"Sir, be hanged! My name's William Revitts; and if you and me's going to be good friends, my boy, you'll drop that sir-ing and mistering, and call me plain Bill." "Should you like it, sir, if I did?" I asked anxiously. "No, _sir_, I shouldn't. Yes, I should. Now then, is it to be friends or enemies?" "Oh, friends, please," I said, holding out my hand. "Then there's mine, young Antony," he cried seizing it in his great, fingers. "And mind, I'm Bill, or old Bill, whichever you like." "I'm sure--Bill, I should be glad to be the best of friends," I said, "for I have none." "Oh, come now, you said that Polly was very good to you." "What, Mary? Oh yes!" "Well, then, that's one. But, I say, you know you mustn't be so precious innocent." "Mustn't I, sir?" "What!" he cried, bringing his hand down crash on the table. "Mustn't I, Bill?" "That's better. No: that you mustn't. I seem to look upon you as quite an old friend since you lived so long with my Polly. But, I say, your education has been horribly neglected. You're quite a baby to the boys up here at your age." "But papa was so anxious that I should learn everything," I said, as I thought of Mr Ruddle's words, "and we had lessons every day." "Hah! Yes; but you can't learn everything out o' books," he continued, looking at me curiously. "You never went away to school, then?" "No. I was going in a month or two." "Hah! and it was put off. Well, we can't help it now, only you mustn't be so jolly easy-going. Everybody here will glory in taking you in." "Do you mean cheating me?" "That's just what I do mean. Why, some chaps would have nailed that sov like a shot, and you'd never have seen it again. You see, I'm in the police, and we couldn't stoop to such a thing, but I know lots o' men as would say as a sov was no use to a boy like you, and think as they ought to take care of it for you." "Well, wouldn't that be right, Mr Revitts?" I said. "No, it wouldn't, young greenhorn," he cried sharply, "because they'd take care of it their way." "Greenhorn?" I said eagerly. "Oh, that's what you mean by my being green! You mean ignorant and unripe in the world's ways." "That's just what I do mean," he cried, slapping me on the shoulder. "Brayvo! that's the result of my first lesson," he continued admiringly. "Why, I'm blessed if I don't think that if I had you here six months, and took pains, I could make a man of you." "Oh, I wish you would," I cried excitedly. "I do so want to be a true, good man--one such as papa used to speak of--one who could carve his way to a noble and honourable career, and grow to be loved and venerated and held in high esteem by the world at large. Oh, I would try so hard--I'd work night and day, and feel at last, that I had not tried in vain."