"Oh, Uncle," said he, as his uncle was going to turn the corner to pursue the road to Bristol, "look at those jellies!" pointing to a confectioner's shop; "I must buy some of those good things; for I have got some half-pence in my pocket."
"Your having half-pence in your pocket is an excellent reason for eating," said Mr. Gresham, smiling.
"But I really am hungry," said Hal; "you know, Uncle, it is a good while since breakfast."
His uncle, who was desirous to see his nephews act without restraint, that he might judge of their characters, bid them do as they pleased.
"Come, then, Ben, if you've any half-pence in your pocket."
"I'm not hungry," said Ben.
"I suppose that means that you've no half-pence," said Hal, laughing, with the look of superiority which he had been taught to think the rich might assume towards those who were convicted either of poverty or economy.
"Waste not, want not," said Ben to himself. Contrary to his cousin's surmise, he happened to have two pennyworth of half-pence actually in his pocket.
At the very moment Hal stepped into the pastry-cook's shop, a poor industrious man, with a wooden leg, who usually sweeps the dirty corner of the walk which turns at this spot to the Wells, held his hat to Ben, who, after glancing his eye at the petitioner's well-worn broom, instantly produced his two-pence. "I wish I had more half-pence for you, my good man," said he; "but I've only two-pence."
Hal came out of Mr. Millar's, the confectioner's shop, with a hatful of cakes in his hand.