“Charing Cross,—you idiot.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the man, with a broad grin, touching his hat and bestowing a wink on a passing policeman as he mounted the box.
On their way to the station the good lady put out her head and shouted “Stop!”
The maligned man obeyed.
“Stay here, Lilly, with the baby.—Jump out, little Bones. Come with me.”
She took the child’s bonnet off and flung it under the cab, then grasped Tottie’s hand and led her into a shop.
“A hat,” demanded the lady of the shopwoman.
“What kind of hat, ma’am?”
“Any kind,” replied Miss Stivergill, “suitable for this child—only see that it’s not a doll’s hat. Let it fit her.”
The shopwoman produced a head-dress, which Tottie afterwards described as a billycock ’at with a feather in it. The purchaser paid for it, thrust it firmly on the child’s head, and returned to the cab.