After the third bun he was about full up, and said he was thirsty. I couldn't make the young ass understand that I had no water in the carriage. He kept on saying he was thirsty for half an hour, till we came to a station. I had made up my mind I would get into another carriage at the first stop we came to; but, somehow, it seemed rather low to leave the kid in the lurch. So I bought him a glass of milk instead, which set him up again. Nobody else got in the carriage--knew better--and off we went again. He'd got an awful lot to say for himself; about dicky-birds and puff- puffs, and dogs, and trouser-pockets and rot of that sort, and didn't seem to care much whether I listened or no. Then, just when I thought he had about run dry and was getting sleepy, he rounded on me with-- "Tell me a story." "Me? I don't know any stories." "Oh yes; a funny one, please." "I tell you I don't know any--what about?" "`The Three Bears.'" "I don't know anything about `three bears,'" said I. "Do! do!! do!!!" he said, beginning to get crusty. So I did my best. He kept saying I was all wrong, and putting me right; he might just as well have told it himself. I told him so. But he took no notice, and went on badgering me for more stories. I can tell you I was getting sick of it! When I made up a story for him to laugh at, he looked so solemn and said-- "Not that; a funny one." And when I told him a fairy tale, he snapped up and said he didn't like it. It ended in my telling him the "The Three Bears" over and over again. It was about the sixty-fifth time of telling that we got to Vauxhall, and had to give up tickets. "Now, young 'un, look out for your governor when we get in--I don't know him, you know." The young ass didn't know what I meant. "Look out for daddy, then," I said. He promptly stuck his head out of the window and said the ticket- collector was daddy; then that the porter was; then that a sweep on the platform was. It wasn't very hopeful for spotting the real daddy at Waterloo. I told him to shut up and wait till we got there. When we got there, I stuck him up at the window, as large as life, for his governor to see. There were a lot of people about; but I can tell you I was pretty queer when no one owned him. We hung about a quarter of an hour, asking everybody we met if they'd come to meet a kid, and watching them all go off in cabs, till we had the platform to ourselves. "Here's a go, kid!" said I; "daddy's not come." "I 'spex," says he, "when the middling-size bear found his porridge eaten up, he wondered who it was." "Shut up about the bears," said I. "What about your gov.--your daddy? Where does he live?" "In London town," said he, as soon as I could knock those bears out of his head. "Whereabouts? What street?" "London town." "Do you mean to say--look here, what's your name? Tommy what?" "It's Tommy," he said. "I know that. Is it Tommy Jones, or Tommy Robinson, or what?"