"Got none." Grif told the lie readily enough. He was ashamed of his father, and did not want to be questioned about him.
"What have you earned to-day?"
"Nothin'."
"And have you had nothing to eat?"
"Not since this mornin'."
"How am I to know that you are telling the truth?"
The tears came to Grif's eyes. He would have given a saucy independent answer, but the thought of Little Peter restrained him. He did the best thing he could. He was silent.
"And you have no money?"
Grif turned out his pockets. Every one of them was full of holes. He had answered Matthew Nuttall's questions quietly and sadly, not in that reckless defiant manner which Matthew remembered he had used in Mr. Blemish's office. This itself pleaded for him. The stern man of the world knew genuine suffering when he saw it before him. The very hopelessness which spoke out of Grif's voice was in the lad's favour. He felt a desire to befriend Grif. But there were more questions to ask before he determined.
"When you applied to Mr. Blemish for a situation, you said you had given a promise to a lady. What was your promise?"