Frank sat up, instantly on the alert. "How old were you when she died?" he demanded.
"Six," replied Nucky.
"Shucks! you don't know anything about it, then! Who told you she was bad?"
"Luigi! I guess he'd know, wouldn't he?"
"Maybe he did and maybe he didn't. At any rate, I wouldn't take the oath on his deathbed of a fellow who ran a joint like Luigi's and taught a kid what he's taught you. He told you that, of course, to keep a hold on you."
"But she lived with him. I remember that myself."
"I can't help that. I'll bet you my next year's pay, she wasn't your mother!"
"Not my mother?" Nucky drew himself up with a long breath. "Certainly she was my mother."
Frank uncovered some embers from the ashes and threw on wood. "I'll bet she wasn't your mother," he repeated firmly. "Seaton told me that that policeman friend of yours said she might and might not be your mother. Seaton and the policeman both think she wasn't, and I'm with 'em."
"But why? Why?" cried Nucky in an agony of impatience.