Places like this always seemed to depress Fred’s courage.  Besides which, he was never in good spirits when he had to go long without food, which made me fear he would not bear being cast adrift at sea without provisions as well as his grandfather had done.  I was not surprised when he said,

“What a place!  And I don’t believe one can get anything fit to eat, and I am so hungry!”

I looked at the houses.  There was a pork-butcher’s shop, and a real butcher’s shop, and a slop shop, and a seedy jeweller’s shop with second-hand watches, which looked as if nothing would ever make them go, and a small toy and sweetmeat shop, but not a place that looked like breakfast.  I had taken Fred’s bundle because he was so tired, and I suppose it was because I was staring helplessly about that a dirty boy a good deal bigger than either of us came up and pulled his dirty hair and said,

“Carry your things for you, sir?”

“No, thank you,” said I, moving on with the bundles and the pie-dish; but as the boy would walk by me I said,

“We want some breakfast very much, but we haven’t much money.”  And, remembering the cost of our supper, I added, “Could we get anything here for about twopence-half-penny or threepence apiece?”

There was a moment’s pause, and then the boy gave a long whistle.

“Vy, I thought you was swells!” said he.

I really do not know whether it was because I did not like to be supposed to be a poor person when it came to the point, or whether it was because of that bad habit of mine of which even Weston’s ballad has not quite cured me, of being ready to tell people more about my affairs than it can be interesting for them to hear or discreet for me to communicate, but I replied at once:  “We are gentlemen; but we are going in search of adventures, and we don’t want to spend more money than we can help till we see what we may want it for when we get to foreign countries.”

“You’re going to sea, then, hare you?” said the boy, keeping up with us.

“Yes,” said I; “but could you tell us where to get something to eat before we go?”

“There’s a shop I knows on,” said our new friend, “where they sells prime pudding at a penny a slice.  The plums goes all through and no mistake.  Three slices would be threepence:  one for you, one for him, and one for my trouble in showing you the way.  Threepence more’s a quart of stout, and we drink fair by turns.  Shall I take your purse and pay it for you?  They might cheat a stranger.”

“No, thank you,” said I; “but we should like some pudding if you will show us the way.”

The slices were small, but then they were very heavy.  We had two each.  I rejected the notion of porter, and Fred said he was not thirsty; but I turned back again into the shop to ask for a glass of water for myself.  The woman gave it me very civilly, looking as she did so with a puzzled manner, first at me and then at my bundles and the pie-dish.  As she took back the tumbler she nodded her head towards the dirty boy, who stood in the doorway, and said,