“Fanny,” said Miss Gittings impressively, “we must report this extraordinary case to the circle. . . . Huh? . . . Let scoff who will! . . . We can produce the boy. . . .”
“Yes, sister.”
The front door opened and closed, and a slender shadow fell in the hall. Joe was instantly all attention. Another member to this household! The whole problem was altered.
“Wilfred, come here,” said Miss Gittings.
No response.
“Wilfred!” she repeated, raising her voice a little.
A boy of Joe’s own age came into the room with rather a sullen air; on the defensive. Joe perceived that it was that same white-faced boy. . . . God! that kid! All the ground was cut from under his feet. For an instant he thought of flight.
But only for an instant. It steadied him to perceive that the kid was a lot worse upset by the meeting than he was. The kid’s eyes were fixed and crazy, like. He was looking at Joe as if he saw a headless ghost rising out of the grave. It almost made Joe laugh. What the hell! he said to himself; the kid wouldn’t dare to name anything to the women. And anyhow, he didn’t see nothing but what his own dirty mind imagined. . . . He’s no better than me himself. I can handle him, too.
“This is my nephew, Wilfred Pell,” said Miss Gittings, pleasantly.
“Please to meet yeh,” said Joe affably.