Patter, patter, splash, splash, drip, drip, fell the rain on the housetops, down the waterspouts, and along the narrow streets of the New South Wales capital. A dismal evening to be abroad; the fierce wind playing antic tricks with the people returning home from work, by driving the rain full in their faces, turning their umbrellas inside out, and compelling many to seek temporary shelter beneath verandahs and the projecting gables of high buildings.
The tempest of wind and rain didn’t appear to trouble a small, dirty-looking urchin who had taken up his quarters in a sheltered nook at the corner of one of the main thoroughfares of the city, and where he crouched, watching the vehicles, with their gleaming lamps, dash onward through the mud and wet. The poor child’s clothes would have suited a warmer temperature than the keen wind and rain; but he indulged in an occasional short run beneath the portico to keep his blood in circulation. It was while taking his trot to and fro that the boy’s attention was attracted by the stoppage of an omnibus, which drew close up to the curb to allow an old gentleman to alight therefrom. He was a portly old fellow, buttoned up in a portly overcoat, and he carried a portly umbrella. The boy noted this by the light of the gas lamp as the passenger went by him, and he also noted a small dark object lying on the wet pavement, not a yard away, that was not there before.
“Hallo! What’s this? A pocket-book with money in it. That gentleman who passed has lost it. Hi, sir, hi!” And away ran the urchin in pursuit of the elderly gentleman. The little fellow overtook him, after a good chase against the pelting rain, which soaked his thin garments through and through. “I say, sir, hi!”
“Be off, boy! I never give to beggars,” said the old gentleman, turning round upon the lad briskly.
“I ain’t a beggar,” answered the little fellow with spirit. “I ran after you to know if yer lost anything just now.”
“Lost! lost! not a——I say, by Jove! you—you don’t mean to——why, if it is not gone, and I would not lose it for——”
The actions of the portly gentleman were somewhat singular. He first passed his hand hastily over the breast of his buttoned-up coat, then he threw down his open umbrella on the pavement—which the wind carried away in a moment—tore open his clothing violently, and dived into the recesses of a capacious inner pocket. Then he began a frenzied sort of war-dance in front of the boy. “I had it in my hand not ten minutes since,” he cried excitedly; “and I can swear to it before the Mayor and all the J. P.’s in the colony. Mark that.”
“Mark what, sir?”
“Why, I have told you—haven’t I? My pocket-book, full of——Ah! I see you have found it, my good, honest lad,” he went on, altering his tone, and recovering his composure as the child held out the bloated purse to its owner. “Full of documents, boy; of no use to anybody but me. Thank you for restoring it.”
He snatched at the recovered treasure, and hastily unfastened the clasp to see if any of its contents had been disturbed, revealing to the youth some of the documents, which appeared marvellously like bank-notes, and a good many of them.
“It’s all right, my little man. Stop! What is your name?”
“Eddy Wilkinson, sir.”
“Eddy Wilkinson, eh? Where d’ye live, boy? Where’s your father and mother?”
“Father’s dead; and we live in Baker’s Court, Redfern,” answered Eddy, turning to depart.
“Stay one moment. I like to encourage honesty. Honesty is the best policy, eh?” cried the old gentleman, fumbling in his vest pocket. “Here is sixpence for you, and to-morrow, if you call at the office of Balam Bros., Woolbrokers, York Street, I will consider about a further reward. Now run off home out of the wet.”
“It’s very mean of him, so it is, only to give me sixpence for finding such a lot of money,” muttered Eddy, as he trotted homeward through the storm. “Well, well, I must not grumble; sixpences are sixpences these ’ere times—so mother says. But what a thin, battered old coin it is!” he cried, holding it up beneath the glare of a gas lamp. “I believe it’s a bad one!” and the boy closed his sharp teeth on it the next moment.
“Oh dear! Oh!” shrieked a voice, which seemed to issue out of Eddy’s own mouth. The poor child dropped the coin instantly, and ran for his life; but he soon recovered from his surprise, and returned to where the sixpence lay on the shining flag in the full light of the street lamp.
“Surely it wasn’t you who cried out just now?” said Eddy, apostrophising it.
