Burr Junior

"Yah! Tailor!" said Mercer, as his bully marched out.

"I'll tell him what you said," cried Dicksee.

"Hullo, Penny loaf! you there? Yes, you'd better tell him. Just you come to me for some physic, and you'll see how I'll serve you."

"Don't ketch me taking any of your stuff again," cried the big, fat, sneering-looking fellow. "I'll tell him, and you'll see."

"Go and tell him then," said Mercer contemptuously. "So he is a tailor, and his father's a tailor. Why, I saw his name on a brass plate in Cork Street."

"So's your father got his name on a brass plate," sneered Dicksee.

"Well, what of that? My father's a professional gentleman. Here, come on, Burr, and I'll show you round. Hooray! the sun's come through the mist. Where's your cap? All right. You'll have to get a square trencher by next Sunday. This way."

He led me out into the big playground, and turned.

"Ain't a bad house, i