"I want to be a writer," John shyly answered.
"Well, there's no 'arm in it," Lizzie said, "But it ain't reg'lar. I believe in reg'lar work myself. Of course, there's no 'arm in bein' a writer, but you'd be much better with a tryde or a nice business, I should think. Reely!"
"Oh, yes," John murmured. "Well, I think I'll go out now!"
"Are you goin' to the Tahr, then?" "No," he answered. "No, I hadn't thought of that. I want to see Fleet Street!..."
"Fleet Street!" Lizzie exclaimed. "Wotever is there to see there."
"Oh, I don't know. I want to see it. That's all!"
"You 'ave got funny tyste. I should, 'ave thought you'd go to see the Tahr reely!..." She broke off as she observed him moving to the door. "Mind, be back at seven sharp. I 'ate the dinner kep' 'angin' about. I don't get no time to myself if people aren't punctual. Mr. 'Inde's awful, 'e is. 'E don't care about no one else, 'e don't. Comes in any time, 'e does, an' expects a 'ot dinner just the syme. Never thinks nobody else never wants to go nowhere!..."
"I'll be back in time," said John, hurrying from the room.
"Well, mind you are," she called after him.
IV