Most boys would have gone to the backdoor, but shyness was not one of Harry’s failings.
“’Ullo!” he said; for the door opened almost on the instant he knocked, “Yer don’t take long to hopen to a chap then.”
“No,” said Squire Broadbent, smiling down on the lad; “fact is, boy, I was just going out.”
“Going for a little houting, hey? Is ’pose now you’re Johnnie’s guv’nor?”
“I think I know whom you refer to. Master Archie, isn’t it? and you’re the little London lad?”
“I don’t know nuffink about no Harchies. P’r’aps it is Harchibald. But I allers calls my friends wot they looks like. He looks like Johnnie. Kinsevently, guv’nor, he is Johnnie to me. D’ye twig?”
“I think I do,” said Squire Broadbent, laughing; “and you want to see my boy?”
“Vot I vants is this ’ere. Johnnie is a rare game un. ’Scuse me, guv’nor, but Johnnie’s got the grit in him, and I vant to say good-bye; nuffink else, guv’nor.”
Here Harry actually condescended to point a finger at his lip by way of salute, and just at the same moment Archie himself came round the corner. He looked a little put out, but his father only laughed, and he saw it was all right.
These were Harry’s last words: “Good-bye, then. You’ve got the grit in ye, Johnnie. And if hever ye vants a friend, telegraph to ’Arry Brown, Esq., of Vitechapel, ’cos ye know, Johnnie, the king may come in the cadger’s vay. Adoo. So long. Blue-lights, and hoff we goes.”