“Vell, that depends. Mostly anywheres.”
“Got any father?”
“No, sir, I hain’t; nor yet no mother—never had no fathers nor mothers, as I knows on, an’ wot’s more, I don’t want any. They’re a chancey lot, is fathers an’ mothers—most of ’em. Better without ’em altogether, to my mind. Tother foot, sir.”
Looking down with a benignant smile at this independent specimen of humanity, the captain obeyed orders.
“D’ee make much at this work now, my lad?” asked the captain.
“Not wery much, sir. Just about enough to keep soul an’ body together, an’ not always that. It was on’y last veek as I was starvin’ to that extent that my soul very nigh broke out an’ made his escape, but the doctor he got ’old of it by the tail an’ ’eld on till ’e indooced it to stay on a bit longer. There you are, sir; might shave in ’em!”
“How much to pay?”
“Vell, gen’lemen usually gives me a penny, but that’s in or’nary cases. Ven I has to shine boots like a pair o’ ships’ boats I looks for suthin’ hextra—though I don’t always get it!”
“There you are, my lad,” said the captain, giving the boy something “hextra,” which appeared to satisfy him. Thereafter he proceeded to the Bridge, and, embarking on one of the river steamers, was soon deposited at Pimlico. Thence, traversing St. George’s Square, he soon found himself in the little street in which dwelt the Misses Seaward. He looked about him for some minutes and then entered a green-grocer’s shop, crushing his hat against the top of the door-way.
Wishing the green-grocer good-morning he asked if lodgings were to be had in that neighbourhood.