"
"I know you ain't," says the turnkey, smoking his pipe. "I
should like to see it for a minit, Bill," he says. "Wery probable,"
says the turnkey, smoking his pipe wery fierce, and making
believe he warn't up to wot the little man wanted. "Bill," says
the little man, more abrupt than afore, "I've got the fancy in my
head. Let me see the public streets once more afore I die; and if
I ain't struck with apoplexy, I'll be back in five minits by the
clock." "And wot 'ud become o' me if you WOS struck with
apoplexy?" said the turnkey. "Wy," says the little creetur,
"whoever found me, 'ud bring me home, for I've got my card in
my pocket, Bill," he says, "No. 20, Coffee-room Flight": and
that wos true, sure enough, for wen he wanted to make the
acquaintance of any new-comer, he used to pull out a little limp
card vith them words on it and nothin' else; in consideration of
vich, he vos alvays called Number Tventy. The turnkey takes a
fixed look at him, and at last he says in a solemn manner,
"Tventy," he says, "I'll trust you; you Won't get your old friend
into trouble." "No, my boy; I hope I've somethin' better behind
here," says the little man; and as he said it he hit his little vesket
wery hard, and then a tear started out o' each eye, which wos
wery extraordinary, for it wos supposed as water never touched
his face.
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