“What cheer!” said he, feebly but cheerily. “I are got a dose off that there Mashing! He do give yer toppers!”
“Come, hush, Billy!” said Jack, pleasantly; “didn’t I tell you not to talk?”
“Yaas,” said the boy, relapsing abruptly into silence.
His mother, as we rather anticipated, did not put in an appearance. My uncle did, and, after ascertaining that all was going on well, went off, leaving, greatly to my astonishment and not a little to my gratification, a sovereign in my hand as he said good-bye.
There was something kindly about my uncle, after all!
Leaving Mr Smith in charge, Jack and I went down to the office that morning with lighter hearts than we had expected to have.
Crow was waiting for us outside the office, with an anxious face.
“I say,” said he, as he came up, and not heeding Jack’s wrathful looks, “is it true what I hear, that that boy was killed last night?”
“Who told you so?” demanded Jack.
“I heard it from Daly. And Masham has bolted. Is it true, then?”