“I hope you are comfortable, my little man; but perhaps you’ve forgot your message.”
“I have no message, sir, for I know no one: and I am not comfortable, for I am starving,” replied Joey, in a tremulous voice.
“Are you in earnest now, when you say that, boy; or is it that you’re humbugging me?”
Joey shook his head. “I have eaten nothing since the day before yesterday morning, and I feel faint and sick,” replied he at last.
His new companion looked earnestly in our hero’s face, and was satisfied that what he said was true.
“As I hope to be saved,” exclaimed he, “it’s my opinion that a little bread and butter would not be a bad thing for you. Here,” continued he, putting his hand into his coat-pocket, “take these coppers, and go and get some thing into your little vitals.”
“Thank you, sir, thank you, kindly. But I don’t know where to go: I only came up to London two days ago.”
“Then follow me as fast as your little pins can carry you,” said the other. They had not far to go, for a man was standing close to Spring-garden-gate with hot tea and bread and butter, and in a few moments Joey’s hunger was considerably appeased.
“Do you feel better now, my little cock?”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”