"Looking for a job."
"You poor child! Look, I've got to go to the Touraine. We can wash up and go up to Nan's. She said she'd be in at teatime."
"No, I'd rather not."
"You must come, Wenny. O, when will you grow up? Let's walk along, we're obstructing traffic."
"First, you must lend me fifty cents," said Wenny with a dry little laugh. "I'm most split with hunger."
"Can't you wait till we get out to Nan's? She'll have tea for us."
"No, I can't, Fanshaw, you old fool. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, or maybe it was the day before that."
"Good God! There's Dupont's opposite. Let's go up there, a horrid place, but you won't mind eating something there, will you? But Wenny, why didn't you tell me you were all out of money?"
As they climbed the stair a smell of food and baking powder filled Wenny's nostrils. He inhaled it eagerly. In the restaurant it was very stuffy, a couple of waitresses in starched aprons were sitting at tables. A grimy man in his shirtsleeves carried in a tray of freshwashed glasses in through a green baize door. As Wenny pulled off his overcoat he thought he was going to faint. Letting the coat drop to the floor he grabbed the table and lowered himself into a chair. The expression of consternation on Fanshaw's face as he picked up the coat made him laugh so that his eyes filled with tears.
"Well, what will you have? Don't eat too much, it might make you sick."