“I say, look here, Mrs Nash,” said he, in a sleepy sort of voice; “why wasn’t I called this morning?”
“So you was,” said Mrs Nash.
“No, I wasn’t,” drawled the youth.
“That’s what you say,” observed the landlady. “I say you was; I called you myself.”
“Then you ought to have knocked louder. How do you suppose a fellow who was out at a party overnight is to hear you unless you knock hard? I shall be late at the office, all through you.”
Mrs Nash said “Shut up!” and the youth said “Shan’t shut up!” and Mrs Nash inquired why, if he was late, he did not go off instead of dawdling about there, like a gentleman?
This taunt seemed to incense the youth, who put his nose in the air and walked out without another word.
“There,” said Mrs Nash, pointing to his retreating form, “you’d best follow him; he’s going to the City, the beauty.”
I took the hint, and keeping “the beauty” at a respectful distance, followed in his lordly wake for about twenty minutes, until the rapidly-crowding streets told me I was in the City. Then, uncertain how to direct my steps, I quickened my pace and overtook him.
“Please can you tell me the way to Hawk Street?”