"'Tain't no concern o' yourn; so it ain't."

"Will you be here to-morrow?"

"In corse I shall!"

"Well, I expect I'll want my boots done again to-morrow evening. Here's
a penny for this time."

The boy took the penny and held it in the palm of his hand.

"Isn't it enough?" asked Jack.

"You're 'avin' a lark with me," said the boy. "This 'ere brown--"

"What's wrong? It's a good one, isn't it?"

"Oh, ain't you funny? I don't want yer brown!" and to my amazement he
tossed the coin back.

Jack solemnly picked it up and put it back into his pocket. "Good-
night, Billy," said he. "Mind you are here to-morrow."

"No fear!" said Billy, who was once more resuming his gymnastic
exercises.

And so we left him.

My friend Smith was certainly a queer fellow. He seemed more interested
during the remainder of our walk with the little dishonest shoeblack we
had just left than with my half-candid story of my life in London during
his absence.

"Depend upon it, that's his way of making amends," said he; "there's
some good in the young scamp after all."

"It's precious hard to discover," said I. "He appears to me to be a
graceless young reprobate, who knows well enough that it's wicked to
steal, and seems rather proud of it than otherwise. I say, Jack, I'd
advise you not to have too much to do with him. He's done you harm
enough as it is."

When we returned to Beadle Square we found our amiable fellow-lodgers
evidently expecting our arrival. It was so long since I had taken
supper at Mrs Nash's that I seemed quite as much a stranger as Jack.

"Here they come," said Horncastle, who always shone on occasions like
this. "Here comes the two smallpoxes. Hold your noses, you fellows."

In this flattering manner we were received as we proceeded to seat
ourselves in our accustomed place at the table.

"They seem as cheerful and merry as ever," said Jack, solemnly, to me,
looking round him.

"I say, Jones," cried Horncastle, in an audible voice to a friend,
"wonderful how Batchelor turns up here now the other's come home! Got
to stop going out every night now, and coming home drunk at two in the
morning, eh? Going to behave now, eh? But he does go it, don't he,
when his keeper's back's turned, eh?"

All this, ridiculous as it was, was not very pleasant for me. To Jack,
however, it was highly amusing.

"I suppose they mean that for you," said he. "I feel quite flattered to
be called your keeper."

"