The little tremulous old lady was so pleased with this reply that she took half-a-crown out of her purse and put it into the boy’s hand. He looked at her in silent surprise.
“It ain’t a copper, marm!”
“I know that. It is half-a-crown, and I willingly give it you because you are an honest boy.”
“But, marm,” said Bobby, still holding out the piece of silver on his palm, “I ain’t a honest boy. I’m a thief!”
“Tut, tut, don’t talk nonsense; I don’t believe you.”
“Vel now, this beats all that I ever did come across. ’Ere’s a old ’ooman as I tells as plain as mud that I’m a thief, an’ nobody’s better able to give a opinion on that pint than myself, yet she won’t believe it!”
“No, I won’t,” said the old lady with a little nod and a smile, “so, put the money in your pocket, for you’re an honest boy.”
“Vell, it’s pleasant to ’ear that, any’ow,” returned Bobby, placing the silver coin in a vest pocket which was always kept in repair for coins of smaller value.
“Where do you live, boy? I should like to come and see you.”
“My residence, marm, ain’t a mansion in the vest-end. No, nor yet a willa in the subarbs. I’m afear’d, marm, that I live in a district that ain’t quite suitable for the likes of you to wisit. But—”