He stood at the corner of Parliament-street, irresolute and chapfallen.
A man looked curiously into his face.
The boy raised his head, and saw two gentlemen standing by the side of him.
One of these was Charles Peace; the other, the friend he had picked up at Sanderson’s hotel.
“Birds’ nests—eh, youngster?” cried Peace.
“Yes, sir. Do, for mercy’s sake, buy some, either eggs or nests.”
“I’m going to the theatre, my lad, and can’t be bothered with things of that sort.”
“Won’t you buy?”
“No, certainly not. Where do you hail from?”
“Broxbridge.”