Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very, very long.
Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, taps and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string.
“If I don't have everything just where I know where to look for it, why, then, I can't find anything when I do want it. You've no idea, sir, the amount of little things that these chambers uses up,” said Mr. Beeton.
Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: “It's hard on you, sir, I do think it's hard on you. Ain't you going to do anything, sir?”
“I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that enough?”
“I wasn't doubting for a moment that you couldn't pay your way, sir; but I 'ave often said to my wife, 'It's 'ard on 'im because it isn't as if he was an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, but quite a young gentleman. That's where it comes so 'ard.'”
“I suppose so,” said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long battering had ceased to feel—much.
“I was thinking,” continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, “that you might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he's only nine.”
“I should be very grateful,” said Dick. “Only let me make it worth his while.”
“We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands; but only to 'ear Alf sing 'A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!' Ah!”