“This is where it lies,” pursued his companion, holding out a very dirty hand dramatically in front of him. “You comes, as it might be, to me and you says, ‘I want a sitivation.’ Then I says, ‘Where’s yer carikter?’ Then you says, ‘I ’ain’t got one.’ Then I says, ‘Out yer go.’”
Having thus placed the situation in a nutshell, as it were, he put his hands in his pockets and observed Frank covertly out of the corners of his eyes. Seeing how crestfallen he looked, the tramp presently spoke again.
“Now, in my line of bizness it’s not so important a carikter isn’t. I might very likely look over it in takin’ a pal if he asked me. In course it would be a favour; but still I might look over it.”
“Do you want a pal?” asked Frank, pushed to extremity.
“Well, I don’t, not to say want a pal,” replied the tramp, “but I don’t mind stretching a pint in your case if you like to jine.”
The blue eyes and the glittering black ones met for an instant.
“I’ll jine yer,” said Frank with a sigh.
The tramp held out his long-fingered brown hand.
“Shake hands,” he said. “The terms is, halves all we git.”
The bargain concluded, he informed Frank that his name was Barney, and further introduced him to the mice, called respectively Jumbo, Alice, and Lord Beaconsfield.