"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.