Three Brothers by Peter Ackroyd Page A

found himself enjoying the company of this good-looking young man, and was in fact exhilarated at the thought of his being a petty criminal. “How long,” he asked him, “have you been doing—”
    “The thieving? Ever since I was that high. I’m a natural, aren’t I? It’s my calling. I get to travel. I’m my own boss. I don’t pay no tax.”
    “Have you ever been caught?”
    “Caught? Caught? Can you catch a firefly? You can catch fleas, I know, but not with your hands you can’t. No more can they catch me. You ask too many questions, under graduate .” He laughed, and put his arm around Daniel’s shoulders, causing him a shock of pleasure. “You’ve got to be hard. Hard and smart. And quick . These mods aren’t hard. They’re all flannel. You’re a Londoner, aren’t you?”
    “Camden.”
    “Why is a London boy doing literature, then?”
    “I just like it.”
    “Can you write good English?”
    “I hope so.”
    “Let’s go in here.” Sparkler took his arm from Daniel’s shoulders, and led him into another pub. “Two of your very finest pints, landlord,” he said as he went up to the bar. “I feel a terrible thirst coming on me. Makes me see red.”
    “Pints of what exactly?”
    “Two pints of Bulmer’s best. My young friend here insists on the best. Now then, gentlemen. I have a pack of cards about me somewhere.”
    “No betting allowed,” the landlord said.
    “No bets. No bets. Just a bit of harmless fun.” Then he performed a card trick, to the delight of the locals, before retiring with the two glasses to a corner of the pub where Daniel was sitting. “Keep them happy,” he said. “And then they don’t ask questions. They accept you. So you can write good English, can you?”
    “Yes. I can.”
    “I have a load of stories to tell, don’t I? You can write them down for me. How many pockets can a pickpocket pick before he pips Sparkler? I’ll give you something in return.” He winked at him, and then stretched his legs beneath the table. Daniel’s mouth went dry, and with trembling hand he raised his glass and drank from it. “This is what we’ll call it. The Sparkler Papers.”
    “It has a ring to it.” Daniel was still thoroughly bewildered by the events of the evening. Why had this good-looking stranger taken such an interest in him? Had they really met by accident or coincidence?
    “I’ll tell you about the time when I met a very kind lady. She took care of me when I was broke. She looked after me. One day you may meet her. When you come up to London.Have you got a pen on you?” Then he wrote down a telephone number. “Ring me the week before. Then I can give you my address.” He leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “You can suck my cock.” So began Daniel’s “transcription” of The Sparkler Papers.
    Whenever Daniel went up to London, he told Stanley Askisson that he was visiting his father. In truth he had forgotten all about his family. It was something from which he had escaped. So in the vacations, instead of returning to Camden, he resumed his job at the university library. He was allowed to stay in his college rooms, too. Except for his one day a month in London with Sparkler, he devoted his time to work among books.
    Daniel and Stanley stood outside the examination schools, where their finals were to be held. Daniel had not been able to sleep the previous night. He was filled with such alarm that he was sick that morning, retching violently into the hand basin in his bedroom. The world spun about him. Only when he had washed and dressed did he regain some semblance of ordinary life. Outside the building he dug his hands deep into his pockets to keep them from shaking. Stanley was smoking a Players cigarette, and was making nervous jokes about running out of ink.
    Three months later the results were published. Daniel had obtained a first-class, and Stanley a second-class, degree.
    “Now I see things from the point of view of failure,” Stanley