“Why, what’s going to become of me?”
“What’s going to become of you, Turnip! Why, you’ll go to Cadger’s uncle. Won’t he, mate?”
The mate addressed was the piece of string, who, I should say, was by no means the latest addition to the Cadger’s collection of valuables. He now grinned and wriggled in reply to the pipe’s appeal, and snuffled,—
“That’s right, mate; that’s where he’ll go. Do you hear, Turnip? that’s where you’ll go—to Cadger’s uncle.”
It occurred to me that Cadger’s uncle would have to be vastly more respectable and fragrant than his nephew to make the change at all advantageous to me.
“Is young Cadger a thief?” I next inquired.
The pipe laughed.
“Why, what a funny chap you are, Turnip!” it said.
“Does it look like it? Cadger a thief!—oh, my eye! not at all. Eh, mate?”
The greasy string took up the laugh, and snivelled in chorus.