And he took up the hem of his little frock, and tried to stretch it up to her eyes to dry her tears.
And she clasped him to her heart in almost hysterical passion, and kissed him, and shook him, and danced him until he laughed. And then a sort of tacit, but well understood, compromise took place between them—that one would not cry if the other did not, that is if either could help it.
It was long past noon when the men woke from their drunken sleep.
First Red Roger tumbled up from the floor, rubbed his eyes, stared about him, yawned, and sat down on the side of the bed to steady himself.
Then he got up, and walked across the room to where Meg sat with the child. He stared at him for a few moments, while little Lenny met the stare with unquailing eyes, and Meg trembled lest the ruffian should miss the shilling from his pocket; and then, saying:
“Keep that little fellow close, mind you!” he took himself off, greatly to Meg’s relief.
Then Black Bill reared his lofty height from the boards, tottered on his feet, reeled towards the table, sat down upon it, for a few moments, to yawn and stretch his limbs, and then he went away.
These worthy gentlemen seldom breakfasted at home.
All that day, Meg had a hard time with little Lenny. The poor girl told all the stories and sung all the songs she knew, and did her best to comfort and amuse him. And the baby-boy tried his best to be a little gentleman, and to keep his promise not to cry; yet every little while, he would burst into heart-breaking sobs and tears, and cries, the burden of which was:
“I want to see Doosa! I want to see Doosa so much!”