“I tell you you haven’t lorst it,” said Harry. “Don’t you remember giving it to that red-’aired woman with a baby?”
“Wot?” said the astounded Mr. Dodds.
“You give it to ’er an’ told ’er to buy the baby a bun with it,” continued the veracious Mr. Pilchard.
“Told ’er to buy the baby a bun with it?” repeated Mr. Dodds in a dazed voice. “Told ’er to—— Wot did you let me do it for? Wot was all you chaps standin’ by an’ doin’ to let me go an’ do it for?”
“We did arsk you not to,” said Steve, joining in the conversation.
Mr. Dodds finding language utterly useless to express his burning thoughts, sat down and madly smashed at the table with his fists.
“Wot was you a-doin’ to let me do it?” he demanded at length of the boy. “You ungrateful little toad. You can give me that ’arf-suvrin back, d’ye hear?”
“I can’t,” said the boy. “I followed your example, and give it to the red-’aired woman to buy the baby another bun with.”
There was a buzzing noise in Mr. Dodds’ head, and the bunks and their grinning occupants went round and round.
“’Ere, ’old up, Sam,” said Pilchard, shaking him in alarm. “It’s all right; don’t be a fool. I’ve got the money.”