Up from the country, eh? Don't seem
like one of our sort."
"Yes," Frank said, "I'm just up from the country. I thought it
would be easy to get a place in London, but I don't find it so."
"A place!" the boy repeated scornfully. "I should like any one
to see me in a place. It's better a hundred times to be your own
master."
"Even if you do want a piece of bread sometimes?" Frank put in.
"Yes," the boy said. "When it ain't market day and ye haven't saved
enough to buy a few papers or boxes of matches it does come hard.
In winter the times is bad, but in summer we gets on fairish, and
there ain't nothing to grumble about. Are you out of work yourself?"
"Yes," Frank answered, "I'm on the lookout for a job."
"You'd have a chance here in the morning," said the boy, looking
at him. "You look decent, and might get a job unloading. They won't
have us at no price, if they can help it."
"I will come and try anyhow," Frank said.
That evening Frank told his friend, the porter, that he thought of
going out early next morning to try and pick up odd jobs at Covent
Garden.
"Don't you think of it," the porter said. "There's nothing worse
for a lad than taking to odd jobs.
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