"More fool me," said the Jew, feeling in his pocket.
"You won't be sorry; not in the end you won't," said Dickie, as the pawnbroker laid certain monies before him on the mahogany counter. "You'll lend me this? You'll trust me?"
"Looks like it," said the Jew.
"Then some day I shall do something for you. I don't know what, but something. We never forget, we" He stopped. He remembered that he was poor little lame Dickie Harding, with no right to that other name which had been his in the dream.
He picked up the coins, put them in his pocket—felt the moon-seeds.
"I cannot repay your kindness," he said, "though some day I will repay your silver. But these seeds—the moon-seeds," he pulled out a handful. "You liked the flowers?" He handed a generous score across the red-brown polished wood.
"Thank you, my lad," said the pawnbroker. "I'll raise them in gentle heat."
"I think they grow best by moonlight," said Dickie.
*****
So he came to Gravesend and the common lodging-house, and a weary, sad, and very anxious man rose up from his place by the fire when the clickety-clack of the crutch sounded on the threshold.
"It's the nipper!" he said; and came very
