Mr Weech was busier now, for there were customers. But Dicky and his bulge he saw ere they were well over the threshold.
'Ah yus, Dicky,' he said, coming to meet him. 'I was expectin' you. Come in—
In the swe-e-et by an' by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shaw-er!
Come in 'ere.' And still humming his hymn, he led Dicky into the shop parlour.
Here Dicky produced the clock, which Mr Weech surveyed with no great approval. 'You'll 'ave to try an' do better than this, you know,' he said. 'But any'ow 'ere it is, sich as it is. It about clears auf wot you owe, I reckon. Want some dinner?'
This was a fact, and Dicky admitted it.
'Awright—
In the swe-e-e-t by an' by,—
come out an' set down. I'll bring you somethink 'ot.'
This proved to be a very salt bloater, a cup of the usual muddy coffee, tasting of burnt toast, and a bit of bread: afterwards supplemented by a slice of cake. This to Dicky was a banquet. Moreover, there was the adult dignity of taking your dinner in a coffee-shop, which Dicky supported indomitably now that he began to feel at ease in Mr Weech's: leaning back in his seat, swinging his feet, and looking about at the walls with the grocers' almanacks hanging thereto, and the Sunday School Anniversary bills of past date, gathered from afar to signalise the elevated morals of the establishment.