ed the mouth of his little street. His street, which ended in a dead
wall, was near the river, but on the doleful south side of it, opening
off a longer street where the cabs of Waterloo station sometimes found
themselves when they took the wrong turning; his home was at the top of
a house of four floors, each with accommodation for at least two
families, and here he had lived with his mother since his father's
death six months ago. There was oil-cloth on the stair as far as the
second floor; there had been oil-cloth between the second floor and the
third--Tommy could point out pieces of it still adhering to the wood like
remnants of a plaster.

This stair was nursery to all the children whose homes opened on it, not
so safe as nurseries in the part of London that is chiefly inhabited by
boys in sailor suits, but preferable as a centre of adventure, and here
on an afternoon sat two. They were very busy boasting, but only the
smaller had imagination, and as he used it recklessly, their positions
soon changed; sexless garments was now prone on a step, breeches sitting
on him.

Shovel, a man of seven, had said, "None on your lip. You weren't never
at Thrums yourself."

Tommy's reply was, "Ain't my mother a Thrums woman?"

Shovel, who had but one eye, and that bloodshot, fixed it on him
threateningly.

"The Thames is in London," he said.

"'Cos they wouldn't not have it in Thrums," replied Tommy.

"'Amstead 'Eath's in London, I tell yer," Shovel said.

"The cemetery is in Thrums," said Tommy.

"There ain't no queens in Thrums, anyhow."

"There's the auld licht minister."

"Well, then, if you jest seed Trafalgar Square!"

"If you jest seed the Thrums town-house!"

"St. Paul's ain't in Thrums."

"It would like to be."

After reflecting, Shovel said in desperation, "Well, then, my father
were once at a hanging."

Tommy replied instantly, "It were my father what was hanged."

There was no possible answer to this save a knock-down blow, but though
Tommy was vanquished in body, his spirit remained stanch; he raised his
head and gasped, "You should see how they knock down in Thrums!" It was
then that Shovel sat on him.

Such was their position when an odd figure in that house, a gentleman,
passed them without a word, so desirous was he to make a breath taken at
the foot of the close stair last him to the top. Tommy merely gaped
after this fine sight, but Shovel had experience, and "It's a kid or a
coffin."