A CHILD OF THE JAGO
downy benjamins, or the celebrated bang-up kicksies, cut saucy, with artful buttons and a double fakement down the sides, and hereabout they were apt to be set upon by Jagos overthrown by superior numbers bashed; and cleaned out. Or, if the purchases had been made, they were flimped of their kicksies, benjies or daisies, as the case might be. So that a fight with Dove Lane might be an affair of some occasional profit; and it became no loyal Jago to idle in the stronghold.
Father Sturt's task was nearly over, when, returning to Old Jago Street he saw Dicky Perrott sitting by a still-remaining heap—a heap small and poor even among those others. The Perrotts had been decorously settled in their new home since early morning; but here was Dicky, guarding a heap with a baby on it, and absorbed in the weaving of rush-bags.
"That's right, Dicky, my boy," said Father Sturt, in the approving voice that
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