1 the son of the lame woman, Mrs.Budgen--the thin, white youth as tall as Martin, but not so broad-stood, smoking a dubious-looking cigarette.

He turned his lack-lustre, jeering gaze on the visitors.
"Who d'you want ?" he said.

"If it's the girl, she's gone away, and left no address." "I want Mrs.Hughs," said Martin.
The young man coughed.

"Right-o! You'll find her; but for him, apply Wormwood Scrubs." "Prison! What for ?" "Stickin' her through the wrist with his bayonet;" and the young man let a long, luxurious fume of smoke trickle through his nose.
"How horrible!" said Thyme.
Martin regarded the young man, unmoved.

"That stuff' you're smoking's rank," he said.