The girl held out her hand cautiously—the piece of gold lying upon its palm.
She sidled up to the stand, drawing Dart with her, as if glad of his protection.
"'Ello, Barney," she said. "'Ere's a gent warnts a mug o' yer best. I've 'ad a bit o' luck, an' I wants one meself."
"Garn," growled Barney. "You an' yer luck! Gent may want a mug, but y'd show yer money fust."
"Strewth! I've got it. Y' ain't got the chinge fer wot I 'ave in me 'and 'ere. 'As 'e, mister?"'
"Show it," taunted the man, and then turning to Dart. "Yer wants a mug o' cawfee?"
"Yes."
The girl held out her hand cautiously—the piece of gold lying upon its palm.