“You shouldn’t o’ ought ter done all this,” Duck said, with a worried frown.
Robin knew full well he “shouldn’t o’ ought ter.” He had less than a dollar left! Still, he was not going to spoil everybody’s good time by remarking on this. And after all, he was sure that he would make the money back in a hurry. Right now, he would try to overlook the queasy feeling he had in the pit of his stomach that he might have been dipping into Danny’s milk money.
When the enormously successful supper ended, the boys lounged about sipping their cups of sweet tea, and discussing the events of the day. Business had not been very good for any of them. But what with their full stomachs and the warming effect of cups of well-sugared tea, nobody seemed much bothered by it. Tomorrow was another day, an opportunity to do better.
Piggy then had the grand idea that Danny ought to be started on his “porritch” along with his milk. So Robin went down the hall to prepare a bit from the sack of cereal he had brought with him. Of course, he had to use the same battered black saucepot in which tea had been brewed. He vowed to himself that one day, after he had made all that money he was preparing to make, he was going to buy the boys a brand new shining saucepot.
At any rate, another entertaining event was added to the evening as they all sat with eyes glued to Piggy holding Danny while Robin fed him with his tiny tin spoon. More of the “porritch” ended up outside Danny than inside him, but everyone generally approved the performance.
“Keep him sleepin’ later,” said Mouse, certainly a good thing to remember considering the hollering that had greeted them early that morning.
The next suggestion, one made by Robin, was not so successful. He asked if he could have a shoe-shine lesson, now he was all ready with his box and brushes.
“On wot?” asked Duck. “Ain’t you never took a good look at wot we got on our feet? Yer own shoes ain’t too great, but nex’ ter ours, yers might o’ comed off’n a store shelf.”
There was no arguing with what Duck had said. Robin’s shoes were such that all the blacking and polishing in the world could have done little to improve them, but at least they covered all of his feet. The boys’ shoes were no better than the torn rags they wore on their backs. Besides being layered with filth from the streets, the shoes had soles so separated from the tops they flapped as the boys walked. Their bare toes poked from holes cut out in front, for the shoes had long since been outgrown, and dirty pieces of string served as shoelaces.
Anything Robin might have wanted to say lay stuck in his throat.
“No need ter say nothin’,” said Duck. “But how you’ll get teached is by hangin’ roun’ one o’ us all day an’ watchin’. Tomorrow you come with me. Nex’ day maybe Mouse. Nex’ maybe Spider. You c’n try a hand with proper shoes. Never you mind. You’ll learn.”
“Duck,” Mouse said, “if Robins goin’ out in the streets, shouldn’ we ought ter tell ’im ’bout our danger sign?”
“Yer right, Mouse,” Duck replied. “He ought ter know it. Robin, it’s jist that if yer ever in trouble, an’ one o’ us is near ’nough ter see it, you jist hold a hand by yer side an’ curl up yer fingers inter a fist. That’s if it ain’t safe ter holler at us. None o’ us is ever had a need o’ usin’ it, but you never know. You jist never know. Now, let’s see you doin’ it.”
“Hey, I got a idea,” said Mouse, after they had all approved Robin’s efforts at making a fist. “Wot ’bout dice? We ain’t played ’em since we done left the pier.”
“Nah,” said Duck. “We ain’t goin’ ter do that no more. Promised the Landlord. No stealin’. No cheatin’. No gamblin’.”
“Aw, sounds like no nothin’,” grumbled Mouse. “Wot a life!” But he must have agreed with Duck, because there was “no arguin’” either!
“I got a idea,” said Spider. “How’s ’bout we have a worsh? We said we was goin’ ter.”
“That’s some bleedin’ idea, Spider,” said Mouse. “Yuck!”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it,” said Duck. “Spiders right. It’s wot we said. But no need ter do all top an’ bottom o’ us at one time. Ternight we c’n do tops. Bottoms nex’ time. I’ll go first ter show you I ain’t goin’ ter get kilt doin’ it.”
Yanking off his shirt, he dropped it on the floor and snatched up a rag from under the chairs where Danny’s drying diapers were draped. Then he lit a candle and disappeared out the door. They could hear his shoes determinedly flap, flap, flapping down the hallway. A short while later, they flap, flap, flapped back again. Their owner, for lack of a towel, was dripping wet from the top of his head to the rope that held up his pants. After shaking his head like a dog just come in from a swim in a pond, he threw his shirt back on over his wet body.
“Brrr!” he said, shivering but still managing to look very pleased with himself. “Must o’ shed a pound o’ dirt. Yer turn, Spider.”
After that, Spider, Mouse, and Piggy made their trips down the hallway, returning looking just as pleased and proud of themselves as Duck had over the achievement. Robin went as well, choosing not to mention that he had had a good wash at his own kitchen sink a day earlier.
He really did want to be
