"It's silly," sobbed Dickie.
"Never you mind whether it's silly or not," said Beale. "You out with it."
"In that dream," said Dickie, "I wasn't lame."
"Think of that now," said Beale admiringly. "You best dream that every night. Then you won't mind so much of a daytime."
"But I mind more," said Dickie, sniffing hard; "much, much more."
Beale, without more words, made room for him in the crowded perambulator, and they went on. Dickie's sniffs subsided. Silence. Presently—
"I say, farver, I'm sorry I acted so silly. You never see me blub afore and you won't again," he said; and Beale said awkwardly, "That's all right, mate."
"You pretty flush?" the boy asked later on.
"Not so dusty," said the man.
"'Cause I wanter give that there little box to a chap I know wot lent me the money for the train to come to you at Gravesend."