"I'm the son of Mr. B. F. Baker, grocer, Blackwall," said the boy, in a quick monotone.
"What street?"
"Queen Street, No. 17," said the boy.
"There ain't no such street."
"There is, 'cos he lives there."
"You young rascal, don't you suppose I know?"
"Well, I oughter know the place where I was bred and bornd," said the boy.
"You're a young scamp. You needn't try to come it over me, you know. Why, I know Blackwall by heart. There isn't such a street there. Who sent you here?"
"Father."
"What for?"