was cut away in front over his stomach and had two tails behind, down to
his knees. It was easy to see that he wasn't a boy, though, even if he
did wear knee breeches; you only had to look at his face, for he had the
kind of hard boniness in his face that grown-ups have. Freddie made up
his mind that he liked him, anyway; and it must have been hard to have
to stand out there all day without moving, rain or shine, and offer that
bunch of cigars to all the people who went by, and never get a single
soul to take them. Freddie put out his other hand (not the one with the
money in it) towards the cigars, but he quickly drew it back, for he
looked at the little man's face at the same time, and there was
something about his eyes--anyhow, he stood back a little.

"Better be careful o' Mr. Punch, young feller," said a deep voice from
the shop door.

Freddie looked, and in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost, with
his hands in his trousers' pockets, and one foot crossed over the
other, stood a little man, not so very much taller than himself, and
certainly no taller than the figure on the stand, who stared at Freddie
as if he knew all about human boys and did not trust them out of his
sight. Freddie looked at him and then at the wooden figure beside the
door; they might have been brothers. The little man had a hump on his
back, and his breast stuck out in front; his head was big and square,
and he had high cheek-bones; his face was bony and his mouth wide, and
his big nose curved down and his chin curved up; but he did not wear
knee breeches; his trousers were the trousers of grown-ups, and his coat
was a square coat, buttoned tight over his chest from top to bottom. He
was bareheaded, and he had plenty of hair, brushed from the top of his
head down towards his forehead. He looked as if he belonged to the
tobacco shop; or perhaps the tobacco shop belonged to him.

He stared at Freddie without blinking, and there was something in his
eyes--anyway, Freddie stepped back, and held his money tighter in his
hand behind him.

"You'd _better_ stand away from Mr. Punch," said the hunchbacked man,
without moving.

"Yes, sir," said Freddie.

"Did you say 'why'? Because you know I'm terrible deef, and can't never
hear boys when they talk down in their stomicks. I'll _tell_ you why, as
long as you ast me. Do you see that clock on the church-tower over
there?" He nodded his big wooden head up the street, without taking his
hands