“Lor’, what a shame, to be sure! Why, you don’t seem to know nothin’.”
“Indeed I do,” I said indignantly. “I can read, and write, and cipher, and I know a little botany, and Latin, and French, and papa was teaching me the violin.”
“What, the fiddle? Well, that may be some use to you; but as for t’others, bah! I never found the want of any on ’em. How old are you?”
“Just turned eleven, sir.”
“’Leven, and bless your ’art, young un, you’re about as innocent as a baby.”
“If you please, sir, I’m very sorry.”
“Sorry? So am I. Why, up in London I’ve seen boys of ’leven as was reglar old men, and know’d a’most everything. Lookye here, young un, don’t you know as your poor guv’nor died ever so much in debt through some bank breaking?”
“I heard poor papa say that the bank had shut its doors.”
“That’s right,” said Mr Rowle, nodding. “Well, young un; and don’t you know what that means for you?”
“No, sir,” I said.