"What? Sunday-school all the week! No, thank you—I've had enough of school, and I shouldn't have thought you London chaps would have thought so much of it as to go week-day and Sunday too. I want to see what London's like when my work is done, not pen myself up—"
"Oh, but we don't pen ourselves up," interrupted his new friend. "We meet at the schoolroom twice a week and play at draughts or chess, and then the other evenings there are classes for writing, and reading, and arithmetic, and—"
"Oh, I've had enough of that too," said Tom, in a rather contemptuous tone. "I want to go about and see things. I could play draughts in the country."
"To be sure you could," chimed in another lad at this point. He had been walking with them, but had not spoken before. "Bob is so gone on Sunday-schools, that he is afraid to have a game for fear his teacher should hear of it; ain't you, now?" he said, appealing to his companion for confirmation of this.
"I don't care about pitch-and-toss, that you and Simmons think so much of," admitted Bob.
"There! I told you so. He won't play at pitch-and-toss because it's a bit lively."
"No, it ain't that. I like lively games as much as you do, but that is too much like betting, and I promised I wouldn't bet or—"
"What is betting, then?" asked Tom.
"Don't you know? Just come up Fleet Street, and you shall see."
"We haven't got time," put in Bob. "We shall catch it if we're late, you know."