“Worse!”
“I give up,” said Tommy.
“Inventor!” said Mr. Nevin.
“Good!” Tommy spoke enthusiastically. This was life—to meet people about whom his only knowledge came from newspaper-reading.
“Leigh,” said Nevin, stopping abruptly, “are you a politician?” The voice was intended to express jocularity, but Tommy thought he read in Mr. Nevin's eyes a doubt closely bordering upon a suspicion. Tommy felt his characteristic impulse to be as frankly autobiographical as he dared. He did not know that he could not help being what the offspring of two people to whom love meant everything must be. He wasn't aware of heredity when he kept his eyes on Mr. Nevin's and replied very earnestly:
“Mr. Nevin, I'm going to tell you something that must not go any further.”
“I was only joking. I have no desire to pry into your private affairs,” said Nevin, when he saw how serious Tommy had become.
“I'm not going to tell you the story of my life,” Tommy explained, very earnestly; “but something else, I really want to.”
“Shoot ahead,” said Mr. Nevin.
Tommy's position in the shop was a mystery, for Mr. Thompson's instructions contained no explanation.