'Give me those stones in your hand.'
'Yes, I'll give 'em you down your throat, if you come a-ketching
hold of me,' says the small boy, shaking himself loose, and
backing. 'I'll smash your eye, if you don't look out!'
'Baby-Devil that you are, what has the man done to you?'
'He won't go home.'
'What is that to you?'
'He gives me a 'apenny to pelt him home if I ketches him out too
late,' says the boy. And then chants, like a little savage, half
stumbling and half dancing among the rags and laces of his
dilapidated boots:-
'Widdy widdy wen!
I - ket - ches - Im - out - ar - ter - ten,
Widdy widdy wy!
Then - E - don't - go - then - I - shy -
Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning!'
- with a comprehensive sweep on the last word, and one more
delivery at Durdles.
This would seem to be a poetical note of preparation, agreed upon,
as a caution to Durdles to stand clear if he can, or to betake
himself homeward.
John Jasper invites the boy with a beck of his head to follow him
(feeling it hopeless to drag him, or coax him), and crosses to the
iron railing where the Stony (and stoned) One is profoundly
meditating.
'Do you know this thing, this child?' asks Jasper, at a loss for a
word that will define this thing.
'Deputy,' says Durdles, with a nod.
'Is that its - his - name?'
'Deputy,' assents Durdles.
'I'm man-servant up at the Travellers' Twopenny in Gas Works
Garding,' this thing explains. 'All us man-servants at Travellers'
Lodgings is named Deputy.
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