till closing-time, and then one of us will see him home. He lives in London. He says so."
Dickie had indeed murmured "words to this effect," as policemen call it when they are not quite sure what people really have said.
"Ath you like," said Mr. Rosenberg, "only you muthn't let him interfere with bithneth; thath all."
They took him away to the back of the shop. They were dear girls, and they were very nice to Dickie. They gave him grapes, and a banana, and some Marie biscuits, and they folded sacks for him to lie on.
And Dickie liked them and was grateful to them—and watched his opportunity. Because, however kind people were, there was one thing he had to do—to get back to the Gravesend lodging-house, as his "father" had told him to do.
The opportunity did not come till late in the afternoon, when one of the girls was boiling a kettle on a spirit-lamp, and one had gone out to get cakes in Dickie's honour, which made him uncomfortable, but duty is duty, and over the Gravesend lodging-house the star of duty shone and beckoned. The third young lady and Mr. Rosenberg were engaged in animated explanations with a fair young gentleman about a basket of roses that had been ordered, and had not been sent.
"Cath," Mr. Rosenberg was saying—"cath down enthureth thpeedy delivery."
And the young lady was saying, "I am extremely sorry, sir; it was a misunderstanding."
