“Shiny-togs—you know—the bloke with the choker.”
“I don’t know who you mean.”
“Go on!—you know ’im—’im as jaws in the church with ’is nightgown on.”
“Oh, the clergyman,” said Jack, hardly able to repress a smile. “No. I’ll take you back to your home.”
“To my old gal?”
“Yes, to your mother.”
“You ain’t a ’avin’ a lark with me, then?”
“No,” said Jack, pitifully.
With this assurance the small boy was apparently satisfied, for he pursued the conversation no longer, and shortly afterwards I fell off to sleep again.
When next I woke it was broad daylight, and Jack Smith was standing by my bed.