It was jus' a sorter mistake, he said.
He said it wun't happen again. He's a jolly good stealer. The cops
said he was and _they_ oughter know."
"Well," said William changing the conversation, "what d'you want for
Christmas?"
"I wrote it on a bit of paper an' sent it up the chimney," she said
confidingly. "I said I di'n't want no toys nor sweeties nor nuffin'. I
said I only wanted a nice supper for Dad when he comes out Christmas
Eve. We ain't got much money, me an' Mother, an' we carn't get 'im
much of a spread, but if this 'ere Christmas chap sends one fer 'im,
it'll be--_fine_!"
Her eyes were dreamy with ecstasy. William stirred uneasily on his
seat.
"I tol' you it was _rot_," he said. "There isn't any Father Christmas.
It's jus' an' ole tale folks tell you when you're a kid, an' you find
out it's not true. He won't send no supper jus' cause he isn't
anythin'. He's jus' nothin'--jus' an ole tale----"
"Oh, shut _up!_" William turned sharply at the sound of the shrill
voice from the bed within the room. "Let the kid 'ave a bit of
pleasure lookin' forward to it, can't yer? It's little enough she 'as,
anyway."
William arose with dignity.
"All right," he said. "Go'-bye."
He strolled away down the street.
"_Softie!_"
It was a malicious sweet little voice.
"_Swank_!"
William flushed but forbore to turn round.
That evening he met the little girl from next door in the road outside
her house.
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