that we're going to have a feast up at the hotel."
"I suppose they'll let us in, mama, now that there's a—a man along." His voice quavered, and he looked as if it was Ms most bitter burden that he could not protect his mama from all the impositous heartlessness of this world and the next. As they went out of the shop, he reeled smartly into a barrel of tangerines.
"Jack," said Beauling, "I want exercise, and I'm going to pick you up and carry you."
"Don't trouble, Mr. Beauling," said Jack; "I can manage it."
Three steps were conviction that he could not "Mr. Beauling," he said, "I'll bet you a shilling you c-can't carry me."
"I'll bet you I can," said Beauling. He lifted the child, still grasping the "David Copperfield"—a long, transparent finger marking the place—and the child, keeling over with fatigue and the heat, fainted in his arms. Beauling fell to mothering the mother and the child.
