"Go ahead," he commanded, wetting his pencil between his lips.
Before Hill could respond a small boy entered the shop--a ragged,
shock-headed dirty urchin, bareheaded and barefooted. He tapped loudly on
the counter with a halfpenny.
"What do you want, boy?" roughly asked the inspector.
"A 'a'porth of blackboys," responded the child, in the confident tone of
a regular customer.
"If you'll permit me, sir, I'll serve him," said Hill and he glided
behind the little counter, took some black sticky sweetmeats from one of
the glass jars on the shelf and gave them to the boy, who popped one in
his mouth and scurried off.
"I think we had better go inside and hear what Hill has to say,
Inspector, while Mrs. Hill minds the shop," said Rolfe. He had caught a
glimpse of Mrs. Hill's white frightened face peering through the dirty
little glass pane in the parlour door.
Inspector Chippenfield approved of the idea.
"We don't want to spoil your wife's business, Hill--she's likely to need
it," he said, with cruel official banter. "Come here, Mrs. Hill," he
said, raising his voice.
The faded little woman appeared in response to the summons, bringing the
child with her.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161