"I was thinking," continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, "that you
might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an evening. He
do read beautiful, seeing he's only nine."
"I should be very grateful," said Dick. "Only let me make it worth his while."
"We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands; but
only to 'ear Alf sing 'A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!' Ah!"
"I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the newspapers."
Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board certificates
for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. Mr. Beeton remained,
beaming, while the child wailed his way through a song of some eight eight-line
verses in the usual whine of a young Cockney, and, after compliments, left him
to read Dick the foreign telegrams. Ten minutes later Alf returned to his
parents rather pale and scared.
"'E said "e couldn't stand it no more," he explained.
"He never said you read badly, Alf?" Mrs. Beeton spoke.
"No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 'eard any one read like that, but
'e said 'e couldn't abide the stuff in the papers."
"P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin' him about Stocks,
Alf?"
"No; it was all about fightin' out there where the soldiers is gone--a great
long piece with all the lines close together and very hard words in it.
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