“No, not to-day. Some other time; but you’re an intelligent lad.”
And with these words he walked away.
“There’s for you, the humbug!” cried Alf, as a cloud came over his face. “I might have known he was not one of the buying sort; he only stopped to amuse himself. An intelligent lad. I’m glad he said that, it’s so consoling when you’ve got empty pockets and are a shiverin’ with cold. Well, it made me forget my troubles for awhile.”
He tried to sing to keep his spirits up, but his efforts in that way were not crowned with success.
Presently a tear rolled down his cheek as he thought of the comfortable farmhouse which he had left to seek his fortune in a city where the poor may die on a doorstep unheeded and uncared for.
“I don’t think much of the London people as far as I have seen of ’em at present; I ain’t altogether in love with ’em. A poor devil like myself stands a deal better chance in the country. Nobody as I’ve met with here will offer a hungry lad bite nor sup not to save his life, and I am as hungry as Jowles’ dog—that is certain.”
He walked on to the entrance of the Lowther Arcade, in which a dense throng of persons had collected.
Two ladies were waiting for a Hammersmith omnibus. Their attention was directed towards the young birds’-nest seller. Ah!” exclaimed one, “do look at that miserable-looking boy—he’s drenched with rain, Anna Maria dear; how thankful you ought to be that you are not in his position, poor fellow!”
“He does look wretched,” said Anna Maria, who was the younger, and by far the best looking of the two, “let’s ask him what keeps him out in the rain.”
“He’s got birds’ nests to sell; don’t you see?”