slumped down on the cold cobblestone in a miserable heap. At that moment, with tears threatening and not a friend in sight, he may have been the loneliest boy in all of England.
TWELVE
im sat there in the deepening dark of the courtyard. All had grown quiet about him and he was sure that the entire audience of children had abandoned him to his own means when a small hand gently patted his shoulder.
“It’ll be all right,” the voice that belonged to the hand said. Jim was about to wrench the hand off his shoulder and spout some nastiness when he looked up to find himself staring into the bluest set of eyes he’d ever seen. “I still cry sometimes myself, and I’ve been here on the streets for weeks now.”
She was a girl just a tad bit younger than Jim himself, her auburn curls hanging in a tangled mess about her dirt-smudged face, and her big blue eyes clouded over with pity.
Jim forgot the nasty words he was about to say, but though he was secretly in need of such kindness as the girl was offering, he still remembered his pride.
“I wasn’t crying,” Jim said with a deep sniffle. “I just got a little… upset is all. So you can stop looking at me like that if you please.”
Suddenly, the blue eyes on the girl’s face glared quite brightly under a hot scowl. “You absolutely were crying, or just about to, Mr. Jim Morgan, and it’s absolutely the stupidest thing in the world to lie about the most obvious things. And it’s even more stupid and rude to turn away a kind person when you haven’t got a single friend in the whole wide world!” At this she stomped her foot, crossing her arms in front of her.
Well this simply caught Jim completely unprepared. He climbed to his feet, stammering to justify himself before this completely confusing girl. “I — I have friends,” he said. “Loads of them!”
“Well some friends they are if they aren’t even here to help you when you need them the most. That doesn’t sound like friends at all.”
“How should you know what a friend is like?”
“Because my mother told me. And she also told me how to
be
a good friend. And besides that, I have three friends while you have none!”
As if on cue, her three comrades, who had been standing by timidly, watching the entire time, made their presence known. “Hullo, mate!” said the first. Jim glumly recognized the squeaky voice and little mousy faces of the three boys.
“You must be the Ratt Brothers,” Jim said. He looked the nearly identical brothers over, their small heads buried under oversized hats, held up only by their ears, which stuck out like a mouse’s, and he suddenly remembered that the fate of his box, and thus his entire future, rested on their slight shoulders. Jim really did want to cry then.
“You betcha!” said the first Ratt again, apparently unfazed by Jim’s lack of enthusiasm as he proudly introduced himself and his two brothers. “Allow me to introduce the greatest of all the thieves in London! My brothers Paul and Peter, and my name is George. And we are: the Brothers Ratt!” They simultaneously took off their hats, bowing lowbefore Jim. But no sooner had the three stood up than Peter angrily slapped his hat back on his head and shoved George hard on the shoulder.
“I thought we agreed that it sounded better to say: My brothers Peter and Paul, George!”
“It does not! That sounds awful. It’d be like saying meat-mince pie. It’s all backwards!” Paul retorted. “Besides, I definitely popped out before you did, and that puts me next in line, don’t it? So I should be before you no matter how it sounds!”
“The priest just told you that to make you feel better about being the smallest, Paul! I’m older!”
“A priest wouldn’t lie about that, Peter!”
“Both of you cool your socks!”
“Shut up, George!” Peter and Paul turned on their brother, and in a moment they fell upon one another, tumbling to the ground in a pile of punching limbs.
“Really! Not
TWELVE
im sat there in the deepening dark of the courtyard. All had grown quiet about him and he was sure that the entire audience of children had abandoned him to his own means when a small hand gently patted his shoulder.
“It’ll be all right,” the voice that belonged to the hand said. Jim was about to wrench the hand off his shoulder and spout some nastiness when he looked up to find himself staring into the bluest set of eyes he’d ever seen. “I still cry sometimes myself, and I’ve been here on the streets for weeks now.”
She was a girl just a tad bit younger than Jim himself, her auburn curls hanging in a tangled mess about her dirt-smudged face, and her big blue eyes clouded over with pity.
Jim forgot the nasty words he was about to say, but though he was secretly in need of such kindness as the girl was offering, he still remembered his pride.
“I wasn’t crying,” Jim said with a deep sniffle. “I just got a little… upset is all. So you can stop looking at me like that if you please.”
Suddenly, the blue eyes on the girl’s face glared quite brightly under a hot scowl. “You absolutely were crying, or just about to, Mr. Jim Morgan, and it’s absolutely the stupidest thing in the world to lie about the most obvious things. And it’s even more stupid and rude to turn away a kind person when you haven’t got a single friend in the whole wide world!” At this she stomped her foot, crossing her arms in front of her.
Well this simply caught Jim completely unprepared. He climbed to his feet, stammering to justify himself before this completely confusing girl. “I — I have friends,” he said. “Loads of them!”
“Well some friends they are if they aren’t even here to help you when you need them the most. That doesn’t sound like friends at all.”
“How should you know what a friend is like?”
“Because my mother told me. And she also told me how to
be
a good friend. And besides that, I have three friends while you have none!”
As if on cue, her three comrades, who had been standing by timidly, watching the entire time, made their presence known. “Hullo, mate!” said the first. Jim glumly recognized the squeaky voice and little mousy faces of the three boys.
“You must be the Ratt Brothers,” Jim said. He looked the nearly identical brothers over, their small heads buried under oversized hats, held up only by their ears, which stuck out like a mouse’s, and he suddenly remembered that the fate of his box, and thus his entire future, rested on their slight shoulders. Jim really did want to cry then.
“You betcha!” said the first Ratt again, apparently unfazed by Jim’s lack of enthusiasm as he proudly introduced himself and his two brothers. “Allow me to introduce the greatest of all the thieves in London! My brothers Paul and Peter, and my name is George. And we are: the Brothers Ratt!” They simultaneously took off their hats, bowing lowbefore Jim. But no sooner had the three stood up than Peter angrily slapped his hat back on his head and shoved George hard on the shoulder.
“I thought we agreed that it sounded better to say: My brothers Peter and Paul, George!”
“It does not! That sounds awful. It’d be like saying meat-mince pie. It’s all backwards!” Paul retorted. “Besides, I definitely popped out before you did, and that puts me next in line, don’t it? So I should be before you no matter how it sounds!”
“The priest just told you that to make you feel better about being the smallest, Paul! I’m older!”
“A priest wouldn’t lie about that, Peter!”
“Both of you cool your socks!”
“Shut up, George!” Peter and Paul turned on their brother, and in a moment they fell upon one another, tumbling to the ground in a pile of punching limbs.
“Really! Not
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