair,” (singing).
Why, there’s that fellow giving the office to his pal now: well it’s no
business of mine. Go it my pippins—what, Tom, have you got the
uneasiness?—“What is beauty but a bait.” (Sings again).
Tom. (Rising and throwing down cards). Oh, if you can’t play better
than that, Jerry, we’d better do nothing at all!
Log. (Singing). “Oft repented when too late.”
Jerry. Who can play while the Doctor’s singing?
Log. I knew how it would be—did you hear anything knock, Tom?
Jerry. (Walks about, and, by mistake, takes Logic’s hat). Damn the
cards!
Sue. (To Jerry). Come, sir, never be downhearted, bad luck now,
better another time.
Jerry. Indeed! I’m not going to try, though.
Kate. Very sorry, Mr. Corinthian—shall be happy to give you your
revenge some other evening!
Log. Well, Tom, are you clean’d out?
Tom. Clean’d out! both sides; look here—pockets to let!—here have
been two playing four; and we have stood the nonsense in prime
style.
Log. Well, don’t grumble—every one must pay for his learning—and
you wouldn’t bilk the schoolmaster, would you? But come, I’m
getting merry; so if you wish for a bit of good truth, come with me,
and let’s have a dive among the Cadgers in the Back Slums, in the
Holy Land.
Jerry. Back Slums—Holy Land!—I’m at fault again.
Log. Why, among the beggars in Dyot Street, St. Giles’s.
Tom. Beggars! ah, we shall be very good figures for the part.
(Turning out his pockets).
Log. We must masquerade it there.
Kate. (To Sue, aside). And so must we—come, Trifle,
[Exeunt Omnes.
 Billy Waters, Soldier Suke, Ragged Dick, Little Jemmy.
There’s a difference between a beggar and a queen,
And the reason I’ll tell you why;
A queen cannot swagger, not get drunk like a beggar
Nor be half so happy as I,—as I.
SCENE—Back Slums in the Holy Land.
MR. JENKINS, SOLDIER SUKE, DINGY BET, LITTLE JEMMY,
CREEPING JACK, RAGGED DICK, and other well-known Characters
discovered.
SONG.—Mr. Jenkins.
Air.—“It was one Frosty Morning.”

Cadgers make holiday,

Hey, for the maunder’s joys,
Let pious ones fast and pray,
They save us the trouble, my boys.

On the best peck and booze we’ll live,

’Tis fit we their blunt should spend;
For what to us they give,
Tenfold to the saints they lend.
Rumpti bumpti bay, &c.

