"I haven't any daddy," the child drawled.
"No? Well, that's unfortunate." Donald stooped and lifted the tike to his shoulder, marveling the while that such a cherub could be the product of any of the denizens of the Sawdust Pile. At once, the boy's arms went round his neck and a velvet cheek was laid close to his. "You're an affectionate little snooks, aren't you?" Donald commented. "Do you live here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Somebody's been teaching you manners. Whose little boy are you?"
"Muvver's."
"And who might mother be?"
"Nan Brent."
"Yo-ho! So you're Nan Brent's boy! What's your name?"
"Donald Brent."
"No; that isn't it, son. Brent is your mother's name. Tell me your father's name."