Mr. Seaton cleared his throat. "Foley, let me come round and see him before you send him over the road, will you?"
"Sure, that can be fixed up. Only don't get sore when the kid snubs you."
"Nothing a boy could do could hurt me, Foley. You remember that Jack was not exactly an angel."
"No, that's right, but Jack was always a good sport, Mr. Seaton.
That's why it's so hard to get hold of these young toughs down here!
They ain't sports!" And Foley hung up the receiver with a sigh.
Mr. Seaton preferred to introduce himself to Nucky. The boy was sitting on the edge of his bunk, his red hair a beautiful bronze in the dim daylight that filtered through the high window.
"How are you, Enoch?" said Mr. Seaton. "My name is John Seaton. Officer Foley pointed you out to me the other day as a lad who was making bad use of a good name. That's a wonderful name of yours, do you realize it?"
"Every uplifter I ever met's told me so," replied Nucky, ungraciously, without looking up.
Mr. Seaton smiled. "I'm no uplifter! I'm a New York lawyer! Supposing you take a look at me so's to recognize me when we meet again."
Nucky still kept his gaze on the floor. "I know what you look like. You got gray hair and brown eyes, you're thin and tall and about fifty years old."
"Good work!" exclaimed Enoch's caller. "Now, look here, Enoch, can't I help you out of this scrape?"