“I don’t know,” says Jo, staring moodily at the veil, “nothink about no papers. I don’t know nothink about nothink at all.”
When Guster, Mr. Snagsby’s servant, got him some food, she said:
“Are you hungry?”
“Jist!” says Jo.
“What’s gone of your father and your mother, eh?”
Jo stops in the middle of a bite, and looks petrified. For this orphan charge of the Christian saint whose shrine was at Tooting, has patted him on the shoulder; and it is the first time in his life that any decent hand had been so laid upon him.
“I never know’d nothink about ’em,” says Jo.
“No more didn’t I of mine,” cries Guster.
When Allan Woodcourt took him to Mr. George’s and had his wants attended to, he told Jo to be sure and tell him the truth always.
“Wishermaydie, if I don’t,” said Jo. “I never was in no other trouble at all, sir—’cept knowin’ nothink and starvation.”