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“At last it was plain she would have to do something to get some money.

“After thinking over all the different things, she thought she would steal a baby and get money that way. So, seeing a baby lying on a seat close by, whose nurse had gone off to see a militia band marching towards Gower Street, she stole it and went off as fast as she could.

“There was a cradle hanging on to the organ, and when people saw the baby in it the wicked woman got as much money as she liked.

“My reader will have guessed by this time that the baby, which was of the feminine gender, is the heroine.

“She was really high-born.

“Her father was a retired coal merchant. He was a very little man and dropped his h’s.

“Her mother was what the vulgar would call a `whopper.’ Let not the reader think she whopped her baby or her husband. On the contrary, she was kind, but big.

“They lived at Highbury, and the nurse always took the baby out for walks before breakfast.”

It was at this point that it had suddenly flashed across me that I had left out the joke allotted to Chapter One, and as the narrative was well advanced, I ought to work up for it without delay. So I proceeded.

“We left Alicia, for that was the name of our heroine, being wheeled back on the organ to Hatton Garden. It was an unpleasant journey. The bad woman called at a lot more public-houses, and left Alicia and the organ outside in the rain.

“It was a wonder Alicia was not stolen again. She began to cry. People who came by couldn’t make out what it was, for she was hidden under the quilt, and some thought instead of an organ it must have been some strange animal.

“An organ that cried like a child would be a very queer animal, nearly as queer as an author whose tale comes out of his head; and some of the people said so.”

I was hot and tired by the time I had worked off this piece of humour, and began to wish I saw my way to the end of my twelve sheets. Two more I occupied with a picture of the organ-grinder’s quarters in Hatton Garden, and concluded with the following poetical passage:–

“Little thought the wicked Vixen as she huddled her stolen infant into a damp corner of the filthy room, how much would happen before Alicia and her poor parents next met.

“We know very little of what is going to happen, and perhaps it is a good job. At any rate it was a good job for Alicia as she lay fast asleep.

“The world is all before the little baby–It doesn’t know what’s all in store for it–If it did know, it seems to me that maybe it wouldn’t like the prospect–not a bit.

“End of Chapter One.”

Harry looked a little uncomfortable as I finished reading my chapter aloud. I concluded he felt rather out of it, and I was not surprised. For on the whole it read well, and in some respects I flattered myself it had rather a pull on Nicholas Nickleby.

Harry wisely reserved his criticisms until he had read his own chapter, which I awaited with a smile of brotherly resignation.

“You know,” explained he, before he began, “I tried to get more incident than you, that’s why I left out the scenery.”

Aha! my scenery had fetched him, then! I wondered what his incident would be like.

“Fire away!” said I.

“Her name was Sarah Vixen–[I’m beginning now]–Her name was Sarah Vixen. She was a horrid old maid. One morning she went and played her organ in Euston Square. She played `Wait till the clouds roll by,’ and `Sweethearts’ waltz’, and the `Marseillaise,’ one after the other, after which she paused and watched a tennis match which was going on in the square.