reet for years enough, you hardly know where to
look for the key of a room.

"Where'd you like to be?" Beale asked anxiously. "You like country
best, don't yer?"

"Yes," said Dickie.

"But in the winter-time?" Beale urged.

"Well, town then," said Dickie, who was trying to invent a box of a new
and different shape to be carved next day.

"I could keep a lookout for likely pups," said Beale; "there's a plenty
here and there all about--and you with your boxes. We might go to three
bob a week for the room."

"I'd like a 'ouse with a garden," said Dickie.

"Go back to yer Talbots," said Beale.

"No--but look 'ere," said Dickie, "if we was to take a 'ouse--just a
little 'ouse, and let half of it."

"We ain't got no sticks to put in it."

"Ain't there some way you get furniture without payin' for it?"

"'Ire systim. But that's for toffs on three quid a week, reg'lar wages.
They wouldn't look at us."

"We'll get three quid right enough afore we done," said Dickie firmly;
"and if you want London, I'd like our old house because of the seeds I
sowed in the garden; I lay they'll keep on a-coming up, forever and
ever. That's what annuals means. The chap next door told me. It means
flowers as comes up fresh every year. Let's tramp up, and I'll show it
to you--where we used to live."

And when they had tramped up and Dickie had shown Mr. Beale the
sad-faced little house, Mr. Beale owned that it would do 'em a fair
treat.

"But we must 'ave some bits of sticks or else nobody won't let us have
no 'ouses."

They flattened their noses against the front window. The newspapers and
dirty sackings still lay scattered on the floor as they had fallen from
Dickie when he had got up in the morning after the night when he had had
The Dream.

The sight pulled at Dickie's heart-strings. He felt as a man might feel
who beheld once more the seaport from which in old and beautiful days he
had set sail for the shores of romance, the golden splendor of The
Fortunate Islands.

"I could doss 'ere again," he said wistfully; "it 'ud save fourpence.
Both 'ouses both sides is empty. Nobody wouldn't know."

"We don't need to look to our fourpences so sharp's all that," said
Beale.

"I'd like to."

"Wonder you ain't afeared."

"I'm used to it," said Dickie; "it was our own 'ouse, you see."

"You come along to yer supper," said Beale; "don't be so flash with yer
own 'ouses."

They had supper at a coffee-shop in the Broadway.

"