He kept saying I was all wrong, and putting me right; he might just as well have told it himself.

I told him so.

But he took no notice, and went on badgering me for more stories.
I can tell you I was getting sick of it! When I made up a story for him to laugh at, he looked so solemn and said-- "Not that; a funny one." And when I told him a fairy tale, he snapped up and said he didn't like it.
It ended in my telling him the "The Three Bears" over and over again.
It was about the sixty-fifth time of telling that we got to Vauxhall, and had to give up tickets.
"Now, young 'un, look out for your governor when we get in--I don't know him, you know." The young ass didn't know what I meant.
"Look out for daddy, then," I said.
He promptly stuck his head out of the window and said the ticket- collector was daddy; then that the porter was; then that a sweep on the platform was.
It wasn't very hopeful for spotting the real daddy at Waterloo.

I told him to shut up and wait till we got there.
When we got there, I stuck him up at the window, as large as life, for his governor to see.

There were a lot of people about; but I can tell you I was pretty queer when no one owned him.