“Now then, none o’ that, or it will be ’otted up for you.”
The voice of the bald-headed man caused the boy’s teeth to chatter.
“What is your father?”
The boy lifted up his strange eyes in dumb bewilderment.
“I think he’s a little bit touched, sir,” said a very melancholy-looking police constable, tapping his head with his forefinger.
“You think nothing, Gravener,” said the bald-headed man sternly. “What right have you to think? You’ve been in the Force long enough to know that. What does your father do?” he said to the boy.
After a moment a flash of intelligence seemed to fuse the deadly pallor of the boy’s face.
“H-he keeps a lot of books,” he said, “a lot of books written by the ancient authors.”
“Vendor of old books, eh? Where does he live?”
For a moment the dark curtain of incomprehension again descended upon the boy; but quite suddenly it lifted and his mind was illumined with a ray of meaning.