"Stop a minute, Eddy. Lizzie is a cat. She don't like you neither. Wouldn't it be fun to give this letter to paw?"
"Urn," reflected Eddy, "Lizzie pinched you. I won't have anybody pinching you, y'know. I'm going to marry you when I grow up. Serve Jimmy Sarkies right, too," he added, suddenly brightening up--"awful sneak. Yes, leave it on your paw's table, and say nothing. I'm off now, only ten minutes left."
"Look here, Eddy."
"Oh, bother! what's it now?"
"Only this. I might like to marry some one else, you know, when I grow up. Ta--ta." She blew a kiss at him, and was gone.
Eddy thrust his hands into his pockets and looked moodily after her. Suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. "It's Billy Bunder," he said, striking his clenched fist into his open palm--"only wait till I catch him----"
Clang, clang, went the school bell. The recess was over.
CHAPTER VII.
[DUNGAREE'S BELT.]
Digby Street, so named after a former governor of the presidency, is not more than three miles from the tabernacle. Probably in no part of the world does vice cover itself with so hideous a garb as here. An atmosphere of evil hangs over the dingy houses, packed closely to each other, whose inhabitants follow nameless occupations. When the night comes the street lamps shine on strange scenes. In the day all is silent as the grave. At the corner of the street is a small house. A faded sign-board, with the words "Hotel Metropole" in yellow letters on a blue field, explains its character. The landlord is a Parsee, or fire-worshipper, who has added an English word to his Eastern name, and is known to his customers, and to the police, as Kavasji Pain-killer. Mine host stands at the open entrance to his house. A misshapen figure, with dull eyes and bloated features, he reminds one of the strange bird-eating spiders of the forests of the East and West Indies.