ions. We would sometimes meet up at the coffee-stalls of Leicester Square, and have a little boast, or grumble, about our fortunes. And while we talked his eyes would be darting, darting, darting all about, looking for new customers, or old ones, or for sweethearts and friends.
''Polly Shaw,'' he would say, inclining his head as some slight young man tripped by us, smiling. ''A daisy, an absolute daisy, but never let her talk you into lending her a quid.'' Or, less kindly: ''My eyes! but doesn''t that puss always land with her nose in the cream!'' as another boy drew up in a hansom, and disappeared into the Alhambra on the arm of a gentleman with a red silk lining to his cape.
Finally, of course, his drifting gaze would settle and harden, and he would give a little nod, or wink, and hastily put down his cup. ''Whoops!'' he would say, ''I see a porter who wants to punch Sweet Alice''s ticket. Adieu, cherie. A thousand kisses on your marvellous eyes!'' He would touch his fingertip to his lips, then lightly press it to the sleeve of my jacket; then I would see him picking his careful way across the crowded square to the fellow who had gestured to him.
When he asked me, early on, what my name was, I answered: Kitty.
It was Sweet Alice who introduced me to the various renter types, and explained to me their costumes, and their habits, and their skills. Foremost amongst them, of course, were the mary-annes, the other boys like himself, who could be seen strolling up and down the Haymarket at any time of the day or night, with their lips rouged and their throats powdered, and clad in trousers as tight and revealing, almost, as a ballerina''s fleshings. These boys took their customers to lodging-houses and hotels; their aim was to be spotted by some manly young gentleman or lord and set up as his mistress in apartments of their own. More succeeded in this ambition than you might think.