Mike had already made two calls, though he had only been an hour in the village. The first was to the house of Mr. Ross, the lawyer.
The master of the house was not at home, but Herbert was in the front yard. In fact, he was sitting on the doorstep, whittling.
Mike’s experience taught him that children are generally less suspicious, and more easily moved to compassion, than their elders.
He therefore addressed himself with some confidence to Herbert, of whose disposition he knew nothing, or he would not have expected any help from him or through his influence.
“Young gentleman,” he said, in a whining voice, as he rested his elbows on the top of the front gate, “I am a poor man——”
Herbert looked up, and surveyed the uncouth visitor with profound disdain. He always despised the poor, and made little discrimination between the deserving and the undeserving.
“You don’t look very rich,” he said, after a pause.
His tone was not particularly compassionate, but Mike did not detect the nature of his feelings.
“Indeed, young sir,” he continued, in the same whining tone, “I have been very unfortunate.”
“You have seen better days, I suppose,” said Herbert, who had not the slightest idea of giving Hogan anything, but meant to play with him as a cat does with a mouse before sending him away.