“Bad company’s the ruin of all boys,” continued Esau, laughing at me. “Look at Mr Gordon’s ear, and that mark on his face.”
“Oh, my dear,” cried Mrs Dean, “my eyes were so dim, I didn’t see. Is it very bad?”
“’Course you couldn’t see,” cried Esau, “if you keep on crying. Why you ought to laugh for joy to think Mr Gordon and me’s got out of bad company, and left old Dempster for good.”
“I am glad, my dear, if it’s for your good, I’m sure. Let me give you a hot baked potato, Mr Gordon, my dear. But Esau has been going on in the wildest way—says he shall start across the sea to some dreadful place.”
“That I didn’t, mother; I said it was a lovely place. There you are, master. Mr Esau Dean, may I have the pleasure of helping you to some poy?”
“He says he shall be an emigrant, my dear, and shall go and build himself a house in the woods.”
“Well,” said Esau, helping himself quickly, “there’s no room here in London to build one, and if there was the people wouldn’t let me have the ground.”
“And it’s all madness, and wild as wild.”
“Well, you might give your poor son, who has just escaped outer prison, a hot potato,” said Esau, grinning at me again.
“Oh, my dear, I beg your pardon. There, let me help you. That’s a beauty.”