“Well, most likely it was in the court where you live.”
“You can take your davy of that,” replied the boy; “there’s plenty of ’im there.”
“Have you had it?”
“In corse I ’ave. I say, ’ave yer seen the old gal about?”
“Your mother? No. Why?”
“On’y she’s a-missin’, that’s all; but there, she allers turns up, she does, and wipes me to-rights, too.”
“She was nearly killing you the night we saw you,” said I.
“’Taint no concern of yourn. Shine ’e boots, sir? ’ere yer are, sir. Not that bloke, sir. Do yer ’ear? Shine ’e boots, mister?”
This last spirited call was addressed to an elderly gentleman who was passing. He yielded eventually to the youth’s solicitation, and I therefore resumed my walk to the office with a good deal more to think of than I had when I started.
If I had desired to make a sensation at Hawk Street, I could hardly have done better than turn up that morning as usual. It was a picture to see the fellows’ faces of alarm, bewilderment, astonishment, and finally of merriment.