“Would you be so kind as to look after Tommy? His father will be there to meet him. He’s got his ticket; haven’t you, Tommy? Say ‘Thank you’ to the kind young gentleman. Bye, bye; be a good boy.”
“Right forward,” sings out the guard.
“Love to daddy,” says the female.
“Stand away from the train,” shouts the porter.
And then we were off. And here was I, left alone in a carriage with a kid called Tommy, that I was to give over to a chap called daddy at Waterloo!
How would you have liked it yourself, Jossy? I was awfully disgusted. And, of course, till the train was off, I never thought of saying, “I can’t,” and then it was too late. I can tell you it’s a bit rough on a fellow to be served that way. If ever you’re going by train and see a female and a kid coming along, hop out of the carriage till you see which carriage they get into; and then go and get into another.
I made up my mind I’d leave the little cad to himself, so I started to read. At least I pretended to. Really I took a good squint at him while he wasn’t looking. He was a kid of about four and a half, I fancy, with a turnippy head and a suit of togs that must have been new, he was so jolly proud of them. He sat staring at the lamp and swinging his legs for a good bit. Then he got hold of the window-strap and fooled about with that. Then he remembered his swagger togs and looked himself all over, and stuck his hands in his pocket. He twigged me looking at him as he did so.
“I’ve got a knife,” he said, as cool as if he’d known me a couple of terms.
“Who said you hadn’t?” I responded.
“It’s in my pocket,” he said.