“Oh! sir,” said Jack, stepping forward, “we’re so glad to meet you. We’re looking for a little boy called Billy, who lives in this court, who generally comes to our ragged school, but wasn’t there this evening. He’s a shoeblack. Do you know where he lives?”
“I wish I could tell you,” said the clergyman, “but this is my first visit here. Where is your school?”
“Oh, it’s not properly a school, but Billy and sometimes one or two others come to our lodgings, and learn to write and read. He has never missed before. That’s what makes me fear something is wrong.”
At that moment the object of our search stood before us, with his usual grin wider than ever.
“What cheer, blokes?” was his greeting. “Oh, ’ere, governor, I reckon you’re a-goin’ to turn me up ’cos I wasn’t at the racket school. But my old gal, she’s a-missin’. She’s always a-skylarkin’ somewheres, she is, and I was a-lookin’ for her.”
“Have you found her?” asked Jack, whose pleasure at finding his young protégé was unconcealed.
“Found ’er! No; but I knows where she is.”
“Where?”
“In the station, for smashin’ winders. Ain’t she a wonner?”
“My poor boy!” said the clergyman, sympathisingly.