"You must handle him very carefully," said my uncle, nervously.
"If he tells me where the girl is, that's all I want of him. If he don't, I shall—I shall crush it out of him. He will find I am not made of milk and water."
"You will find I am not, either," I said to myself, as, when Tom moved towards the door, I rose from my recumbent posture, and hastened back to my chamber.
I slipped off my pants, and got into bed again, that I might not be suspected of having left it. I had scarcely done so before Tom entered my room with a lamp in his hand. I opened my eyes, rubbed them, and stared at him.
"I want to see you, youngster," he began. "I suppose you don't know me. My name is Jones."
"If your name is Jones, my name is Smith," I replied, with gross imprudence.
He looked at me, and appeared to be startled by my sharp and reckless reply. Very likely he thought me as smart as my reputation.
"Your name is Thornton," said he.
"So is yours," I answered; and I couldn't help it.
He stared at me again. Perhaps he concluded that I had obtained my information of Kate Loraine, and he knew that I had seen him at her step-mother's house.