He pulled a nasty sticky bit of chocolate out of his pocket and held it up to my nose.
"A sweetie for you," he said.
I didn't want to have him yelling again, so I took it.

Ugh!--all over dust and hairs, and half melted.
He watched me gulp it down, and then, to my relief, got hold of the _Boy's Own Paper_ and began looking at the pictures.

He got sick of that soon, and went and looked out of the window.

Then he came and sat by me again, and began to get jolly familiar.

He stroked my cheeks with his horrid sticky hand, and then climbed up on the seat and tried to lark with my cap.