“No, only Billy,” said Jack.
“Don’t you think,” said I, “it’s rather unlikely we shall come across him in a crowded court like that, knowing neither the name nor the house where he lives?”
“Let us try, anyhow,” said Jack.
We went on, and soon reached the well-known “slum.” I must confess honestly I would rather not have entered. Last time we had been there one of us had been struck by smallpox, and both had had to run for our lives, and it seemed to me—perhaps my illness had made me a coward—that we were running an unnecessary risk now by plunging into it just because Billy happened to be an hour late for an appointment.
However, Jack was determined, and I was determined to stick by Jack.
When we first entered, the court was as before, swarming with men and women and children, and in the crowd we passed some way unnoticed.
Presently, however, Jack stopped and asked a woman—
“Do you know in what house a little boy called Billy who black boots lives?”
The woman who was engaged in sewing a black sleeve on to an old grey coat, looked up sharply, and demanded—
“What do you want to know for?”