"Yes. See," and Neddy pointed to a distant patch of glistening sand, which looked oozy and damp and treacherous. "Quicksands, miss."
Claudia stared and shivered. "What a nasty-looking place."
"Aye, and it is nasty, too, miss. Folks have told me again and again how other folk have, been swallowed up yonder."
"There should be a sign that it is dangerous."
"There was a sign," chuckled Neddy, "but it was swallowed up also, if you or me got in there," he added, fixing his innocent blue eyes on the gleaming expanse, "we'd go down to hell."
"Don't talk like that, you horrid little boy."
"I'm not little, though I may be horrid, miss. I'm grown up, I am, and next week I sing at the Tit-Bits, Music-Hall. 'Sally in our Alley's' what I'm going to sing. The chap as teaches me says I'll make a hit. It's good pay, too, miss, I do say. But there"--Neddy's face fell--"I've got to hand over the dibs to my blessed mother."
"Why do you speak of your mother in that way?"
"Well, I can't call her my cussed mother, can I miss?"
Claudia laughed, and then became grave to rebuke him. "You are a wicked boy to talk of your mother in that way. It is just as well that she should get your salary. You are too young to know the value of money."