Two mugs, four billiard balls, and 'arf a dozen door-steps," was Mr.
Beale's order. You or I, more polite if less picturesque, would perhaps
have said, "Two cups of tea, four eggs, and some thick bread and
butter." It was a pleasant meal. Only just at the end it turned into
something quite different. The shop was one of those old-fashioned ones,
divided by partitions like the stalls in a stable, and over the top of
this partition there suddenly appeared a head.

Dickie's mug paused in air half-way to his mouth, which remained open.

"What's up?" Beale asked, trying to turn on the narrow seat and look up,
which he couldn't do.

"It's 'im," whispered Dickie, setting down the mug. "That red'eaded chap
wot I never see."

And then the redheaded man came round the partition and sat down beside
Beale and talked to him, and Dickie wished he wouldn't. He heard little
of the conversation; only "better luck next time" from the redheaded
man, and "I don't know as I'm taking any" from Beale, and at the parting
the redheaded man saying, "I'll doss same shop as wot you do," and Beale
giving the name of the lodging-house where, on the way to the
coffee-shop, Beale had left the perambulator and engaged their beds.

"Tell you all about it in the morning" were the last words of the
redheaded one as he slouched out, and Dickie and Beale were left to
finish the door-steps and drink the cold tea that had slopped into their
saucers.

When they went out Dickie said--

"What did he want, farver--that redheaded chap?"

Beale did not at once answer.

"I wouldn't if I was you," said Dickie, looking straight in front of him
as they walked.

"Wouldn't what?"

"Whatever he wants to."

"Why, I ain't told you yet what he _does_ want."

"'E ain't up to no good--I know that."

"'E's full of notions, that's wot 'e is," said Beale. "If some of 'is
notions come out right 'e'll be a-ridin' in 'is own cart and 'orse afore
we know where we are--and us a-tramping in 'is dust."

"Ridin' in Black Maria, more like," said Dickie.

"Well, I ain't askin' _you_ to do anything, am I?" said Beale.

"No!--you ain't. But whatever you're in, I'm a-goin' to be in, that's
all."

"Don't you take on," said Beale comfortably; "I ain't said I'll be in
anything yet, 'ave I? Let's 'ear what 'e says in the morning. If 'is lay
ain't a safe lay old Beale won't be in it--you may lay to that."

"Don't let's," said Dickie earnestly. "Look 'ere, father, let us go,