'I say, Bladergrass, why don't yer do somethin', and make a few coppers?'
And Blade-o'-Grass very naturally answered,
'Lookee 'ere: why don't you be a flower-gal?'
'O, Tom!' exclaimed Blade-o'-Grass, her face flushing, her heart beating, at the prospect of heaven held out to her. 'A flower-gal, Tom! A flower-gal! O, don't I wish I could be!'
'You'd 'ave to wash yer face, yer know,' said Tom, regarding the dirty face of Blade-o'-Grass from a business point of view, 'and put a clean frock on.'
Down to zero went the hopes of Blade-o'-Grass. A clean face she might have compassed. But a clean frock! That meant a new frock, of course. Blade-o'-Grass had never had a new frock in her life. A new frock! She had never had anything new--not even a new bootlace. Despair was in her face. Tom saw it, and said,
'Don't be down in the mug, Bladergrass. We'll see if it can't be done some'ow.'
'O, Tom,' she cried, 'if I could be a flower-gal--if I could! I've seen 'em at the Royal Igschange'--she was pretty well acquainted with that locality by this time--'and don't they look prime!' She twined her fingers together nervously. 'They've all got clean faces and nice dresses. O, 'ow 'appy they must be!'
'Do they! O, don't I wish I could go to the theaytre!'
'There's Poll Buttons. Why, two year ago, Bladergrass, she was raggeder nor you. And now she comes out--she _does_ come out, I can tell yer! _She_ sells flowers at the Royal Igschange, and she looks as 'appy--as 'appy'--Tom's figures of speech and similes were invariably failures--'as 'appy as can be. Why, I see her the other night at the Standard, and she was in the pit. There was a feller with her a-suckin' a stick. Didn't she look proud! And I 'eerd Bill Britton say as how he saw her at 'Ighbury Barn last Sunday with another feller a-suckin' a stick.'
'Do all the swells suck sticks, Tom?' asked Blade-o'-Grass innocently.
'All the real tip-toppers do,' answered Tom.
'Perhaps there's somethin' nice in the knobs,' suggested Blade-o'-Grass.
'Perhaps; but I don't think it. You see, it looks swellish, Bladergrass.'
'If you 'ad a stick, would you suck it, Tom?'
'I think I should,' replied Tom, after a little consideration; 'and I'd 'ave one with a large knob. They're all the go.' Then Tom came back to the subject of Poll Buttons. 'She makes a 'eap o' money. Why, I 'eerd tell as 'ow she sells crocuses and wilets for a tanner a bunch at first. The swells buy a bunch of wilets, and then she coaxes 'em, and ses as 'ow wilets and crocuses ought to go together, and she uses 'er eyes and smiles sweet. Stand up, Bladergrass!'