"What meeting?"
"Methodist, Sir."
"Where?"
"At No. 13 King Street," said the boy, without a moment's hesitation.
"You young jackass," said Davis. "No. 13 King Street, and all the numbers near it in Blackwall, are warehouses--what's the use of trying to humbug me?"
"Who's a-tryin' to humbug you?" whimpered the boy. "I don't remember the numbers. It's somewhere in King Street. I never go myself."
"You don't, don't you?"
"No, Sir."
"Now, see here, my boy," said Davis, sternly, "I know you. You can't come it over me. You've got into a nice mess, you have. You've got mixed in with a conspiracy, and the law's goin' to take hold of you at once unless you make a clean breast of it."
"Oh Lord!" cried the boy. "Stop that. What am I a-doin' of?"