At this point the boy’s nose told him of a most delicious smell which pervaded the air. He stood still for a moment and sniffed eagerly.
“Ah, ain’t it prime? I’ve jist ’ad some,” said another much smaller and very ragged street-boy who had noticed the sniff.
“What ever is it?” demanded Stumpy.
“Pea-soup,” answered the other.
“Where?”
“Right round the corner. Look alive, they’re shovellin’ it out like one o’clock for fard’ns!”
Our hero waited for no more. He dashed round the corner, and found a place where the Salvation Army was dispensing farthing and halfpenny breakfasts to a crowd of the hungriest and raggedest creatures he had ever seen, though his personal experience of London destitution was extensive.
“Here you are,” said a smiling damsel in a poke bonnet. “I see you’re in a hurry; how much do you want?”
“’Ow much for a fard’n?” asked Stumpy, with the caution natural to a man of limited means.
A small bowl full of steaming soup was placed before him and a hunk of bread.