“And I shall miss you. It’s nice to be missed by somebody.”
“I shall miss yer ‘cause you’ve been my prickcaution.”
“I?”
“Yas, you. You’ve been my prickcaution against my darter, Grace. She’s thought better o’ me since we’ve been friends. And then——”
“I’m glad she’s thought better of you. And then, what?”
“Well, you kep me informed as to ‘er nights out, so I could h’escape.”
Peter regarded his friend in surprise. “Escape! But she wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Not h’intendin’ to, Master Peter; not h’intendin’ to. It’s me feelin’s h’I refer to. You don’t know darters. ‘Ow should yer?—She thinks I drink, like all the rest of ‘em ‘cept you. On ‘er nights h’out she brings ‘er blooming Salvaition Band to this ‘ere corner, h’aimin’ at my con-wersion. It’s woundin’ and ‘umiliatin’, Master Peter, for a pa as don’t need no conwersion. She makes me blush all through, and that makes things wuss for a man wi’ a red compleckshon. So yer see, you wuz my prickcaution.”
“But you don’t drink, Mr. Grace, do you?”
“No more ‘an will wash me mouf out same as a ‘orse. It’s cruel ‘ard to be suspickted o’ wot yer don’t do.”