“Some of ’em have gone over ’Ackney way,” said the slip of a girl. “Where’ve you bin?” He flicked the black ash from the fag end in the manner of one five times his age. “’Opping!” he said. “You’re a liar!” retorted the small girl, sharply. “Ho!” said the boy. “Shows what you know about it.” “No, but,” she said, admiringly, “’ave you though, straight?” “I’ve bin at Yaldin’,” he said, with immeasurable importance,—“at Yaldin’ down in Kent for ite days. Me and another chap.” “Bin ’ome?” asked the girl, with interest. “Not yet,” he said. “When I do I shall ’ave to take a drop of something in for the old gel. I went off wifout letting her know and I expect she’s been wonderin’ what’s become of me.” “Then if you ain’t bin ’ome,” said the little girl, breathlessly, “p’raps you don’t—” A strong voice called from a doorway. “Trixie Bell! Trixie Bell! You come in this minute and look after the shop, you good-for-nothing little terror.” “I must be off,” said the small girl, going hurriedly. “Wait ’ere till I come out again and I’ll tell you somefing.” “I don’t waste my time loafin’ about for gels,” said Master Lancaster, as the girl disappeared in a doorway. “Ketch me!” He sauntered down the court towards Pitfield Street and, noting the crowd, slightly increased his pace. Taking a shilling from his coat pocket he tied it in a blue handkerchief and stuffed the handkerchief inside his waistcoat, being aware apparently that it is in a London crowd that property sometimes changes hands in the most astonishing manner. “Very well then,” said a fiery faced woman, who, getting the worst of an argument, was looking around for another subject, “if you did ’ave an uncle who was drowned, that’s no reason why you should step on this little kid’s toes.” “Born clumsy!” agreed Master Lancaster, resentfully rubbing his boot. “Stand a bit aside, can’t you, and let the youngster pass. ’Aving a uncle who was in the navy don’t entitle you to take up all the room. “Likely as not the little beggar’s a witness and wants to go upstairs.” The fiery faced woman looked down at the boy. “Are you a witness, dear?” “Course I’m a witness,” he said, readily. “What did I tell you?” exclaimed the beefy faced woman with triumph. “Constable, ’ere ’s a witness that ’s got to be got upstairs. Make way for him, else he’ll get hisself in a row for being late.”