“Oh, come now; that I did!” he exclaimed.
“That you did not,” I said stoutly. “Did he, Mary?”
“He meant to, Master Antony,” said Mary, looking up with a very red face, and one hand apparently in a grey boxing-glove, though it was only one of Revitts’ worsted stockings, in need of another darn.
“Well, I’ll ask you now, then,” exclaimed Revitts. “Will you come along with us?”
“When?”
“Sat’day next, being your half-holiday.”
“Yes,” I said, “but I must write and tell Miss Carr I’m not coming till Sunday.”
“That’s settled, then,” said Revitts, holding out his big hand for me to shake; and I could not help noticing how thin and soft it was; but he was fast recovering his strength, and was again on duty.
We walked down from Pentonville together, and as we went along, he introduced the subject of his accident for the first time for some weeks.
“You wouldn’t think as I’m a-trying hard to conjure out who it was fetched me that crack on the head, Antony?”