"Robin Forsyth. Jimmie calls me Red-Robin because I hop when I walk."
"Is Jimmie your—"
"He's my Parent. Do you know Jimmie?"
"N-no, not—exactly." The little man was wondering how his investigators had failed to report this young girl.
"Jimmie ought to be here soon. He went out to sell a picture to old Mrs. Wycke. She wanted it but she wanted it cheap, Jimmie says. But we didn't have anything to eat today so he took the picture to her and he's going to bring back some cake and ice cream. We'll have a party. Will you stay?"
"Good heavens," thought Allendyce, startled at her astonishing frankness. He reached out and patted the small hand.
"You are very kind. Does your Jimmie sell—many pictures?"
"Not many—I heard him and Mr. Tony talking. Mr. Tony's his best friend. If it were not for me Jimmie'd go away with Mr. Tony. Mr. Tony writes, you see, and he wants Jimmie to illustrate for him."
"And where is your brother Gordon?"
Robin stared. "My—brother—Gordon?"