"No," said Dickie. "Oh, no—no, I never."
"Well, you come alonger me. I ain't 'it yer, have I, like what yer aunt do? I give yer a ride in a pleasure boat, only you went to sleep, and I give you a tea fit for a hemperor. Ain't I?"
"You 'ave that," said Dickie.
"Well, that'll show you the sort of man I am. So now I make you a fair offer. You come longer me, and be my little un, and I'll be your daddy, and a better dad, I lay, nor if I'd been born so. What do you say, matey?"
The man's manner was so kind and hearty, the whole adventure was so wonderful and new . . .
"Is it country where you going?" said Dickie, looking at the green hedge.
"All the way, pretty near," said the man. "We'll tramp it, taking it easy, all round the coast, where gents go for their outings. They've always got a bit to spare then. I lay you'll get some colour in them cheeks o' yours. They're like putty now. Come, now. What you say? Is it a bargain?"
"It's very kind of you," said Dickie, "but what call you got to do it? It'll cost a lot—my victuals, I mean. What call you got to do it?"
The man scratched his head and hesitated. Then he looked up at the sky and then down at the road—they were resting on a heap of stones.
At last he said, "You're a sharp lad, you are—bloomin' sharp. Well, I won't deceive you, matey. I want company. Tramping alone
