“I heard you were in want of a boy, sir,” said the baker, who carried himself as in the presence of a superior; and certainly fine clothes and a gold chain and ring did what they could to make the draper superior to the baker.
“Hm!” said Mr. Maidstone, looking with contempt at Clare.
“I rather liked the look of this poor boy, and ventured to bring him on approval,” continued the baker timidly. “He ain’t much to look at, I confess!”
“Hm!” said the draper again. “He don’t look promising!”
“He don’t. But I think he means performing,” said the baker, with a wan smile.
“Donnow, I’m sure! If he ’appened to wash his face, I could tell better!”
Clare thought he had washed it pretty well that morning because of his cut, though he had, to be sure, done it without soap, and had been at rather dirty work since!
“He says he’s been too hungry to wash his face,” answered the baker.
“Didn’t ’ave his ’ot water in time, I suppose!—Will you answer for him, Mr. Ball?”
“I can’t, Mr. Maidstone—not one way or another. I simply was taken with him. I know nothing about him.”