'Don't be down in the mug, Bladergrass. We'll see if it can't be done some'ow.'
What a hero Tom was in her eyes!
'O, Tom,' she cried, 'if I could be a flower-gal--if I could! I've seen 'em at the Royal Igschange'--she was pretty well acquainted with that locality by this time--'and don't they look prime!' She twined her fingers together nervously. 'They've all got clean faces and nice dresses. O, 'ow 'appy they must be!'
'And they make lots o' money,' said Tom.
'Do they! O, don't I wish I was them!'
'And they go to theaytres.'
'Do they! O, don't I wish I could go to the theaytre!'
'There's Poll Buttons. Why, two year ago, Bladergrass, she was raggeder nor you. And now she comes out--she does come out, I can tell yer! She sells flowers at the Royal Igschange, and she looks as 'appy--as 'appy'--Tom's figures of speech and similes were invariably failures--'as 'appy as can be. Why, I see her the other night at the Standard, and she was in the pit. There was a feller with her a-suckin' a stick. Didn't she look proud! And I 'eerd Bill Britton say as how he saw her at 'Ighbury Barn last Sunday with another feller a-suckin' a stick.'
'Do all the swells suck sticks, Tom?' asked Blade-o'-Grass innocently.
'All the real tip-toppers do,' answered Tom.