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3.
It turned out that Pete getting us early out in the streets was actually
something good, because we managed to get hold of two kidney-pies, which was
one more than we were used to. Higgins insisted on getting a whole one for
himself.
"If I don't get enough to eat, I'm not going to be of any use to you
mates. I got to have a good bottom in my stomach to keep my hands from
shaking."
Pete, Bradbury and I shared the pie that was left. We brought tea from Mr
Collin's at the corner of Mile End Road and drank hot water in tiny sips while
we cupped our hands around the battered mugs to collect some precious warmth.
"So." Bradbury said, bopping our communal teabag into his mug with a
raised pink before passing it over to Pete. "What's the plan for
today?"
"We're not going to work in the streets. That's for sure. The weather is
no good." I opted. "There won't be any decent folk strolling along
upper Thames or trying to show off their new ostrich feathered hats at Mayfair,
unless they're very much planning on getting a fashionable disease like the
bloody consumption."
"No crowds, no cover." Higgins muttered, spraying us under wet
pie-crumps.
"No crowds, no representatives of the law either. If you look at it that
way, it could be easy picking for us." Bradbury said.
"Hear hear." I said, clutching my blue fingers around my cup of
boiled water. Tracking the way of the teabag impatiently. "Professor
Clever-clogs has spoken, let's all rise and give praise to his bloody
genius."
Pete was done making his tea and handed it over to Higgins, who dropped the
thing in his mug, and started squeezing it with his greasy fingers to get the
last bit of flavour out. That bloody selfish git.
"I was only saying. Besides what did you have in mind then? Most places
indoors are rather inaccessible for the likes of us. We would either need an
invitation to get in, or we have to pay a fee."
"How much do we have left?" Higgins asked.
"Ehm." I put my hand in the only pocket of my coat that didn't have a
gaping hole in it, and gathered up all the coins inside. "Two shillings,
and four cents." I said, counting them on a flat hand. "Perhaps we
shouldn't have brought that second pie for fatso here."
Higgins snorted his disgust and continued wringing out the last drops of brown
liquid for his tea.
"Gentlemen, or for as long as that could be considered the correct way of
addressing you people, the term ape-men springs more to mind, actually."
"What you're rambling about, doc?"
I rolled my eyes at Higgins. "He was insulting us you big nit! And are you
finally finished with that tea-bag yet, or do you need to chew a while on it
first?"
Higgins reluctantly handed over the dripping bag. I dipped it into my cup, and
squashed it against the rim, but all I got out of it was a faint yellow drizzle
that even failed to stain the water any darker.
"It wouldn't be considered overly-dramatic when I start panicking a little
bit now, would it?" Bradbury commented. "Tomorrow is the eight of the
month and two shillings and four cents is not going to be enough to pay the ten
shillings that we owe our landlord."
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time he threw us out to sleep in the
ditch." I muttered, picking up the useless thing and tossing it away.
"Only this time, there is actually a chance that we might really freeze to
death like he said we would."
"Only one day left to collect enough money for the crazy old fart. Now
where do we start?" Bradbury frowned, looking at me for a shiny bright
scheme, but apparently, the lights were all out up there and nothing came. I
was left to sulk back at him with my brows all furrowed.
"Oh come on, Will! Help us a hand!"
"Sorry mate. Must be the lack of a good cuppa tea that has my mind going
useless." I said, sipping from my boiled water.
"The National Gallery!" Pete suddenly shouted, a twinkle in his large
brown eyes. "Why don't we go to the National Gallery?"
The three of us were too stunned to react at first. I mean, even Higgins
immediately thought that it was a dog's cobblers of an idea.
"Pete." I tried not to be too harsh on the young fella. I quite liked
the seventeen-year-old little scoundrel. He might not be the sharpest knife
that you would find in your mum's cutlery drawer, but at least he was bloody
decent. "You have to pay a fee to get into the National Gallery. I wager
that for each one of us we already have to pay three shillings."
Pete shook his head. "No, we don't! Believe me, we can get in for free
today!"
"Have you been slipping booze in your cuppa without telling us?!"
Higgins asked. "And without sharing any with us?!" he added, sounding
sincerely troubled by that.
"I'm not drunk or anything. I'm just saying that the gallery is opening
its door to the public today. I remember reading it on posters." He turned
away and looked at the walls behind us, scanning the many layers of plastered
announcements for an example. "There. You see?" He stripped off the
lose corner of a welted pamphlet and showed us a wet, yellow poster with large,
dark print underneath. It read:
Introduction to the great
Italian collection:
London National Gallery
Open to public
Friday the seventh and
Saturday the eight
April 1881
Which meant pretty much the same as: Access free of payment, at least when
properly dressed.
"It's not a bad idea, right?" Pete asked, glancing around in the
group for support. "We could go there and try to earn this month's rent
for Mr Collins."
"Right, a social gathering of London's fat-cats and hot-nobs, with plenty
a crowd to mingle in, which is possibly a safe-haven from the cruel hands of
law as well." Mused Bradbury.
"Pete, you're bloody brilliant!" I uttered, and I couldn't keep
myself from ruffling my hand through the lad's hair.
"It's nothing really." Pete blushed. Looking down he scuffled with
his feet.
Bradbury tilted his glasses while a broad grin spread over his face.
"Gentlemen! We urgently need to pay a visit to our dear lady Doll,
methinks!"
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