“If you please,” I interposed, “it’s only tu’pence. I can’t take more; aunt said so!”
“Bless ’is ’eart, that’s so,” said the big woman. “Is th’ sure th’ won’t eat a waarm crumpet, little Priddy, lad?”
I had to refuse again, and clutching the two pennies, I ran exultantly down the road toward home, where aunt was sitting near the very tiny light that a very tiny piece of coal was giving in the big fireplace. With one penny I purchased a warm loaf and with the other I bought some golden treacle, and that night there was not a lord in England whose supper had the taste to it that mine had.
Two days after that, when we were once more without food in the house, and when I had had but a scant breakfast, I met a rough-garbed boy not much older than myself, a homeless waif, known and condemned by the name of “Work ’Ouse Teddy.” This day that I met him, he performed his usual feat of wriggling his fingers on his nose, a horrible, silent, swear gesture, and called out to me, “Hey, Fishy, got a cockle on your nose?”
“No,” I replied, being secretly afraid of him, “I’ve not. I’m hungry. I haven’t had any dinner.”
“Aw, yer got chunks of money, you have, I knows. Don’t taffy me like that or I’ll squeege yer nose in my thumbs, blast me, I will!” and he made a horrible contortion of his face to frighten me.
“I am hungry!” I protested. “We are poor now, Teddy.”
Then I told him all our story, as well as I could, and when I told him about selling the kindling, he laughed and said, “Blow me, you codger! You oughter get your meals like I gets um. Say, now, blokey, wot you say to—well, let’s see,” and he mused awhile.
Then, “Well, say, wot would yer say to ’taters in gravy, some meat-pie, cold, and a drink of coffee?”
“Oh,” I gasped, “that would be rich.” Then Teddy winked, a broad, meaningful wink. “I’m yer Daddy, then,” and after that, “make a cross over yer ’eart, and say, ‘Kill me, skin me, Lord Almighty, if I tell!’” and when I had so sworn, he explained, “Now yer won’t let on where I keep things, so come on, blokey, I’m yer Daddy!” and he laughed as merrily as if he did not have to sleep out like a lost sheep of society or to dodge the police, who were ever on his tracks trying to get him put back into the workhouse.