"What next?" inquired Junius.
They were approaching Twelfth Street now, and the car was hardly moving in the press of vehicles.
Edward Billings curled his bare toes under, and unconsciously pushed forward with all his slender might. "Then I'll tell him that father used to read a lot, law books and things, same as he does——"
"But see here!" interrupted Junius. "All this talk will be about your father. What are you going to say about yourself?"
A cloud overspread Edward Billings's face. He raised a pair of troubled eyes to his questioner. "Why, I never stopped to think of that," he began, slowly, all the brightness fading out of his tone. "There's nothing much to say about me. I sell papers and help father——"
"What does your father do?" asked Junius.
The boy hesitated. His face flushed, and he looked up uncertainly at the goggles. "He used to teach, I told you," was the evasive answer, "until his eyes gave out."
"And now?"
Edward Billings Henry wriggled about on the padded leather. "He's always had bad legs,"—the evasion continued,—"but his arms and back are strong, and his legs all right to stand on."
"Yes?" insisted Junius, and waited.