“But it’s no use lookin’ at them any longer,” continued Elsie, with a sigh, as she took hold of Freddie’s hand to lead him away. “It’s no use lookin’ at ’em any longer; the likes of us can’t expect to have such good things as them.”
This remark served to recall Frankie and Charley to the stern realities of life, and turning reluctantly away from the window they prepared to follow Elsie, but Freddie had not yet learnt the lesson—he had not lived long enough to understand that the good things of the world were not for the likes of him; so when Elsie attempted to draw him away he pursed up his underlip and began to cry, repeating that he wanted a gee-gee. The other children clustered round trying to coax and comfort him by telling him that no one was allowed to have anything out of the windows yet—until Christmas—and that Santa Claus would be sure to bring him a gee-gee then; but these arguments failed to make any impression on Freddie, who tearfully insisted upon being supplied at once.
Whilst they were thus occupied they caught sight of Barrington, whom they hailed with evident pleasure born of the recollection of certain gifts of pennies and cakes they had at different times received from him.
“Hello, Mr Barrington,” said the two boys in a breath.
“Hello,” replied Barrington, as he patted the baby’s cheek. “What’s the matter here? What’s Freddie crying for?”
“He wants that there ’orse, mister, the one with the real “air on,” said Charley, smiling indulgently like a grown-up person who realized the absurdity of the demand.
“Fweddie want gee-gee,” repeated the child, taking hold of Barrington’s hand and returning to the window. “Nice gee-gee.”
“Tell him that Santa Claus’ll bring it to him on Christmas,” whispered Elsie. “P’raps he’ll believe you and that’ll satisfy him, and he’s sure to forget all about it in a little while.”
“Are you still out of work, Mr Barrington?” inquired Frankie.
“No,” replied Barrington slowly. “I’ve got something to do at last.”