He ain't a bit like anything I've ever seen or heard of--he seems all over nerves; anything you say seems to hurt him like a cut or a blow." "That sort of boy's no use here," said East; "he'll only spoil.

Now I'll tell you what to do, Tommy.

Go and get a nice large band-box made, and put him in with plenty of cotton-wool and a pap-bottle, labelled 'With care--this side up,' and send him back to mamma." "I think I shall make a hand of him though," said Tom, smiling, "say what you will.

There's something about him, every now and then, which shows me he's got pluck somewhere in him.

That's the only thing after all that'll wash, ain't it, old Scud?
But how to get at it and bring it out ?" Tom took one hand out of his breeches-pocket and stuck it in his back hair for a scratch, giving his hat a tilt over his nose, his one method of invoking wisdom.