"My boy! my boy!" she murmured.
"Mother," said Jeremiah, "you're rumpling my collar, and you wrote to me to make myself nice."
"And you do look nice, my pet," said Mrs. Pamflett, taking off his shiny belltopper, and blowing away a speck of dust. "How much did you give for this new hat?"
"Six-and-six, in Drury Lane. Don't press your hand over it like that; you're rubbing the dust into it. I gave fifteenpence for the necktie and tenpence for this white handkerchief, and two-and-nine for the shirt. Then there's the boots and socks and a new walking-stick. And I had to get shaved."
"Did you, Jeremiah, did you!" exclaimed the proud mother, passing her hand over his remarkably smooth chin, guiltless as yet of the remotest indication of hair. "My boy's growing quite a man!"
"Altogether, with my fare down here, I've spent one pound six, and you only sent me a sovereign. I had to borrow the six shillings, and I shall have to pay it back the moment I get to London."
With a nod and a smile Mrs. Pamflett produced her purse, and handed six shillings to her son, upon receiving which Jeremiah hugged her, and winked, as it were inwardly to himself, over her shoulder.
"Another shilling, mother, for luck; now don't be mean. You haven't got any more sons; don't begrudge your only one!"
The appeal was irresistible, and Jeremiah received another shilling, which he greeted with a repetition of the hug and the wink.
"And now, mother, what is it all about? What's the little game? I'm going to make my fortune, am I? Well, I'm willing."