“What! Don’t you remember Trumps?”
“No, I don’t remember Trumps, an’, wot’s more, I don’t b’lieve from the look of ’im that any of Trumps’s family or friends wants to remember ’im.”
The possibility that the boy might remember Trumps was not so unlikely after all, for, being of a highly social disposition, Tommy was pretty well acquainted with, and known to, nearly all the thieves and pickpockets of the locality. Indeed he would certainly have been one of themselves but for garret-garden influences.
“Well, Tommy,” said the thief confidentially, “I remember you, an’ I wants a little conversation with you.”
“No, you don’t” returned the boy, retreating; “you wants my wipe, or puss, or ticker, you do—or suthin’ o’ that sort—but you’ve come to the wrong shop, you have.”
“But really, Tommy, I’ve got summat to say to ’ee about your noo friend from Scotland, David Laidlaw.”
“How d’ee know he’s my friend?” asked Tommy, becoming suddenly interested.
“’Cause I’ve seen you jawin’ with ’im; an’ I’ve seen you go up together to visit chimney-pot Liz an’ Susy; an’—”
“Oh! you knows chimley-pot Liz an’ Susy, do ye? But of course you does. Everybody as knows anythink knows them.”
“Ay, lad, an’ I knows lawyer Lockhart too,” said Trumps, with a peculiar look; “him that owns the ’ouses ’ereabouts, an’ draws the rents—”