Sir Richard’s footman backing the invitation, the boy was carried into the house accordingly, laid on the housemaid’s bed, and attended to by the cook, while the policeman went out to look after the runaways.
“Oh! what ever shall we do?” exclaimed the cook, as the boy showed symptoms of returning consciousness.
“Send for the doctor,” suggested the housemaid.
“No,” said the butler, “send for a cab, and ’ave the boy sent home. I fear that master will blame me for givin’ way to my feelin’s, and won’t thank me for bringin’ ’im in here. You know he is rather averse to the lower orders. Besides, the poor boy will be better attended to at ’ome, no doubt. I dare say you’d like to go ’ome, wouldn’t you?” he said, observing that the boy was looking at him with a rather curious expression.
“I dessay I should, if I could,” he answered, with a mingled glance of mischief and pain, “but if you’ll undertake to carry me, old cock, I’ll be ’appy to go.”
“I’ll send you in a cab, my poor boy,” returned the butler, “and git a cabman as I’m acquainted with to take care of you.”
“All right! go a’ead, ye cripples,” returned the boy, as the cook approached him with a cup of warm soup.
“Oh! ain’t it prime!” he said, opening his eyes very wide indeed, and smacking his lips. “I think I’ll go in for a smashed pin every day o’ my life for a drop o’ that stuff. Surely it must be wot they drinks in ’eaven! Have ’ee got much more o’ the same on ’and?”
“Never mind, but you drink away while you’ve got the chance,” replied the amiable cook; “there’s the cab coming, so you’ve no time to lose.”
“Vell, I am sorry I ain’t able to ’old more, an’ my pockets wont ’old it neither, bein’ the wuss for wear. Thankee, missus.”