"Certainly you may keep the half-crown, dear," he assented. "It is one of the privileges of your age to accept presents. Now run along into the other room, and I will come in and fetch you presently."
The child held out his hand once more to Mr. Bomford.
"It is exceedingly kind of you to give me this, sir," he said. "I can assure you that the drawing block will be a great pleasure to me."
He withdrew with a little nod and a smile. Mr. Bomford watched him pass into the inner room, with his mouth open.
"God bless my soul, Burton!" he exclaimed. "What an extraordinary child!"
Burton laughed, a little hoarsely.
"A few weeks ago," he said, "that boy was running about the streets with greased hair, a butcher's curl, a soiled velveteen suit, a filthy lace collar, dirty hands, torn stockings, playing disreputable games with all the urchins of the neighborhood. He murdered the Queen's English every time he spoke, and spent his pennies on things you suck. His mother threw two of the beans I had procured with great difficulty for them both into the street. He picked one up and ate it—a wretched habit of his. You see the result."
Mr. Bomford sat quite still and breathed several times before he spoke.
It was a sign with him of most intense emotion.
"Mr. Burton," he declared, "if this is true, that child is even a greater testimony to the efficacy of your—your beans, than you yourself."
"There is no doubt," Burton agreed, "that the change is even greater."