“Wery good, sir, that’s your business, not mine. I wos inwited here, an’ here I am. Now, wot ’ave you got to say to me?—that’s the p’int.”
“Can you read and write?” resumed the doctor.
“Cern’ly not,” replied the boy, with the air of one who had been insulted; “wot d’you take me for? D’you think I’m a genius as can read an’ write without ’avin’ bin taught or d’you think I’m a monster as wos born readin’ an’ writin’? I’ve ’ad no school to go to nor nobody to putt me there.”
“I thought the School Board looked after such as you.”
“So they does, sir; but I’ve been too many for the school-boarders.”
“Then it’s your own fault that you’ve not been taught?” said the doctor, somewhat severely.
“Not at all,” returned the urchin, with quiet assurance. “It’s the dooty o’ the school-boarders to ketch me, an’ they can’t ketch me. That’s not my fault. It’s my superiority.”
My friend looked at the little creature before him with much surprise. After a few seconds’ contemplation and thought, he continued— “Well, Slidder, as my friend here says you are a good sort of boy, I am bound to believe him, though appearances are somewhat against you. Now, I am in want of a smart boy at present, to attend to the hall-door, show patients into my consulting-room, run messages—in short, make himself generally useful about the house. How would such a situation suit you?”
“W’y, doctor,” said the boy, ignoring the question, “how could any boy attend on your ’all-door w’en it’s burnt to hashes?”
“We will manage to have another door,” replied Dr McTougall, with a forbearing smile; “meanwhile you could practise on the door of this house.—But that is not answering my question, boy. How would you like the place? You’d have light work, a good salary, pleasant society below stairs, and a blue uniform. In short, I’d make a page-in-buttons of you.”