A CHILD OF THE JAGO
said Dicky, putting down the money. "Two an' ten an' four an' three 's seven an' a penny."
Mr. Grinder looked steadily and sourly at Dicky, and counted. He pitched the odd penny into the till and shook the rest of the coins in his closed hand, still staring moodily in the boy's face. "It's three an' six a week you come 'ere at," he said.
"Yus sir," Dicky replied, since Grinder seemed to expect an answer. The supreme moment when he should take his first wages had been the week's beacon to him, reddening and brightening as Saturday night grew nearer.
"Three an' six a week an' yer tea."
Dicky wondered.
"So as if I found out anythink about—say Brass Roastin'-jacks for instance—I could give ye yer three an' six an' start y' auf, unless I did somethin' wuss."
Dicky was all incomprehension; but something made him feel a little sick.
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