A CHILD OF THE JAGO
here a word and there another with his parishioners. An encounter with Kiddo Cook did as much as anything toward securing him a proper deference. In his second walk through Old Jago Street, as he neared The Feathers, he was aware of a bunch of grinning faces pressed against the bar window; and as he came abreast, forth stepped Kiddo Cook from the door, impudently affable, smirking and ducking with mock obsequiousness, and offering a quart pot.
"An' 'ow jer find jerself, sir?" he asked, with pantomime cordiality. "Hof'ly shockin', these 'ere lower classes, ain't they? Er—yus; disgustin', weally. Er—might I—er—prepose—er—a little refreshment? Allow me!"
The parson, grimly impassive, heard him through, took the pot, and, instantly jerking it upward, shot the beer, a single splash, into Kiddo's face. "There are things I
121
