“Mind you shut the door after you, then,” continued Frere, “or we shall have that nice lad walking off with the silver spoons.” So saying, he entered the house.
Lewis waited till his retreating footsteps were no longer audible, then fixing his piercing glance upon the boy, he said in an impressive voice, “Answer me truly, and I will give you assistance. Where did you learn to speak Italian with so good an accent?”
“In Naples, sir!”
“How did you get there?”
“I served on board a man-of-war.”
“And how have you fallen into this state of beggary?”
The boy hesitated for a moment, but something led him instinctively to feel that his confidence would not be abused, and he answered: “When we got back to England and the crew were paid off I received £15. I got into bad company; they tempted me to everything that was wrong. My money was soon gone; I had no friends in London, and I wouldn’t have applied to them after going on so bad if I’d had any. I sold my clothes to buy bread; and when I had nothing left I begged, and lately I’ve passed myself off as an Italian boy, because I found people more willing to give to me.”
“And do you like your present life?”
“No, I have to bear cold and hunger; and when people speak to me as he did just now it makes me feel wicked. Some day it will drive me mad, and I shall go and murder somebody.”
“What do you wish to do, then?”