“Dexter Grayson,” was the answer, for the boy felt keenly already that the names Obed Coleby were ones of which he could not be proud.
“Ever been in the workus!”
“Yes.”
“Ever see grandfather there!”
“Yes, I’ve seen him,” said Dexter, who felt no inclination to enlighten the boy further.
“Ah, he could fish,” said the boy, baiting and throwing in again. “My name’s Dimsted—Bob Dimsted. So’s father’s. He can fish as well as grandfather. So can I,” he added modestly; “there ain’t a good place nowheres in the river as we don’t know. I could take you where you could ketch fish every swim.”
“Could you?” said Dexter, who seemed awed in the presence of so much knowledge.
“Course I could, any day.”
“And will you?” said Dexter eagerly.
“Ah dunno,” said the boy, striking and missing another fish. “You wouldn’t care to go along o’ me?”