‘You wouldn’t like to be a real lady, would you, Joey?’
‘Wouldn’t I!’ said Joey, shyly but decisively.
‘What! Be a rotten West-End kid?’
Joey giggled an affirmative.
‘Wash every day?’ Another giggle.
‘Ain’t she sweet?’ murmured Prosser.
A sudden idea flashed over Joey’s face.
‘With him about?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’d be about, Joey,’ said Prosser.
Without a moment’s hesitation Joey fled through the traffic and down St. Martin’s Lane.