“You do know each other!” cried Bomba. “And you know about my father and my mother. Tell me, oh, tell me who they were, where they are! Tell me!”
They looked at him, trying to gather their poor scattered wits. Casson rubbed his forehead with his hand.
“Ask Jojasta,” he muttered. “I cannot remember. The door is closed. But Jojasta knows. Ask him.”
“But Jojasta is dead!” exclaimed Bomba.
“Oh, yes,” replied Casson. “You told me he was dead. Then ask Sobrinini. Nini will know.”
In desperation, Bomba turned to the woman.
“You tell me,” he begged. “You were going to tell me when Nascanora came. Tell me now!”
“I forget—I forget,” murmured Sobrinini. “I cannot tell you, Bartow.”
“I am not Bartow,” said Bomba.
“Then you are his ghost,” muttered the crone.