the top of this partition there suddenly appeared a head.
Dickie's mug paused in air half-way to his mouth, which remained open.
"What's up?" Beale asked, trying to turn on the narrow seat and look up, which he couldn't do.
"It's 'im," whispered Dickie, setting down the mug. "That red-'eaded chap wot I never see."
And then the red-headed man came round the partition and sat down beside Beale and talked to him, and Dickie wished he wouldn't. He heard little of the conversation; only "better luck next time" from the red-headed man, and "I don't know as I'm taking any" from Beale, and at the parting the red-headed man saying, "I'll doss same shop as wot you do," and Beale giving the name of the lodging-house where, on the way to the coffee-shop, Beale had left the perambulator and engaged their beds.
"Tell you all about it in the morning" were the last words of the red-headed one as he slouched out, and Dickie and Beale were left to finish the doorsteps and drink the cold tea that had slopped into their saucers.
When they went out Dickie said—
"What did he want, farver—that red-headed chap?"
Beale did not at once answer.
"I wouldn't if I was you," said Dickie, looking straight in front of him as they walked.
"Wouldn't what?"
"Whatever he wants to."
