“Never mind,” said Bobbie, “we’ll see what ’appens.”
“I’ve never stole nothin’,” urged Nineteen, after a pause.
“You’re all right.” With some awkwardness.
“I’ve never had a copper even speak to me.”
“You’re as right as ninepence. There’s lots of cheps worse than you.”
“I’ve got to ’ave port wine and jellies,” remarked Nineteen after a pause.
“Some of you get all the luck,” said Bobbie. At which Nineteen dozed off contentedly.
When, later in the morning, the tall young Sister came up to Bobbie’s cot and introduced herself, he permitted her to talk for some time, and watched her quiet, attractive face. Dressed in her plain gown, she looked, the boy thought, perfect, and he touched the white hand that rested on the coverlet of his bed with shy respect. Sister Margaret talked of his accident; chatted about the other numbers of the ward. Leaving him for a moment to give white-faced Nineteen a kiss, she was called back by Bobbie.
“I say, Miss.”
“Well, Twenty.”