'I should be very grateful,' said Dick. 'Only let me make it worth his while.'
'We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands; but only to 'ear Alf sing "A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!" Ah!'
'I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come in this evening with the newspapers.'
Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board certificates for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. Mr. Beeton remained, beaming, while the child wailed his way through a song of some eight eight-line verses in the usual whine of the young Cockney, and, after compliments, left him to read Dick the foreign telegrams. Ten minutes later Alf returned to his parents rather pale and scared.
'`E said 'e couldn't stand it no more,' he explained.
'He never said you read badly, Alf?' Mrs. Beeton spoke.
'No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 'eard any one read like that, but 'e said 'e couldn't abide the stuff in the papers.'
'P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin' him about Stocks, Alf?'
'No; it was all about fightin' out there where the soldiers is gone—a great long piece with all the
T