“Yes, it was, and you have hurt me very much, biting me in such a savage way,” replied the crooked sixpence reprovingly. “Here have I been rudely tossed and hustled from pouch to pocket, and hand to hand, to try and serve you, and you show your gratitude by saying I’m bad. For shame, Eddy Wilkinson.”
“Indeed, I’m very sorry, ma’am,” rejoined Eddy, astonished and trembling all over at the strange incident.
“I’m not of the feminine gender, Eddy. Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ please.”
“Very well, sir,” apologised the boy.
“That’s worse; I’m not a gentleman.”
“What are you, then?” asked the lad, in an impatient tone.
“Neither one nor the other, yet I’m a little of both. If you turn me on this side, I’m a man; roll me over, and I’m a woman. Still I’m incongruous, and only a sixpence,” replied the coin.
“You’re very thin, and worn, and of no earthly use to anybody, I think,” said Eddy boldly, “except the banks, who are taking worn-out customers like you.”
“I shall prove very useful to you, Eddy, so don’t insult me. On me, thin as I am, you will build a stupendous fortune.”
“Oh, let us be joyful!” cried Eddy, shaking the rain from his rags.
“And when you grow to be a man, and are elected Mayor of this city,” added the sixpence, “you will wear me on your watchchain as a relic, to remind you of your first advanced step in life.”
“You old humbug! I’ve a good mind to pick you up and spend you at the confectioner’s over the way,” answered Eddy, laughing.
“They won’t have smooth money there,” rejoined the coin. “Take my advice, and put me in your pocket out of the wet. As you said just now, I’m very thin, and I can’t stand the rain.”
“What shall I do with you then?”
“Put me by in that old teapot in the cupboard at home until you get another of my race to keep me company,” answered the voice of the crooked sixpence earnestly. “Remember, boy, a penny saved is a penny gained, for it is by such small beginnings that people have amassed fortunes to benefit humanity, and by saving pennies and sixpences, little boys who have no fathers to work for them have been enabled to assist their widowed mothers and to make their home comfortable and happy.”
“That is quite true. I’m sure, I often wish I could keep my mother, who is always working,” answered the child in a sad tone.
“Your wish will be gratified, Eddy, if you only take my advice,” said the voice, in the same resolute accent. “You are ten years old, and you ought to begin to earn money. The gentleman whose purse you restored wants an office boy. When he sees you to-morrow he will employ you, because the prompt manner in which you returned his pocket-book has made a good impression on him. Be careful to maintain and strengthen that effort by being trustworthy, honest, and truthful; above all, never forget the old teapot in the cupboard, where I shall be ready to welcome every new-comer placed therein.”
“I’m so glad I’m going to work to help mother, and I’ll not forget what you have said to me,” replied the boy.
“I am fully aware of it, Eddy Wilkinson,” responded the voice modestly. “I have seen a great deal of human nature in my travels, and I have noted that people—both old and young—rarely forget what I say to them. You must know that I never came out of the Mint. I was born of a good old fairy family on the Queensland border. From my childhood I hated Money, and was constantly railing against it and its evil influences, until our chief, Fen, transformed me into a sixpence as a penalty for my abuse of Mammon. In less than a month I went from the dainty purse of the Governor’s lady to the dirty fob of a sweep. Once I was the only coin in the pocket of a poor solitary swagman travelling in the bush, who was attacked by a robber and foully murdered; but had you seen the murderer’s face after rifling my master’s pouch, and to find only me, you would have said, as I did, that crime brings its own punishment. Again, a very proud man dropped me on the pavement, and disdaining to stoop for me, there I lay for hours trampled by the crowd passing up and down. A poor, despairing, wretch, without a home, without a friend—without even the smallest means of procuring a meal—hurried with feverish haste through the by-ways of this great city, to end his life and his misery in the river; but he discovered me in his path. Weary and faint with long fasting, I supplied him with food and a night’s lodging. With the return of day came other thoughts and fresh resolves, and so the man was saved the awful act of self-destruction, and lived to bless the old crooked sixpence.”
And so did little Eddy Wilkinson, my dear children. The firm of “Balam Brothers & Wilkinson” is one of the most sound and thriving concerns in the colonies. The junior partner has just been elected to the civic chair of Sydney, and when he dies he intends to bequeath the crooked sixpence to the Museum.