A CHILD OF THE JAGO
"Not wot? Gawblimy, not wot? Shutcher mouth. If a man fights you're got to fight back, ain'cher? Anyone 'ud think it was a murder, to look at ye. I ain't sich a damn fool as that. 'Ere, pull up that board."
Dicky knew the loose floor-board that was lifted with a slight groaning jar. It was to the right of the hearth, and he had shammed sleep when it had been lifted once before. His mother whimpered and cried quietly. "You'll git in trouble, Josh," she said. "I wish you'd git a reg'lar job, Josh, like wot you used—I do—I do."
The board was shut down again. Dicky Perrott, through one opened eye, saw the sky, a pale grey above, and hoped the click had been a good one; hoped also that it might bring bullock's liver for dinner.
Out in the Jago the pale dawn brought a cooler air and a chance of sleep. From the paving of Old Jago street sad
19
