"Enry Arper, is it? Well, you are going to have something to 'arp for, you are, my lad." 

 "Ever had the birch rod, Mister Enry Arper?" inquired the first voice with a kind of grim pleasantness. 

 The boy didn't answer. 

 "No? Not had that pleasure? The police are going to cut the skin off o' you and sarve you right. They'll larn you to trespass on to the railway. Fetch the foreman, Ike." 

 While the boy, securely held by the ear, stood shivering, Ike went leisurely in search of the foreman shunter. It was six o'clock, and that individual, who had been on duty since that hour the previous evening, was on the point of going home. Ike found him in the messroom, where he had gone to exchange his lantern for the small wicker basket in which he brought his meals. His name was Job Lorimer, and being large and fat and florid he sauntered up to the scene of action with an air of frank acceptance of life as it is, that seems to go as a rule with his type of physique and countenance. 

 "Why, blow me, Iggins, what's all this year?" 

 "Allow me to introjuice Mr. Enry Arper o' Blackhampton.—Mr. Job Lorimer, foreman shunter, Kentish Town." 

 "'Owdy do, young man. Pleased to meet you."  Mr. Lorimer winked solemnly at both his subordinates.  "What can we do for you?" 

 "Twelve strokes with the birch rod," said subordinate the first. 

 "Eight for the first offence," said subordinate the second. 

 Suddenly the boy fell down senseless at the foreman shunter's feet. 

 

 

 V 

 "Well, blow me," said the Foreman Shunter.  "Show the light, Pearson." 

 The second subordinate maneuvered the lantern.  "On'y a kid. And I never see sich a state as he's in. No boots. No stockings. Just look at them feet. And his hands all of a mush. Gawd!" said the Foreman Shunter. 

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