The lady in the scarlet blouse regarded him with eyes of wonder. Mr. Dodson, however, still retained his self-possession in the presence of an unknowingness that transcended all that had previously come within his purview.
“He comes of a rather good family,” said Mr. Dodson in an eloquent aside to the lady in the scarlet blouse.
“Oh, does he?” said the lady in the scarlet blouse, opening her lazy eyes a little wider—“a gilt mug.”
“What silver have you got about you, Luney?” said Mr. Dodson.
This request was sufficiently intelligible to the boy to cause him to produce a collection of silver pieces which his father insisted on his carrying about with him. Mr. Dodson selected five shillings in a leisurely and impartial manner.
“I’ll make it a dollar,” he said, “and mind, my son, that you don’t forget to ask me for it. I’ve got such a weak memory for small things that one of these days I shall forget to attend my own funeral.”
Upon this utterance, which the boy was fain to consider as very remarkable, Mr. Dodson disbursed the sum of one shilling and sixpence to the lady in the scarlet blouse, and at the same time took the opportunity of transferring a dahlia, which approximated to the size of a small cauliflower, from his own person to the ample bosom of this already sufficiently gorgeous creature.
“So long, Chrissie,” he said. “See you at the Tivoli at a quarter to nine.”
With a great air, which the lesser luminaries of his circle were apt to interpret as swagger, Mr. Dodson made for the door.
“Come on, Luney,” said he, “let me take you back to your governess.”