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"The man as said 'e knew w'ere my farver was," said Dickie, remembering what he had been told to say; "so I went along of 'im, an' then in the wood 'e said 'e'd give me a dressing down if I didn't get through the winder and open the door; 'e said 'e'd left some tools 'ere and you wouldn't let 'im 'ave them." "You see," said the lady, "the child didn't know. He's perfectly innocent."
Then she put him into the soft, warm bed that was like a giant's pillow, tucked him up and kissed him. Dickie put thin arms round her neck. "I do like you," he said, "but I want farver." "Where is he? No, you must tell me that in the morning. Drink up this milk" she had it ready in a glass that sparkled in a pattern "and then go sound asleep. Everything will be all right, dear."
"Now I tell you what, you get 'old of some more old sofy legs and a stone and a strap to sharpen my knife with. And there we are. Twenty-four shillings a week for a chap an' 'is nipper ain't so dusty, farver, is it? I've thought it all up and settled it all out.
"But if you've got silver you oughtn't to be begging," said the lady, shutting up her purse. Beale frowned. "It only pawns for a shilling," said Dickie, "and farver knows what store I sets by it."
Well, you're bloomin' well wrong, Maffewson, me lad. My farver 'ad a bout every Saturday arternoon and kep' it up all day a Sund'y, 'e did an' in the werry las' bout 'e ever 'ad 'e bashed 'is ole woman's 'ead in wiv' a bottle." "And was hanged?" inquired Dam politely and innocently, but most tactlessly. "Mind yer own b business," roared Corporal Prag.
I'll read you a poem she wrote when I get you up at the house. She wrote it in school and took the first prize for poetry with it. I tell you they don't make 'em any smarter'n that girl, Mr. Farver. Yes, sir; take us all round, we're a pretty happy family; yes, sir.
Now comin' right down TO it, Mr. Farver, wouldn't you rather live here in this town than in Munich? I know you got more enterprise up there than the part of the old country I saw, and I know YOU'RE a live business man and you're associated with others like you, but when it comes to LIVIN' in a place, wouldn't you heap rather be here than over there?" "For me," said Herr Favre, "no.
"And here we are," said Mr. Beale, stopping in a side-street at an open door from which yellow light streamed welcomingly. "Now mind you don't contradict anything wot I say to people. And don't you forget you're my nipper, and you got to call me daddy." "I'll call you farver," said Dickie. "I got a daddy of my own, you know." "Why," said Mr. Beale, stopping suddenly, "you said he was dead."
And us not able even to get a bit of black for her." Dickie sniffed. "Poor little man!" said the lady; "you miss your mother, don't you?" "Yuss," said Dickie sadly; "but farver, 'e's very good to me. I couldn't get on if it wasn't for farver." "Oh, well done, little 'un!" said Mr. Beale to himself.
So they went back to the Gravesend lodging-house. Next day Mr. Beale produced the lonely leg of a sofa mahogany, a fat round turned leg, old and seasoned. "This what you want?" he asked. Dickie took it eagerly. "I do wonder if I can," he said. "I feel just exactly like as if I could. I say, farver, let's get out in the woods somewheres quiet and take our grub along.
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