"I understand you to say that he has no friends whatever!"
"None, sir, as far as we know. Quite a foundling."
"That will do," said the doctor; and while the boy was bidding good-bye
to the old woman who had tended the sick tramp, the master led the way
to the nursery, where about a dozen children were crawling about and
hanging close to a large fire-guard. Others were being nursed on the
check aprons of some women, while one particularly sour creature was
rocking a monstrous cradle, made like a port-wine basket, with six
compartments, in every one of which was an unfortunate babe.
"Which he's a very good affectionate boy, sir," said a woman, coming up
with the doctor's choice clinging to her apron; "and good-bye, and good
luck, and there, God bless you, my dear!" she said, as she kissed the
boy in a true motherly way, he clinging to her as the only being he had
felt that he could love.
That burst of genuine affection won Mother Curdley five shillings, which
she pocketed with one hand, as she wiped her eyes with the other, and
then had a furtive pinch of snuff, which made several babies sneeze as
if they had bad colds.
"Very eccentric man," said Mr Hippetts.
"Very," assented Mr Sibery.
"But he'll bring the young ruffian back."
The doctor did not hear, for he was walking defiantly down the main
street, waving his gold-headed cane, while the boy clung to his hand,
and walked with bent head, crying silently, but fighting hard to keep it
back.
The doctor saw it, and pressed the boy's hand kindly.
"Yes," he said to himself; "I'll show old Danby now. The very boy I
wanted. Ah," he added aloud; "here we are."