"I have no children," said Livingstone, thinking how clever he was to be so ready with an answer.
"I know.—But I mean the children you want the toys for?"
Livingstone felt for his handkerchief. The perspiration was beginning to come on his brow.
"Why,—ah—the same ages as your brothers and sisters—about," he said desperately, feeling that he was at the end of his resources and would be discovered by the next question.
"We will go to Brown's," said the child quietly, and, dropping her eyes, she settled herself back in the furs as though the problem were definitely solved.
CHAPTER XII
Livingstone glanced at the little figure beside him, hoping she would indicate where "Brown's" was, but she did not. Every one must know "Brown's."
The only "Brown" Livingstone knew was the great banker, and a grim smile flickered on his cheek at the thought of the toys in which that Brown dealt. He shifted the responsibility to the driver.
"Driver, go to Brown's. You know where it is?"