When they were out of sight he stole back. “Uncle! Uncle! What can I do? Tell me.”
“They’re after me. I’ve nowhere to sleep. I just want to see my kids and Jehane before they get me. That’s why I’ve come.”
“They shan’t get you,” said Peter firmly.
“Oh, but they will. I once said, ‘They shan’t get me’; but when you’re cold and hungry——”
“You stop there. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Peter ran down the Crescent. It was he and Uncle Waffles against the world; but there was one man who might help—a man who wasn’t good enough to be hard and judging. Peter looked ahead as he ran, shaping his plan. Yes, there he was, dropping the reins on his horse’s back from driving his last fare.
Peter tugged at his arm as Mr. Grace heaved himself down from the seat to the pavement.
“None O’ that, me boy, or I’ll tear yer bloomin’ tripes h’out—— Oh, beg parding; h’it’s you, Master Peter.”
“I want to speak to you, Mr. Grace, somewhere where we can’t be seen or heard.”
“Yer do, do yer? Wot abart the pub?”