“Coz that’s where they’ll land yer. That’s where they’ll put yer shore. They’ll ave the cops there roight on the quay wytin for yer, and they’ll put yer ahverboard in the little dinghy, they wull: they wahn’t thrah yer bundle arter ye, anforwhoy? acause yer arn’t got none. But they’ll send one of th’ orficers and ee’ll and yer ahver ter th’ cops, and ee’ll sye: ‘ee’s been very vilent’--that’s what ee’ll sye; that’s what they said wiv the larst un; and they clapped th’ darbies on _im_ ... saw em meself,” continued the boy most untruthfully. Then not knowing his man and going a step too far, he continued: “Ee was ung, ee was: ung in Lewes Gaol,” he ended, to give the story point and finish. The poor pedantry of maps does not weigh upon the governing classes of this country, and Demaine might have had some difficulty in answering in an examination exactly where Parham lay, but he knew that it was on the south coast, he knew one reached it easily in an hour or two from London, because he had gone to golf there. He knew that there was a good motor track between the harbour and Highcliff, and altogether Parham sounded to him like an echo from now forgotten, dearer, and long dead days. He affected indifference. “Well,” he said, “it’s all the same to me.” “Ah,” said the boy, not ready to relinquish the delicious morsel, “sah yer sye! Ut wahn’t be th’ syme tomorrermornin’.” “Do you mean,” said George, with--what might seem in such a man impossible--a touch of cunning lent him by adversity, “Do you mean that this old tub can make Parham in twenty-four hours?” “I dunno bout arhs,” said the boy surlily, “an’ she’s norr a tub either” (for they have a curious loyalty to their temporary homes), “but it’s a dy’s run. Any fool knahs that,” he added courteously. George dared not betray the hope that was rising in his heart. Luckily for him the boy volunteered his next information. “We’re orf Long Nahse now,” he said, “but I dunno bout th’ toide outsoide.” “No?” said George, merely desiring to prolong this all-important conversation. “Nah: I dahn’t, I tell yer!” said the boy defiantly, “nor there’s norr many does. I’ll lye yer dahn’t yerself.” At this stage of the conversation and just as an awkward pause interrupted it, a new terror struck the boy. “Oh chise me!” he said, “look at yer tin!” “What’s the matter?” asked George as he peered into the empty tin. “It’s gorn empty,” whimpered the boy. “Well,” said George, his spirits already improved by the news of Parham, “what of it?” “Whoy,” said the unhappy scullion, “Whoy, yer cuddenever empty that tin--they’ll foind me aht!” he said, and began to sniffle. “Wort are yer to empty it wiv, yer fool? Yer eyn’t got a spoon!” “Say I licked it,” said George with attempted humour.