Boys -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Slums -- Fiction
When he called on Mr Aaron Weech a few hours later, that talented
tradesman, with liberal gestures, told out shillings singly in his hand,
pausing after each as though that were the last. But Josh held his hand
persistently open, till Mr Weech, having released the fifth shilling,
stopped altogether, scandalised at such rapacity. But still Josh was not
satisfied, and as he was not quite so easy a customer to manage as the
boys who commonly fenced at the shop, Mr Weech compromised, in the end,
by throwing in a cheap clock. It had been in hand for a long time; and
Josh was fain to take it, since he could get no more. And thus it was
that Dicky, coming in at about five o'clock, was astonished to see on
the mantel-piece, amid the greasy ruins of many candle ends, the clock
that had belonged to the Ropers four years before.
XV
As for Dicky, he went to school. That is to say, he turned up now and
again, at irregular intervals, at the Board School just over the Jago
border in Honey Lane. When anything was given away, he attended as a
matter of course; but he went now and again without such
inducement--perhaps because he fancied an afternoon's change, perhaps
because the weather was cold and the school was warm. He was classed as
a half-timer, an arrangement which variegated the register, but
otherwise did not matter. Other boys, half-timers or not, attended as
little as he. It was long since the managers had realised the futility
of attempting compulsion in the Jago.
Dicky was no fool, and he had picked up some sort of reading and writing
as he went along. Moreover, he had grown an expert thief, and had taken
six strokes of a birch-rod by order of a magistrate. As yet he rarely
attempted a pocket, being, for most opportunities, too small; but he was
comforted by the reflection that probably he would never get really
tall, and thus grow out of pocket-picking when he was fully experienced,
as was the fate of some. For no tall man can be a successful pickpocket,
because he must bend to his work, and so advertise it to every beholder.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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