d and stiff,
and his heart, too, was very tired. About this time, in the dream he had
chosen to awaken from, for the sake of Beale, a bowl of porridge would
be smoking at the end of a long oak table, and a great carved chair be
set for a little boy who was not there.

Dickie strode on manfully, but the pain in his back made him feel sick.

"I don't know as I can do it," he said.

Then he saw the three gold balls above the door of the friendly
pawnbroker.

He looked, hesitated, shrugged his shoulders, and went in.

"Hullo!" said the pawnbroker, "here we are again. Want to pawn the
rattle, eh?"

"No," said Dickie, "but what'll you give me on the seal you gave me?"

The pawnbroker stared, frowned, and burst out laughing.

"If you don't beat all!" he said. "I give you a present, and you come to
pledge it with me! You should have been one of our people! So you want
to pledge the seal. Well, well!"

"I'd much rather not," said Dickie seriously, "because I love it very
much. But I must have my fare to Gravesend. My father's there, waiting
for me. And I don't want to leave Tinkler behind."

He showed the rattle.

"What's the fare to Gravesend?"

"Don't know. I thought you'd know. Will you give me the fare for the
seal?"

The pawnbroker hesitated and looked hard at him. "No," he said, "no. The
seal's not worth it. Not but what it's a very good seal," he added,
"very good indeed."

"See here," said Dickie suddenly, "I know what honor is now, and the
word of a gentleman. You will not let me pledge the seal with you. Then
let me pledge my word--my word of honor. Lend me the money to take me to
Gravesend, and by the honor of a gentleman I will repay you within a
month."

The voice was firm; the accent, though strange, was not the accent of
Deptford street boys. It was the accent of the boy who had had two
tutors and a big garden, a place in the King's water-party, and a
knowledge of what it means to belong to a noble house.

The pawnbroker looked at him. With the unerring instinct of his race, he
knew that this was not play-acting, that there was something behind
it--something real. The sense of romance, of great things all about them
transcending the ordinary things of life--this in the Jews has survived
centuries of torment, shame, cruelty, and oppression. This inherited
sense of romance in the pawnbroker now leaped to answer Dickie's appeal.
(And I do hope I am not confusing you; stick to it; read it again if