Tommy burst into a laugh at this, and Peekins, feeling somewhat relieved, smiled idiotically through his tears.
“Well now, my lad,” said Bax, leaning forward in a confidential way which quite won the affection of the tiger, and patting him on the shoulder, “I would advise you strongly to go back.”
“Oh! sir, but I can’t,” said Peekins dolefully. “I dursn’t. My life is miserable there. Mr Denham is so ’ard on me that I feels like to die every time I sees ’im. It ain’t o’ no use” (here Peekins became wildly desperate), “I won’t go back; ’cause if I do I’m sure to die slow; an’ I’d rather die quick at once and be done with it.”
Bax opened his eyes very wide at this. It revealed a state of things that he had never before imagined. Tommy Bogey puffed so large a cloud that his face was quite concealed by it, and muttered “you air a rum ’un!”
“Where d’ye stop, boy?” inquired Bax.
“In lodgin’s in Fenchurch Street.”
“D’ye owe ’em anything at the office?”
“No, nothin’; they owes me seventeen and six.”
“D’ye want it very much?”
“O no, I don’t mind that, bless ye,” said Peekins, earnestly.