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Fiction. © Copyright 2000, Jim Loy
The day was the anniversary of the birth of my friend Sherlock Holmes, a fact which, of course, was of no importance to him. I stood at the window, watching passersby whose intertwining paths weaved an intricate but incomprehensible tapestry. My reverie was interrupted when I noticed a young chimney sweep (he was attired in filthy black clothes and bent top hat) searching the house numbers. "There is a filthy young man," I said to myself.
Holmes had overheard me, "Now Watson, one must not be judgmental." I began to object that the "filth" of which I spoke was entirely external, when I saw that Holmes was smiling and that there was an obvious twinkle in his eye. "I apologize, Watson, for the joke at your expense. I know that you are among the least judgmental of all men." Of course, he exaggerated, for there is much in this world of which I disapprove.
We then heard an insistent ringing of the doorbell. Then we heard Mrs. Hudson exclaim, "Here now, you can't come in here in that condition!" There was the thunder of a person bounding up the stairway two or three steps at a time. The chimney sweep barged in and closed the door behind him, as if the hounds of hell were pursuing him. Black soot fell from him onto the carpet. Mrs. Hudson, who was the aforementioned "hounds," opened the door and said in the loudest voice that I have ever heard from the woman, "Mr. Holmes! I must object!"
Holmes attempted to soothe her, "My apologies, Mrs. Hudson. I am sure that the fee that I will charge our client here..." He gestured toward the young man who visibly started at the word "fee." Holmes continued, "...Will more than pay for the cleaning of your carpet..." Then he added, "... perhaps even a new carpet."
Mrs. Hudson, although still obviously distressed, left without a word.
Our "client" was about to sit in the chair that was reserved for such interviews, when Holmes said, "Perhaps you should remain standing, unless you intend to add the cleaning of furniture to your growing list of expenses."
I must remind the reader that chimney sweeps do not make enough money to live on, let alone to clean carpets and furniture. Our visitor spoke for the first time in our presence, apologizing profusely in a rapid and extremely raucous Cockney which was hardly comprehensible. My writing talents, of which I am normally rather proud, cannot possibly convey the effect of the boy's speech. Suffice it to say, our ears were assaulted with a hodge podge of "cor blimeys" and "guvnors" and other familiar and less familiar Cockneyisms.
Holmes burst into laughter. He laughed long enough that he had to wipe tears from his eyes. He turned to me, "Watson, what do you make of our friend here?"
"Besides the fact that he is a chimney sweep, I can deduce nothing."
Holmes shook his head, "Come now Watson, I am sure that you mean to say, 'besides the fact that he pretends to be a chimney sweep.'" Holmes waved aside my gasp of incredulity and our visitor's vocal protestations. Holmes continued, "Clearly the boy is Cockney. But the accent and language are unnaturally exaggerated. And the soot on his face and hands has been applied like stage makeup. It probably is makeup. And besides, beneath that layer of 'soot,' I recognize the face of our friend Jimmy Wiggins of our own Baker Street Irregulars."
Wiggins humbly admitted the fraud, this time in his much more understandable version of Cockney.
Holmes interrupted him, "That much was obvious from the start. But, I wondered why you would perpetrate this charade, Wiggins. Could it have something to do with the fact that today is my birthday, a fact that only Watson seems to find important. So, I deduce that Watson has put you up to this crime against Mrs. Hudson's carpets, as some kind of 'birthday present'."
I hung my head, only now realizing that my attempted gift was only a disaster. I had only wanted to give Holmes a puzzle to solve.
Holmes said quietly, and surprisingly emotionally, "Thank you, Watson. This has been the best birthday of my entire life."