Then suddenly, just as Peter was thinking of finding his way home to the boarding-house, Mr. Zanti appeared. He had been away for the last two months, but there he was, his huge body filling the shop, the fog circling his beard like a halo, beaming, calm, and unflustered as though he had just come from the next street.
“Damned fog,” he said, and then he went and put his hand on Peter's shoulder and looked down at him smiling.
“Well, 'ow goes the shop?” he said.
“Oh, well enough,” said Peter.
“What 'ave you been doing, boy? Finished the book?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, good. You'll be ze great man, Peter.” He looked down at him proudly as a father might look upon his son.
“Ze damnedest fog—” he began, then suddenly he stopped and Peter felt his hand on his shoulder tighten. “Ze damnedest—” Mr. Zanti said slowly.
Peter looked up into his face. He was listening. Herr Gottfried, standing in the middle of the shop, was also listening.
For a moment there was an intense breathless silence. The noise from the street seemed also, for the instant, to be hushed.