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"I'm no flash spark," said Jack. "Not enough for 'em at home. It's too much fist and too little toff, that's the matter with me."

"C'n y' use y'r fists?"

"Like to try me?"

Jack shaped up to him.

"Oh for the love o' Mike," laughed Tom, "stow the haw-haw gab! You'll do me though, I think."

"I'll try to oblige," said Jack, rolling into bed.

"Here!" said Tom sharply. "Out y' get an' say y' prayers. What sortta example for them kids of ours, gettin' into bed an' forgettin' y'r prayers?"

Jack eyed the youth.

"You say yours?" he asked.

"Should say I do. Gran is on ter me right cruel if I don't see to it, whoever sleeps in this cubby. They has ter say their prayers, see?"

"All right!" said Jack laconically.

And he obediently got up, kneeled on the mud floor, and gabbled through his quota. Somewhere in his heart he was touched by the simple honesty of the boy. And somewhere else he was writhing with slow, contemptuous repugnance at the vulgar tyranny.

But he called again to his aid that natural indifference of his, grounded on contempt. And also a natural boyish tolerance, because he saw that Tom had a naive, if rather vulgar, good-will.