'Dicky Perrott, come 'ere,' said Mr Aaron Weech in a voice of sad rebuke¹, a few days later. 'Come 'ere, Dicky Perrott.'  
He shook his head solemnly as he stooped. Dicky slouched up.
 
'What was that you found the other day an' didn't bring to me?'
 
'Nuffin'.' Dicky withdrew a step.
 
'It's no good you a-tellin' me that, Dicky Perrott, when I know better. You know very well you can't pervent me knowin'.' His little eyes searched Dicky's face, and Dicky sulkily shifted his own gaze. 'You're a wicked, ungrateful young 'ound, an' I've a good mind to tell a p'liceman to find out where you got that clock. Come 'ere now—don't you try runnin' away. Wot! after me a-takin' you in when you was 'ungry, an' givin' you cawfy an' cake, an' good advice like a father, an' a bloater an' all, an' you owin' me thrippence a'peny besides, then you goes an'—an' takes yer findin's somewhere else!'
 
'I never!' protested Dicky stoutly². But Mr Weech's cunning, equal to a shrewd guess that since his last visit Dicky had probably had another 'find............