Part 22 (1/2)
”Five years--goin' on six,” said Micky.
”Can you earn much?”
”No,” said Micky. ”Business aint very good now.”
”You manage to dress well,” said Gilbert, with an amused look at Micky's habiliments.
”Yes,” said Micky, with a glance at the bra.s.s b.u.t.tons; ”but I had to borrer the money to buy my clo'es.”
”There used to be a boy around here that was called d.i.c.k. Did you know him?”
”There be a good many d.i.c.ks. Which did you mean?”
”This boy was nearly your size. I believe they called him 'Ragged d.i.c.k.'”
”I know'd him,” said Micky, shortly, with a scowl.
”Was he a friend of yours?”
”No, he wasn't. I give him a lickin' once.”
The fact happened to be the other way; but Micky was not very scrupulous as to the strict truth of his statements.
”You don't like him, then? Where is he now?”
”He's in a store, and swells round with good clothes.”
”Have you seen him lately?”
”No, an' I don't want to.”
”He wears a gold watch now. I suppose he wouldn't have anything to say to you.”
”Maybe not,” said Mickey.
”It would be a good joke if he should lose his place and have to go back to boot-blacking again.”
”I wish he would,” said Micky, fervently. ”It 'ould cure him of puttin'
on airs.”
”If, for example, his employer should be convinced that he was a thief, he would discharge him.”
”Do you know him, mister?” asked Micky, looking up suddenly.
”Yes.”
”Is he a friend of yours?”