With our doxies, great as a Turk,

We taste all life can give;
For who but a slave would work,
When he like a prince might live?
Then lustily call away,
Cadgers keep up the ball,
Never mind what’s to pay,
The public pays for all.
Rumpti, bumpti bay, &c.
 (Omnes Chorus the burthen of the Song—dancing grotesquely).
Omnes. Ha! ha! ha! (Billy heard without). Eh! stand aside—here
comes Billy Waters.
Enter BILLY WATERS, dancing.
Billy. Ah; how do you do, my darley? How you do, Massa Jenkins?—I
drink with you. (Drinks deep: Jenkins takes the pot away).—And you
Massa Jack, I drink wid you, too. (To Creeping Jack).—Your helt,—
your good helt, ladies! (Jack takes pot away).
Jack. I say, Billy, you’re biting your name in it.
Billy. Yes, me likes to bite my name in such goot stuff as that.
Mr. J. Gemman, let’s purceed to business—I’ve got to inform you o’
summat.
Jack. Vat’s that ’ere?
Mr. J. Vy, that ’ere, is this ’ere—I begs to obsarve that the time is
come when you may all consider yourselves independent gemmen;
for if business should fail, you can at any time retire on a pension
now.
Jack. As how?
Mr. J. As how? Vy, this as how. The Mende-city Society, I believe
they call themselves, have kindly purwided a fund for us gemmen;
so, if anybody offers you less nor a mag, or a duece, vy, you may
say with the poet, “Who vou’d his farthings bear? ven he himself
might his quivetus make vith a bare Bodkin.”
Omnes. Bravo!
Billy. Dat dam goot—me like dat!—that Bodkin has dam goot point!
Mr. J. It was but t’other day they took’d me up; slapp’d a pick-ax into
one of my mauleys, and shov’d a shovel into t’other, and told me to
vork—says I, gemmen, I cant’t vork, cause vy, I’m too veak—so they
guv’d me two bob, and I bolted!
Beggar. You did quite right; vell, vile I can get fifteen bob a day by
gammoning a maim, the devil may vork for me. If any lady or
gemmen is inclined for a dance, I’ll nash my arm-props in a minute.
(Throws down his crutches).
Billy. An I play you de tune in de key of de X, Y, Z.
Jack. We haven’t had a better job a long vile nor the shabby genteel
lay. That, and the civil rig, told in a pretty penny—Come, here’s the
ould toast, “Success to Cadging.”
Omnes. (Drinking). Success to Cadging.
Mr. J. Does any gemman understand these here Tread Mills that
have got such a footing?
Jack. Silence! Gemmen:—I’m a-going to make a hobservation: Mr.
Jenkins means them there Mills as makes you vork vether there’s
any vork or no—I can only say this here, gemmens, if them there
mills are encouraged, it von’t be vorth no body’s vile to exercise
vone’s calling—because, vy, von may as vell go and vork for one’s
living at once—but the subject von’t bear not no thinking on.
Omnes. Not by no means. (General groans).
Billy. Oh, curse a de tread mill, me no like a de “here we go up, up,
up,” and “down you go down, down, down,” an if you no work, a
great lump of wood come and knock you down so—(Striking Beggar
on head, with fiddle, who falls down).
Beggar. Oh! he has split my Jemmy!
Billy. (Picking him up). Poor fellow, him werry sorry, so dere no harm
done. Gemman of de Noah Ark Society, as Little Jemmy here is no
starter, I move he be put in de chair a-top o’ de table.
Omnes. Bravo! Jemmy in the chair. (Jemmy is put on the table).
Mr. J. Silence for the cheer.
Jemmy. Gemman, I shall return thanks—here’s all your jolly good
healths, and success to flat catching.
Omnes. Bravo! bravo!
SONG.—Mr. Jenkins, and barking chorus of Beggars.
AIR.—Bow, Wow, Wow.
That all men are beggars, ’tis very plain to see,
Tho’ some they are of lowly, and some they are of high
degree;
Your ministers of state will say, they never will allow
That kings from subjects beg, but that you know is all bow
wow.
Bow wow, wow! fol lol, &c.

Then let us cadgers be, and take in all the flats we can,
Experience we know full well, my boys, it is that makes the
man;
And for experience all should pay, that Billy will allow,
And as for conscience that of old we know is all bow wow.
Bow, wow, wow! fol lol, &c.
Enter KATE, SUE, JANE, TRIFLE, and GREEN, disguised as Beggars.
Sue. I do not see them here yet.
Kate. They’ll not be long, depend on’t,—have I sufficiently disfigured
my charms?
Sue. Yes, they cannot surely recognise us in these disguises?
Trifle. Dear me, a very dreadful perfume, pan hanour—essence of
mendicity—I’m sorry I came.
Mr. J. (To Green). Halloa, my little ’un?
Green. Eh! come you a done now; you a done vith you.
Mr. J. Sluice your dominos—vill you?—
Green. Vot! I never plays at dominoes—It’s too wulgar.
Mr. J. Vy, then vash your ivories?
Green. I’ve got no hiveries to vash.
Mr. J. Drink, vill you? don’t you understand Hinglish?
Green. Eh! drink—quite a gemman, I declare.—(While Green drinks
Jenkins dances, expectantly).
Ragged Jack. I say, Jenkins has larned to dance since he’s been on
the Mill—vy Jenkins you’ll dance your calves into your shoes if you
don’t mind.
Mr. J. (To Green, looking at pot). Vy, I say, you’ve been eating red
herrings for dinner, my young un!
Green. I vas dry, and that’s the fact on’t.
Billy. (Offering bottle to Sue). I say, Misses, you drink, eh! my Buckra
Beaudly?
Jemmy. Gemman, have you ordered the peck and booze for the
evening?
Sold. Suke. Aye, aye, I’ve taken care of that—shoulder of veal and
garnish—Turkey and appendleges—Parmesan—Filberds—Port and
Madery.
Billy. Dat dam goot, me like a de Madery—Landlord, here you give
this bag of broken wittals, vot I had give me to-day, to some genteel
dog vot pass your door: and you make haste wid de supper, you
curse devil you!
 Beggar’s Opera. Tom, Jerry, and Logic, among the Cadgers in the Holy
Land.

