"Ain't got no envellups to lick, then?" said he, looking round the deserted room.
"No, there's nothing to do here just now," said Reginald.
The boy looked a little disappointed, but said, presently,--
"No, not now. I've got all I want in for the present."
"Not much use with this frost on them," said Reginald.
Thwarted thus on every hand, the boy asked no more questions, but took upon himself to go round the office and dust it as well as he could with the ragged tail of his coat. It was evidently his way of saying, "Thank you," and he seemed more easy in his mind when it was done.
He stopped once in the middle of his task as he caught Reginald's eyes fixed half curiously, half pityingly upon him.
"Say--gov'nor, I ain't going to read no more books; do ye hear?"
There was something quite pathetic in the tones in which this declaration of renunciation was made. It was evidently a supreme effort of repentance, and Reginald felt almost uncomfortable as he heard it.
"That there _Noogate Calendar_ made a rare flare-up, didn't it, gov'nor?" continued Love, looking wistfully towards the grate, if perchance any stray leaves should have escaped the conflagration.
"Not such a flare-up as you did," said Reginald, laughing. "Never mind, we'll try and get something nicer to read."
"No fear! Never no more. I ain't a-goin' to read nothink again, I tell yer," said the boy, quite warmly.
And for fear of wavering in his resolution he went round the room once more, rubbing up the cheap furniture till it shone, and ending with polishing up the very hearth that had served as the sacrificial altar to his beloved _Newgate Calendar_ only a few days before. There was little or no more work to be done during the day. A few letters had come by the morning's post, angrily complaining of the delay in delivering the promised goods. To these Reginald had replied in the usual form, leaving to Love the privilege of "licking them up." He also wrote to Mr Medlock, enclosing the two pounds the pleasant clergyman had left the day before, and once more urging that gentleman to come down to Liverpool.
He went out, happily unconscious of the fact that a detective dogged every step he took, to post these letters himself, and at the same time to lay in a day's provisions for two. It was with something like a qualm that he saw his last half-sovereign broken over this purchase. With nine shillings left in his pocket, and twelve days yet to Christmas, it was as clear as daylight that things were rapidly approaching a crisis. It was almost a relief to feel it.