After he had turned the corner of the street, as above mentioned, Bobby trotted on for a short space, and then, coming to a full stop, executed a few steps of the minstrel dance, at the end of which he brought his foot down with tremendous emphasis on the pavement, and said—
“Yes, I’ve bin an’ done it. I know’d I was game for a good deal, but I did not think I was up to that. One never knows wot ’e’s fit for till ’e tries. Wot’ll Hetty think, I wonder?”
What Hetty thought he soon found out, for he overtook her on the Thames embankment on her way home. Bobby was fond of that route, though a little out of his way, because he loved the running water, though it was muddy, and the sight of steamers and barges.
“Well, Bobby,” she said, laying her hand on his shoulder, “where have you been?”
“To see old Swallow’d-the-poker, Hetty.”
“What took you there?” asked the girl in surprise.
“My legs. You don’t suppose I’ve set up my carriage yet, do you?”
“Come, you know what I mean.”
“Vell, then, I went because I was sent for, an’ wot d’ye think? the old gen’l’man hoffered me the sitivation of under-gardener!”
“You don’t say so! Oh! Bobby, what a lucky boy—an’ what a kind gentleman! Tell me all about it now,” said Hetty, pressing her hand more tenderly on her brother’s shoulder. “What wages is he to give you?”