He flicked the black ash from the fag end in the manner of one five times his age.
“’Opping!” he said.
“You’re a liar!” retorted the small girl, sharply.
“Ho!” said the boy. “Shows what you know about it.”
“No, but,” she said, admiringly, “’ave you though, straight?”
“I’ve bin at Yaldin’,” he said, with immeasurable importance,—“at Yaldin’ down in Kent for ite days. Me and another chap.”
“Bin ’ome?” asked the girl, with interest.
“Not yet,” he said. “When I do I shall ’ave to take a drop of something in for the old gel. I went off wifout letting her know and I expect she’s been wonderin’ what’s become of me.”
“Then if you ain’t bin ’ome,” said the little girl, breathlessly, “p’raps you don’t—”
A strong voice called from a doorway.