night – an’ where do Oi come in? I asks yer, where do Oi come
in?’
William, feeling that some reply was expected, said that he didn’t know. She looked him up and down. Her expression implied that her conclusions were far from complimentary.
‘An’ you – I serpose – one of the young divvils ’e picks up from ’Evving knows where. Told yer yer’d git a tanner, I serpose? Well, yer’ll
git a tanner if yer be’aves ter my likin’, an’ yer’ll git a box on the ears if yer don’. Oh, come on, do; don’t stand there orl night. ’Ere’s
the hapron – buns is a penny each, an’ sangwiches a penny each, and cups o’ corfy a penny each. Git a move on.’
He was actually installed behind the counter. He was actually covered from neck to foot in a white apron. His rapture knew no bounds. He served strong men with sandwiches and cups of coffee. He
dropped their pennies into the wooden till. He gave change (generally wrong). He turned the handle of the fascinating urn. He could not resist the handle of the little urn. When there were no
customers he turned the handle, to see the little brown stream gush out in little spurts on to the floor or on to the counter.
His feeling of importance as he handed over buns and received pennies was indescribable. He felt like a king – like a god. He had forgotten all about his family . . .
Then the stout lady presented him with a bowl of hot water, a dish-cloth, and a towel, and told him to wash up. Wash up! He had never washed up before. He swished the water round the bowl with
the dishcloth very fast one way, and then quickly changed and swished it round the other. It was fascinating. He lifted the dish-cloth high out of the water and swirled the thin stream to and fro.
He soaked his apron and swamped the floor.
Finally, his patroness, who had been indulging in a doze, awoke and fixed eyes of horror upon him.
‘What yer think yer a-doing of?’ she said indignantly ‘Yer think yer at the seaside, don’t yer? Yer think yer’ve got yer little bucket an’ spade, don’t
yer? Waistin’ of good water – spoilin’ of a good hapron. Where did ’Erb find yer, I’d like ter know? Picked yer aht of a lunatic asylum, I should say . .
. Oh, lumme, ’ere’s toffs comin’. Sharp, now, be ready wiv the hurn an’ try an’ ’ave a bit of sense, an’ heverythin’ double price fer toffs,
now – don’t forget.’
But William, with a sinking heart, had recognised the toffs. Looking wildly round he saw a large cap (presumably ’Erb’s) on a lower shelf of the stall. He seized
it, put it on, and dragged it over his eyes. The ‘toffs’ approached – four of them. One of them, the elder lady, seemed upset.
‘Have you seen,’ she said to the owner of the stall, ‘a little boy anywhere about – a little boy in an Eton suit?’
‘No, mam,’ said the proprietress, ‘I hain’t seen no one in a heton suit.’
‘He was going out to a party’ went on Mrs Brown breathlessly, ‘and he must have got lost on the way. They rang up to say he hadn’t arrived, and the police have had no
news of him, and we’ve traced him to this locality. You – you haven’t seen a little boy that looked as if he were going to a party?’
‘No, mam,’ said the lady of the coffee-stall. ‘I hain’t seen no little boy goin’ to no party this hevening.’
‘Oh, mother,’ said Ethel; and William, trying to hide his face between his cap-brim and his apron, groaned in spirit as he heard her voice. ‘Do let’s have some coffee now
we’re here.’
‘Very well, darling,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Four cups of coffee, please.’
William, still cowering under his cap, poured them out and handed them over the counter.
‘You couldn’t mistake him,’ said Mrs Brown tearfully. ‘He had a nice blue overcoat over his Eton suit, and a blue cap to match, and patent leather shoes, and he was so looking forward to the party, I can’t think—’
‘How much?’ said
in?’
William, feeling that some reply was expected, said that he didn’t know. She looked him up and down. Her expression implied that her conclusions were far from complimentary.
‘An’ you – I serpose – one of the young divvils ’e picks up from ’Evving knows where. Told yer yer’d git a tanner, I serpose? Well, yer’ll
git a tanner if yer be’aves ter my likin’, an’ yer’ll git a box on the ears if yer don’. Oh, come on, do; don’t stand there orl night. ’Ere’s
the hapron – buns is a penny each, an’ sangwiches a penny each, and cups o’ corfy a penny each. Git a move on.’
He was actually installed behind the counter. He was actually covered from neck to foot in a white apron. His rapture knew no bounds. He served strong men with sandwiches and cups of coffee. He
dropped their pennies into the wooden till. He gave change (generally wrong). He turned the handle of the fascinating urn. He could not resist the handle of the little urn. When there were no
customers he turned the handle, to see the little brown stream gush out in little spurts on to the floor or on to the counter.
His feeling of importance as he handed over buns and received pennies was indescribable. He felt like a king – like a god. He had forgotten all about his family . . .
Then the stout lady presented him with a bowl of hot water, a dish-cloth, and a towel, and told him to wash up. Wash up! He had never washed up before. He swished the water round the bowl with
the dishcloth very fast one way, and then quickly changed and swished it round the other. It was fascinating. He lifted the dish-cloth high out of the water and swirled the thin stream to and fro.
He soaked his apron and swamped the floor.
Finally, his patroness, who had been indulging in a doze, awoke and fixed eyes of horror upon him.
‘What yer think yer a-doing of?’ she said indignantly ‘Yer think yer at the seaside, don’t yer? Yer think yer’ve got yer little bucket an’ spade, don’t
yer? Waistin’ of good water – spoilin’ of a good hapron. Where did ’Erb find yer, I’d like ter know? Picked yer aht of a lunatic asylum, I should say . .
. Oh, lumme, ’ere’s toffs comin’. Sharp, now, be ready wiv the hurn an’ try an’ ’ave a bit of sense, an’ heverythin’ double price fer toffs,
now – don’t forget.’
But William, with a sinking heart, had recognised the toffs. Looking wildly round he saw a large cap (presumably ’Erb’s) on a lower shelf of the stall. He seized
it, put it on, and dragged it over his eyes. The ‘toffs’ approached – four of them. One of them, the elder lady, seemed upset.
‘Have you seen,’ she said to the owner of the stall, ‘a little boy anywhere about – a little boy in an Eton suit?’
‘No, mam,’ said the proprietress, ‘I hain’t seen no one in a heton suit.’
‘He was going out to a party’ went on Mrs Brown breathlessly, ‘and he must have got lost on the way. They rang up to say he hadn’t arrived, and the police have had no
news of him, and we’ve traced him to this locality. You – you haven’t seen a little boy that looked as if he were going to a party?’
‘No, mam,’ said the lady of the coffee-stall. ‘I hain’t seen no little boy goin’ to no party this hevening.’
‘Oh, mother,’ said Ethel; and William, trying to hide his face between his cap-brim and his apron, groaned in spirit as he heard her voice. ‘Do let’s have some coffee now
we’re here.’
‘Very well, darling,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Four cups of coffee, please.’
William, still cowering under his cap, poured them out and handed them over the counter.
‘You couldn’t mistake him,’ said Mrs Brown tearfully. ‘He had a nice blue overcoat over his Eton suit, and a blue cap to match, and patent leather shoes, and he was so looking forward to the party, I can’t think—’
‘How much?’ said
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