Then his keen and deep-set eyes turned themselves on the boy with the crutches.
"This," said Loristan, "is the one who calls himself The Rat. He is one of us."
The Rat saluted.
"Please tell him, sir," he whispered, "that the crutches don't matter."
"He has trained himself to an extraordinary activity," Loristan said. "He can do anything."
The keen eyes were still taking The Rat in.
"They are an advantage," said the Prince at last.
Lazarus had nailed together a light, rough easel which Marco used in making his sketches when the game was played. Lazarus was standing in state at the door, and he came forward, brought the easel from its corner, and arranged the necessary drawing materials upon it.
Marco stood near it and waited the pleasure of his father and his visitor. They were speaking together in low tones and he waited several minutes. What The Rat noticed was what he had noticed before—that the big boy could stand still in perfect ease and silence. It was not necessary for him to say things or to ask questions—to look at people as if he felt restless if they did not speak to or notice him. He did not seem to require notice, and The Rat felt vaguely that, young as he was, this very freedom from any anxiety to be looked at or addressed made him somehow look like a great gentleman.
Loristan and the Prince advanced to where he stood.