"Ha ha ha!" The boys stumbled from the rough hewn doorway out onto the chipped grey bricks of the street. They were both dressed in a manner that was instantly out of place for their humble surroundings, yet was often seen emerging from those particular quarters. The sandy haired youth in the blue waistcoat with brass buttons - that was threatening to abandon its owner's shoulders entirely at any moment - took a long swig from a brown glass bottle, gave a whoop, and threw it to the ground smashing it on the pave stones.
"Aw Jet! You didn't leave none for me!" The golden haired one whined.
"Then go give the man your glasses for another case."
"But I need those to read!" the golden haired one protested.
"Oh, like you do a good deal of that!" Jet replied. "Artie the scholar: the reader of great books and doer of fantastic deeds! Go get us another case." Arthur took the glasses from his inside pocket and looked hesitantly at them. Just then he cocked his head.
"Do you hear that music?" Arthur asked. Jet stopped tugging at his morning coat to listen.
"Nah, you're hearin' things you daft fool." Jet waved an arm in dismissal and turned to head down the street.
"I am not, hear! It's getting louder." Arthur exclaimed grabbing Jet's sleeve.
"Oy you're right!" Jet stopped to listen. "Blimey! It's gawdawful! What in the world is making that racket!" The boys followed the bright cacophony down a side alley to a wooden fence. Jet was the first to reach it and hoisted himself up to see over. At the end of the street he saw a crowd walking down toward the market. The blue-trimmed red banner with the great yellow star in the center being hoisted by the marchers in navy blue uniforms - some playing tambourines and tubas, even an accordion (each according to his own "talents" Jet laughed to himself) - were unmistakable. As were the crowd of dingy looking men behind them hoisting up their own darkly grinning banner as well as a few dead rats on sticks that, even from this distance, appeared quite ripe. Arthur arrived at his side. "Artie, it's the Salvationists! Let's see if we can't have a little fun." Jet lifted himself over the barrier and ran towards the street, followed closely by his friend.
They reached the square only slightly ahead of the Salvationists. One of the men set up a large drum and began to beat it while the others gathered about a man who appeared to be the leader. He was a tall dark haired man with a great imperial mustache. The man stood in front of the gathering crowd and stretched his arms wide "My good people -" he began.
"Good my foot!" came the a voice from the back. Jet and Arthur turned to see a stocky mill worker tossing an egg up and down in his hand. The speaker had not even glanced to acknowledge the man - a slight which infuriated the millworker.
"The Lord has promised-"
"You can shove those promises where the sun don't shine!" the man threw the egg with great force at the speaker. His aim was true; a large splotch of blue paint stained the speaker's left cheek. Still the speaker persisted. The crowd pressed in closer to the Salvationists as more objects and curses flew. From the back of the crowd crude songs were sung in mockery of those common to the Salvationists. Jet picked up a wad of dirt "C'mon!" he waved Arthur to follow him into the throng. The two weaved through the crowd until they found themselves, unexpectedly, on the other side with the Salvationists. Jet grabbed a hold of Arthur's arm and pulled him low,
"Get down!" he hissed, a tomato whizzed above Arthur's head.
"Good catch, mate!" Arthur replied. Jet scanned the group for a proper target. There, not too far from him, stood a stocky woman.
"Oy Artie! How much you bet I can nail that plump biddy over there?" He pointed to the woman.
"Two shillings."
"Only two?! At this distance it's worth at least a pound."
"Well, she's not exactly a small target, nor a moving one. Five shillings, take it or leave it."
"Five it is then." Jet and Arthur shook hands briefly to seal the wager. Jet took aim and threw, striking the woman squarely on the side of her bonnet with a clod of dirt which disintegrated on impact. Her head snapped to face the direction the missile had come. Her eyes narrowed at the boys who were doubling over in laughter. She spun on her heel and strode confidently toward them.
"Five shillings!" Arthur slapped the money into Jet's hand.
"Thanks, mate. Pleasure doing business with you." Jet shook his partner in crime's hand.
"Oh ho! You're in trouble now - she's heading straight for us." Jet looked up to see the woman approaching them, her rounded features were fixed in a hard glare.
"She's bold, that one." Jet remarked sidewise to Arthur.
"Well, I suppose we will just have to teach her some proper manners." Arthur replied with a twisted smile, that lecherous look shining from his green eyes. The woman stopped short in front of the boys.
"I am sorry to tell you, but I believe I have ruined your clod of dirt. You see, it came flying so quickly in my direction, rather unannounced, that I had no chance to save it from its dismal fate. I offer you its remains." With that, she dusted off her hands in front of the boys, stuck up her nose, and turned to walk away in the opposite direction. Arthur's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist tightly, turning her. She pulled to get away from his grasp but, slight as he was, Arthur was powerful.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?" he sneered.
"If you would kindly unhand me, then you shall know by observation." Arthur pulled her in to face him - she was almost pressed against his chest and his coat lapel brushed against her, quivering dangerously. Now he had drawn himself to his full height. Crouched, as he and Jet had been, the woman had likely mistaken them for older boys, she saw her error now. Arthur stood a full head above her and Jet - who circled her - only a few inches below that.
"My she is a bold one." Jet whispered in an oily tone like a snake hissing into her ear.
"I wonder, are you one of those reformed whores we keep hearing so much about?" The woman strained against his hold but the vise of his grip only tightened.
"Let me be 'sir', before I forget my manners." This was an empty threat and Arthur knew it, he easily had the upper hand.
"I believe my dear friend and I would like nothing better than if you did." Jet replied, his hand brushed the hem of her dress. The woman turned her eyes to the sky.
"My Lord will protect me wherever I go. He is my help and my strength. He will not abandon me!" Arthur looked left and right, then squarely into those eyes which still shone bravely.
"My dear, it appears he already has." With his other arm Arthur clutched her to his body tightly, his hand ran up and down the length of her body and he let out a stuttered sigh. "Jet, catch!" He flung the woman backwards into Jet's open arms. Jet grasped her tightly, her face was white, her eyes looking up just as bold and brassy as ever, but in his arms he felt her body fluttering with terror, like that of a baby bird.
"Alright, let's see what kind of woman we have here." Arthur proclaimed as his hand slithered up her dress to her thigh.
"No!" Jet exclaimed, turning his body round to protect the woman.
"Oh ho! What's this now? Is she not good enough for you? C'mon lad - we've plowed many a fallower field." Jet found himself scrambling for an answer, but one presented itself in the errant body of a rat, flung slightly too far off from the main crowd.
"There are too many people here, if we were spotted engaging in such... sport... with a woman such as her it could cause a scandal." Arthur paused to ponder this argument.
"Well one more wouldn't hurt." Arthur eagerly made to undo himself.
"No." Jet repeated in a more authoritative tone and indicated with his head to the crowd in the center of the square which had now become a rather violent mob. Arthur took in the scene for a moment, sighed heavily, and did himself back up.
"I suppose it is beneath my dignity." He turned to face the scene with his hands on his hips as Jet released the woman. She had only gone a step when Arthur's hand painfully seized hers and yanked her to face him again. Jet's heart froze. "And you - " he sneered, "learn some manners!" He sent her sprawling into a pile of manure and spat in her direction. Jet and Arthur watched as she picked herself up and walked back to her people, wobbling slightly, but still with dignity. "What a frigid little slut." he remarked to Jet as she rejoined her people. Arthur looked to him, "Well come on, you owe me." and with that the two exited the market square as the Constable arrived to break up the scene.