Still holding on to Jack’s shoulder, the man scratched his chin. “Now let me see,” he mumbled to himself. “What is your name?” He mused, then he snapped his fingers and announced, “I know. It’s Jack.”
The boy gasped. How could that man know him, know his name. What was he to do? He wished he had never known about this thing, had never followed this man and had never got into this situation. Controlling himself, he asked, “What is my family name?”
“Barrows!” the man snapped back. “Barrows, that’s it.”
“You are wrong,” contradicted Jack. “My name is Ed Smith.”
“No,” insisted the man, “you are Jack Barrows. And I demand to know why you are following me.”
“But I am not following you. You are mistaken.”
“Then what are you doing here?” The man’s voice now boomed. “Tell me that!”
“I used to live in this house,” fabricated unhappy Jack. “I once used to live here,” he repeated, “and I was just looking around.”
“So you used to live here!”
The man lifted his free arm and swung. Jack ducked. The arm crashed against the wall, the man screamed with pain and Jack wrenched himself free. The man lunged for him. Jack side-stepped and stuck his foot out; his victim tripped and stretched himself out on the ground. Without waiting or looking back, Jack was off. He jumped the fence and dashed down the street. Rounding the corner, he stopped to consider why he was running. He stood nonchalantly and waited for his man to appear. But the mysterious individual was not forthcoming. He waited five more minutes and still he did not appear.