A Child of the Jago, by Arthur Morrison   For more than a week
Josh Perrott could not walk about. And it was a bad week. For
some little while his luck had been but poor, and now he found
himself laid up with a total reserve fund of fourteenpence. A
coat was pawned with old Poll Rann (who kept a leaving shop in a
first floor back in Jago Row) for ninepence. Then Josh swore at
Dicky for not being still at Grinder’s, and told him to turn out
and bring home some money. Dicky had risen almost too sore and
stiff to stand, on the morning after the fight at the Feathers,
and he was little better now. But he had to go, and he went,
though he well knew that a click was out of the question, for
his joints almost refused to bend. But he found that the fat’s
a-running boys were contemplating business, and he scouted for
them with such success as to bring home sevenpence in the
evening. Then Kiddo Cook, who had left Mother Gapp’s with a
double armful on the night of the sing-song, found himself rich
enough, being a bachel