A CHILD OF THE JAGO
hurt him. And this, too, was near being a true boast; as he had proved in more than one fight in the local arena—which was Jago Court. Now he sat peaceably on the edge of the bed and plucked with his fingers at the oily fish, while his wife grubbed hopelessly about the cupboard-shelves for the screw of paper which was the sugar-basin.
Dicky entered at a burst. "Mother—father—look! I done a click! I got a clock—a red 'un!"
Josh Perrott stopped, jaw and hand, with a pinch of fish poised in air. The woman turned, and her chin fell. "O Dicky, Dicky," she cried, in real distress, "you're a awful low, wicked boy. My Gawd, Josh 'e—'e'll grow up bad; I said so."
Josh Perrott bolted the pinch of fish, and sucked his fingers as he sprang to the door. After a quick glance down the stairs, he shut it and turned to Dicky.
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