don't object to earn a
little money in an easy way?"

"Yes, I do object," replied Billy; "it ain't worth my while to earn a
_little_ money in any way, no matter how easy; I never deals in small
sums. A fi' pun' note is the lowest figur' as I can stoop to."

"You'll not object, however, to a gift, I daresay," remarked Jones, as
he tossed a half-crown towards the boy.

Billy caught it as deftly as a dog catches a bit of biscuit, looked at
it in great surprise, tossed it in the air, bit its rim critically, and
finally slid it into his trousers pocket.

"Well, you know," he said slowly, "to obleege a _friend_, I'm willin' to
accept."

"Now then, youngster, if I'm willing to trust that half-crown in your
clutches, you may believe I have got something to say to 'ee worth your
while listenin' to; for you may see I'm not the man to give it to 'ee
out o' Christian charity."

"That's true," remarked Billy, who by this time had become serious, and
stood with his hands in his pockets, still, however, at a respectful
distance.

"Well, the fact is," said Mr Jones, "that I've bin lookin' out of late
for a smart lad with a light heart and a light pocket, and that ain't
troubled with much of a conscience."

"That's me to a tee," said Billy promptly; "my 'art's as light as a
feather, and my pocket is as light as a maginstrate's wisdom. As for
conscience, the last beak as I wos introdooced to said I must have bin
born without a conscience altogether; an' 'pon my honour I think he wos
right, for I never felt it yet, though I've often tried--'xcept once,
w'en I'd cleaned out the pocket of a old ooman as was starin' in at a
shop winder in Cheapside, and she fainted dead away w'en she found it
out, and her little grand-darter looked so pale and pitiful that I says
to myself, `Hallo! Walleye, you've bin to the wrong shop this time; go
an' put it back, ye young dog;' so I obeyed orders, an' slipped back the
purse while pretendin' to help the old ooman. It wos risky work,
though, for a bobby twigged me, and it was only my good wind and tough
pair o' shanks that saved me. Now," continued the urchin, knitting his
brows as he contemplated the knotty point, "I've had my doubts whether
that wos conscience, or a sort o' nat'ral weakness pecooliar to my
constitootion. I've half a mind to call on the Bishop of London on the
point one o' these days."

"So, you're a city bird," observed Jones, admiringly.

"Ah, and I can see that you'r