Two for Three Farthings Read Free Page A

an arm around her again. His little sister could be a terror sometimes, but she was all he had now. And he was all she had. ‘Tell yer what, let’s eat Aunt Glad’s sandwiches.’
    â€˜It’s only eleven o’clock,’ said Effel.
    â€˜Well, I fink there’s a tin of sardines we could ’ave a bit later,’ said Orrice, ‘an’ some bread as well. I fink I’m a bit ’ungry now.’
    They ate the paste sandwiches.
    They wandered about the house afterwards, looking at everything. There wasn’t really very much they could take, not without burdening themselves with heavily laden sacks. And it didn’t do their spirits much good, going round a house that wasn’t really a home any more.
    Just after noon there was a knock on the front door. Effel quivered.
    â€˜Orrice, is it someone come to take us to Dr Banano’s?’ she whispered.
    â€˜Well, I shouldn’t fink so, Effel.’
    â€˜Don’t let’s answer in case,’ begged Effel.
    â€˜We best see,’ said Orrice, and faced up to whatever challenge awaited them on the doorstep. It was a policeman. They recognized him as a local bobby. He fingered his chinstrap and smiled at them.
    â€˜Morning, Effel. Morning, Orrice.’ He was briskly kind. ‘You all right?’
    â€˜Yes, mister, fanks,’ said Orrice, and Effel put herself behind him, as she always did whenever she was a little shy or fearful.
    â€˜That’s good.’ Constable Brownlaw’s expression was sympathetic, his manner fatherly. Go round and see those kids, his sergeant had said, it’s your beat, you know them best. ‘It’s been—’ He checked. He did not want to say anything that would make Effel cry. ‘Well, it’s good you’re both up and about. But you’re not at school, I see. Thought you might not be. Tomorrow maybe, eh? Thought I’d just come round and see if you’re both all right. You sure you are? D’you want any help with anything?’
    â€˜No, we’re all right, mister, honest,’ said Orrice, and Effel quivered nervously behind him.
    â€˜Gone into long trousers, Orrice, have you?’ asked the policeman.
    â€˜Mrs Lucas give ’em to me for the funeral,’ said Orrice.
    â€˜Who’s going to take care of you?’
    â€˜We got our Aunt Glad and Uncle Perce in Kennington,’ said Orrice.
    â€˜That’s the ticket,’ said Constable Brownlaw. ‘You’re going to live with them?’
    â€˜Well, for a bit,’ said Orrice, ‘but they don’t ’ave room for us for always. I expect we’ll ’ave to go in an orphanage later.’
    Constable Brownlaw sighed inwardly. He knew these kids, he knew Effel for her little tantrums and her little shynesses, and he knew Orrice for his boyish pranks and sturdy character. And everybody knew them as an indivisible pair, for wherever Orrice went, Effel was sure to go. They were lovable kids in their attachment to each other. Fate had dealt a scurvy blow in making orphans of them.
    â€˜Well, you’ll be together,’ he said, although he knew that in most orphanages boys and girls were kept strictly segregated for the most part. ‘You sure you don’t need any help? Are you managing to pack what you want to take with you to your aunt and uncle’s?’
    â€˜Yes, fanks, mister,’ said Orrice, then added bravely, ‘we’re goin’ to take some of our mum an’ dad’s nice fings, like Mum’s brooch an’ Dad’s pocket watch. And ’is razor for when I get older.’ He thought that if the policeman said it was all right to, then it was.
    And the policeman said, ‘Good, so you should, Orrice, it’s something to remember them by. Take everything you most like.’
    â€˜Course, we ain’t takin’ no furniture,’ said Orrice, ‘just small fings.’
    â€˜Very sensible,