“To a certain extent. I have followed the cabs times without number, and have watched the goings on of these fine ladies and gentlemen; only I was working for others, like the dog that catches the hare, and never has a bit of it to eat. No, all I got was dry bread, with a kick or a cuff for dessert. I sha’n’t put up with it any longer, and have made up my mind to open on my own account.”
“And who has been employing you?”
A flash of sense passed through Chupin’s muddled brain. He had never wished to injure Mascarin, but merely to increase his own importance by extolling the greatness of his employer.
“I worked for people who have no equal in Paris,” said he proudly. “They don’t mince matters either, I can tell you; and they have more money than you could count in six months. There is not a thing they cannot do if they desire; and if I were to tell you——”
He stopped short, his mouth wide open, and his eyes dilated with terror, for before him stood old Daddy Tantaine.
Tantaine’s face had a most benign expression upon it, and in a most paternal voice he exclaimed,—
“And so here you are at last, my lad; and, bless me, how fine! why, you look like a real swell.”
But Toto was terribly disconcerted. The mere appearance of Tantaine dissipated the fumes of liquor which had hitherto clouded the boy’s brain, and by degrees he recollected all that he had said, and, becoming conscious of his folly, had a vague idea of some swift-coming retribution. Toto was a sharp lad, and he was by no means deceived by Tantaine’s outward semblance of friendliness, and he almost felt as if his life depended on the promptness of his decision. The question was, had the old man heard anything of the preceding conversation?
“If the old rogue has been listening,” said he to himself, “I am in a hole, and no mistake.”
It was, therefore, with a simulated air of ease that he answered,—