“Some do, some don’t. What I say is, Are you going to or not?”
“What does it cost?” I said.
“Threepence breakfast and threepence supper,” said Mrs Nash.
I longed to ask her what was included in the bill of fare for these meals, but was too bashful.
“I think,” said I, “I had better have them, then.”
“All right,” said she, shortly. “Can’t have breakfast to-day; too late! Supper’s at nine, and lock-up at ten, there. Now you’d better cut, or you’ll be late at work.”
Yes, indeed! It would be no joke to be late my first morning.
“Please,” said I, “can you tell me the way to Hawk Street?”
“Where’s that?” said Mrs Nash. “I don’t know. Follow the tram lines when you get out of the square, they’ll take you to the City, and then—”
At this moment a youth appeared in the passage about my age with a hat on one side of his head, a cane in his hand, and a pipe, the bowl as big as an egg-cup, in his mouth.