said was like "roast potatoes" and "the stuff mother has in a bottle in
her bedwoom."

Bim could, of course, have stayed there for ever, but Mr. Jack reminded
him of a possibly anxious family. "There, is that what you're after?"
he said, and, sure enough, there on a shelf, smiling and eager to be
bought, was a mug exactly like the one that Bim had broken.

There was then the business of paying for it, the money-box was produced
and opened by the old man with "a shining knife," and Bim was gravely
informed that the money found in the box was exactly the right amount.
Bim had been, for a moment, in an agony of agitation lest he should have
too little, but as he told us, "There was all Uncle Alfred's Christmas
money, and what mother gave me for the tooth, and that silly lady with
the green dress who _would_ kiss me." So, you see, there must have been
an awful amount.

Then they went, Bim clasping his money-box in one hand and the mug in
the other. The mug was wrapped in beautiful blue paper that smelt, as we
were all afterwards to testify, of dates and spices. The crocodile
flapped against the wall, the bell tinkled, and the shop was left behind
them. "Most at once," Bim said they were by the fruit shop again; he
knew that Mr. Jack was going, and he had a sudden most urgent longing to
go with him, to stay with him, to be with him always. He wanted to cry;
he felt dreadfully unhappy, but all of his thanks, his strange desires,
that he could bring out was, in a quavering voice, trying hard, you
understand, not to cry, "Mr. Jack. Oh! Mr.----" and his friend was gone.


IV