John apologised to her. "I'm interfering with your work," he murmured in confusion.
"Ow, no you ain't. It don't matter if it's dusted or not ... reely. Only Aunt goes on about it. Mr. 'Inde wouldn't notice if it was never dusted. I think he likes dust reely. I suppose you're goin' to do some work now you're 'ere, or are you a writer, too, like Mr. 'Inde?"
"I want to be a writer," John shyly answered.
"Well, there's no 'arm in it," Lizzie said, "But it ain't reg'lar. I believe in reg'lar work myself. Of course, there's no 'arm in bein' a writer, but you'd be much better with a tryde or a nice business, I should think. Reely!"
"Oh, yes," John murmured. "Well, I think I'll go out now!"
"Are you goin' to the Tahr, then?" "No," he answered. "No, I hadn't thought of that. I want to see Fleet Street!..."
"Fleet Street!" Lizzie exclaimed. "Wotever is there to see there."
"Oh, I don't know. I want to see it. That's all!"
"You 'ave got funny tyste. I should, 'ave thought you'd go to see the Tahr reely!..." She broke off as she observed him moving to the door. "Mind, be back at seven sharp. I 'ate the dinner kep' 'angin' about. I don't get no time to myself if people aren't punctual. Mr. 'Inde's awful, 'e is. 'E don't care about no one else, 'e don't. Comes in any time, 'e does, an' expects a 'ot dinner just the syme. Never thinks nobody else never wants to go nowhere!..."
"I'll be back in time," said John, hurrying from the room.
"Well, mind you are," she called after him.
In the street, he remembered that he had forgotten to ask Lizzie to tell him how to find Fleet Street, but her capacity for conversation prevented him from returning to the house to ask her. The number of trams and 'buses of different colours bewildered him, as he stood opposite to the White Horse, and watched them go by: and the accents of the conductors, when they called out their destinations, were unintelligible to him. He heard a man shouting "Beng, Beng, Beng, Beng, Beng, BENGK!" in a voice that sounded like a quick-firing gun, but the noise had no meaning for him. He saw names of places that were familiar to him through his reading or his talk with Uncle Matthew, painted on the side of the trams and buses, but he could not see the name of Fleet Street among them. He turned to a policeman and asked for advice, and the policeman put him in the care of a 'bus-conductor.