Now to keep up the spree, Tom, Jerry, and Logic,

Went disguis’d to the Slums in the Holy Land;
Through each cribb and each court, they hunted for sport,
Till they came to the Beggar’s Opera so nam’d;
But sure such a sight they had never set sight on,
The quintessence of Tag, Rag, and Bob-tail was there:
Outside of the door Black Molly was fighting.
And pulling Mahogany Bet by the hair.
There was cobblers and tailors, sweeps, cadgers, and sailors,
Enough to confound Old Nick with their din;
There was bunters, and ranters and radical chaunters,
Clubbing their half-pence for quarterns of gin.
Enter TOM, JERRY, and LOGIC—disguised as Beggars, with Placards
on their backs—TOM’S “Burnt Out—lost my little all.”—JERRY’S “Deaf
and Dumb.”—LOGIC’S “Thirteen Children.” &c.
Sue. Here they are—I know them in spite of their rags.
Tom. This, my dear Jerry, is a rich page in the book of life, which will
save you many a pound, by exposing the imposition of street
mendicity.—It almost staggers belief that hypocrisy is so successful,
and that the fine feeling of the heart should become so blunted, as
to laugh at the humanity of those who step forward to relieve them.
Log. ’Tis the blunt that does it—but stow magging, Tom, or we shall
get blown.
Jerry. Tom, here’s a group of blackbeetles—do you see those lovely
mendicants?
Tom. Beauty in rags—I do—Cupid imploring charity, I’ll relieve him,
for I’ll be after that match-girl directly.
Jerry. And I’ll chant a few words to that beautiful ballad-singer.
Log. And I’ll take pity on that charming beggar.

Song of the Cadgers in the Holy Land.

Come, let us dance and sing,

While fam’d St. Giles’ bells shall ring,
Black Billy scrapes the fiddle strings,
Little Jemmy fills the Chair.
Frisk away, let’s be gay,
This is Cadger’s holiday;
While knaves are thinking, we are drinking,
Bring in more gin and beer.
Come, let us dance and sing, &c.

Here’s Dough-boy Bet, and Silver Sall,

Lushy Bob, and Yankee Moll,
And Suke, as black as any pall,
The pinks of the Holy Land.
Now, merry, merry, let us be,
There’s none more happier sure than we,
For what we get we spend it free,
As all must understand!
Come, let us dance, &c.

Now he that would merry be,

 Let him drink and sing as we,
In palaces you shall not see,
Such happiness as here.
Then booze about, our cash an’t out,
Here’s sixpence in a dirty clout;
Come landlord bring us in more stout,
Our pension-time draws near.
Come, let us dance, &c.
Enter LANDLORD with supper.
Land. Now, your honours, here’s the rum peck, here’s the supper.
Billy. Eh, de supper! de supper! come along, (After striking Creeping
Jack on fingers with knife). You damn nasty dog! what for you put
your dirty fingers in de gravy? you call that gentlemans? you want
your finger in de pie, now you got him there!
Jack. I only wish’d to taste the stuffining.
Billy. And now you taste de carver knife instead! (takes candle, and
looks at supper). Vy, what him call dis?
Land. Why, the turkey and the pie, to be sure.
Billy. De turkey and de pie! I tink you said de turkey and de pie,—
what! de turkey without de sassinger! him shock—him wouldn’t give
pin for turkey without dem—me like a de Alderman in chain.
Land. I’m very sorry, Mr. Waters, but—
Billy. You sorry! I’m sorry for my supper, you damn dog.
Mr. J. (To Landlord). Vhat! sarve up a turkey without sassiges,—
you’re a nice man I don’t think.
Jack. (To Landlord). I tell you vhat, young man, vhen you talk to
gemmen, larn to take off your hat.
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