“Certainly, my boy,” said Bob, at once submitting himself to the operator, although, his boots having already been well “shined,” the operation was an obvious absurdity.
The boy must have felt something of this, for, when finished, he looked up at his employer with a comical expression. Bob looked at him sternly.
“They were about as bright before you began on ’em,” he said.
“They was, sir,” admitted the boy, candidly.
“How much?” demanded the old street boy. “On’y one ha’penny, sir,” replied the young street boy, “but ven the day’s fine, an’ the boots don’t want much shinin’, we gin’rally expecs a penny. Gen’l’min ’ave bin known to go the length of tuppence.”
Bob pulled out half-a-crown and offered it.
The boy grinned, but did not attempt to take it.
“Why don’t you take it, my boy?”
“You don’t mean it, do you?” asked the boy, as the grin faded and the eyes opened.
“Yes, I do. Here, catch. I was once like you. Christ and Canada have made me what you see. Here is a little book that will tell you more about that.”