"Not rightly," she admitted.
"Then don't you see how foolish it is for little girls to mix themselves in grown-up people's affairs? A policeman has to do many things in what is called the execution of his duty, For instance," continued Mr Pamphlett impressively, "sometimes he takes little girls when they're naughty, and locks them up."
"Fiddlestick!" said 'Beida with a sigh of relief. "Now I know you're gassin'. . . . Just now you frightened me with your talk of executions, which is what they do to a man when he's murdered some person: and o' course if Nicky—if Mr Nanjivell had been doin' anything o' that sort—which he hasn', o' course. . . . But when you go on pretendin' as Rat-it-all can lock me up, why then I see your game. Tryin' to frighten me, you are, because I'm small."
"If you were a child of mine," threatened Mr Pamphlett, very red in the gills, "do you know what I'd do to you?"
"No," replied 'Beida; "I can't think. . . . But I reckon 'twould be something pretty mean. Oh, I'm sick an' tired of the gentry!—if you call yourself gentry. First of all you turn Father an' Mother out to find a new home. An' then, as if that wasn' enough, you must come nosin' in after Mr Nanjivell's small savin's. . . . Gentry!" she swung round upon Builder Gilbert. "Here, Mr Gilbert, you're neither gentry nor perlice. When I tell you about Miss Charity Oliver, that calls herself a lady! What must she do but, happenin' on 'Biades— that's my younger brother, an' scarce turned four—outside o' Mrs Pengelly's, with a bit of gold money in his hand that Mr Nanjivell gave to him in a moment o' weakness,—what must she do (an' callin' herself a lady, no doubt, all the while) but palm off two bright coppers on him for a swap? . . . That's a fact," 'Beida wound up, dabbing the towel gently, but with an appearance of force, against Nicky-Nan's temple, "for I got it out o' the child's own mouth, an' work enough it was. That's your gentry!"
"Hey?" Nicky-Nan pushed her hand aside. "What's this you're tellin', now?"
"Ask him!" she answered, nodding towards Mr Pamphlett. "He knows all about it, an' 'tis no use for him to pretend he don't."
"Me give your small brother—?" began Nicky, but broke off with a groan and felt his brow again. "Oh, where's the head or tail to this? Where's the sense? . . . Give me my money—that's all I ask. Stop talkin' all of 'ee, an' fetch me what you've stole, between 'ee, an' leave me alone!"
Mr Pamphlett shifted his ground. "You're right, Nanjivell.
What's become of your money?—that's the main point, eh?"
"O' course 'tis the main point," growled Nicky. "Though I'm damned if I see how it consarns you."