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A pretty little figger, CHAPTER XIII.—MOSES GAINS PRESTIGE. The work went on, each length at the first possible opportunity resuming its state of strict neutrality and refusing to be drawn into negotiations..

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“What! Bread jist outer the oving! There aint a sinner this minute but what begun his vile career on a slice of fresh bread. Indisgestion shore fills jails an’ ’sylums more nor drink. You carn’t hev one slice till to-morrcr.” From the waist down, Moses’ masculine and uncouth figure seemed to utter a dull protest against cut-me-downs. There are many forces in life that growing youths are not able to control. One of these, in the career of Moses, was the inexorable will of his mother that ordained homemade garments for his nether limbs. Made from his father’s discarded trousers of black and grey check, the new pair of abominations that adorned the legs of the youthful Wopp bore evidence to the unskilled fingers of the maker. They had the generous dimensions allowed by an imaginative and economical mind that could look into the future and could see legs lengthening and a general expansion. In fact, the coarse checked tweed fell in slight gathers, fore and aft. The dingy greenish-grey coat that slouched from Moses’ shoulders did not fail to heighten the effect, but seemed to set the costume in italics. “What’s the matter with Billy To-morrow? He’s thirteen! Three and ten! Most a man! He’s all right!” “Flash and Tom wouldn’t touch meat left on the table alone with them for a day,” Edith said as she replenished the plate, shook and folded away the paper, and called her cats..