Tom was a little startled, but quite amused, by this application from granny. She knew there was danger in answering; but there was a fascination about danger, and she thought that, even if identified, she could make her escape.
“Where do you live?” she asked, trying to disguise her voice, and looking down.
“No. 417 Bleecker Street,” said granny, at random, intentionally giving the wrong address.
“I’ll[“I’ll] get my aunt to come round to-morrow and see you,” said Tom.
“Give me a few pennies now,” persisted granny, “to buy some bread for my children.”
“How many have you got?”
“Five.”
It was very imprudent, but Tom obeyed an irresistible impulse, and said, “Isn’t one of them named Tom?” and she looked up in her old way.
Granny bent over eagerly, and looked in her face. She had noticed something familiar in the voice, but the dress had prevented her from suspecting anything. Now it flashed upon her that the rebellious Tom was in her clutches.
“So it’s you, is it?” she said, with grim delight, clutching Tom by the arm. “I’ve found you at last, you trollop! Come along with me! I’ll break every bone in your body!”