"You're a sharp lad," he guffawed. "D'ye want a job?"
"No," was the short reply. "I want something to eat."
"Dash my buttons, an' you're a likely sort of kid to get it, too. In you go. I'll pay the bill. Lord lumme, it'll do me good to see you."
"Mr. Judd, are you mad?" demanded his neighbor, whose breath had returned to him.
"Not a bit of it. The bloomin' kid can't get through a bob's worth if he bursts himself. 'Ere, I'll bet you two bob 'e pays up."
"Done! Walk in, sir. Wot'll you be pleased to 'ave, sir?"
Philip's indignation at the restaurant keeper's sarcasm yielded to his wish to see him annihilated later in the day. Moreover, the sausages really smelt excellently, and he was now ravenous. He entered the shop, and gave his orders with a quiet dignity that astounded the proprietor and hugely delighted the greengrocer, who, in the intervals of business, kept peeping at him through the window. Philip ate steadily, and the bill amounted to ninepence, which his ally paid cheerfully.
The boy held out his hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Judd," he said, frankly. "I will return without fail. I will not insult you by offering more than the amount you have advanced for me, but some day I may be able to render you good service in repayment."
Then he walked off toward the viaduct steps, and Mr. Judd looked after him.