Then she was a deader and had attained distinction in the only way possible in that street.  Shovel did not shake Tommy’s hand warmly, the forms of congratulation varying in different parts of London, but he looked his admiration so plainly that Tommy’s head waggled proudly.  Evidently, whatever his mother had done redounded to his glory as well as to hers, and somehow he had become a boy of mark.  He said from his elevation that he hoped Shovel would believe his tales about Thrums now, and Shovel, who had often cuffed Tommy for sticking to him so closely, cringed in the most snobbish manner, craving permission to be seen in his company for the next three days.  Tommy, the upstart, did not see his way to grant this favor for nothing, and Shovel offered a knife, but did not have it with him; it was his sister Ameliar’s knife, and he would take it from her, help his davy.  Tommy would wait there till Shovel fetched it.  Shovel, baffled, wanted to know what Tommy was putting on hairs for.  Tommy smiled, and asked whose mother was a deader.  Then Shovel collapsed, and his wind passed into Tommy.

The reign of Thomas Sandys, nevertheless, was among the shortest, for with this question was he overthrown:  “How did yer know she were cold?”

“Because,” replied Tommy, triumphantly, “she tell me herself.”

Shovel only looked at him, but one eye can be so much more terrible than two, that plop, plop, plop came the balloon softly down the steps of the throne and at the foot shrank pitifully, as if with Ameliar’s knife in it.

“It’s only a kid arter all!” screamed Shovel, furiously.  Disappointment gave him eloquence, and Tommy cowered under his sneers, not understanding them, but they seemed to amount to this, that in having a baby he had disgraced the house.

“But I think,” he said, with diffidence, “I think I were once one.”

Then all Shovel could say was that he had better keep it dark on that stair.

Tommy squeezed his fist into one eye, and the tears came out at the other.  A good-natured impulse was about to make Shovel say that though kids are undoubtedly humiliations, mothers and boys get used to them in time, and go on as brazenly as before, but it was checked by Tommy’s unfortunate question, “Shovel, when will it come?”

Shovel, speaking from local experience, replied truthfully that they usually came very soon after the doctor, and at times before him.

“It ain’t come before him,” Tommy said, confidently.

“How do yer know?”

“’Cos it weren’t there at dinner-time, and I been here since dinner-time.”

The words meant that Tommy thought it could only enter by way of the stair, and Shovel quivered with delight.  “H’st!” he cried, dramatically, and to his joy Tommy looked anxiously down the stair, instead of up it.

“Did you hear it?” Tommy whispered.

Before he could control himself Shovel blurted out:  “Do you think as they come on their feet?”