"IT WAS AN IMP."
John again inserted his knuckles in his eyes, and waved off the smoke from his pipe. And then he recognised his uncanny visitor. It was the little son of the widow who lived under his flat. He was one of the imps of King Pippin's kingdom in the pantomime, and doomed for a small pittance to indulge his apish tricks nightly with the gnomes and fairies of that fanciful realm.
"Daubs!" said the imp.
Yes, only that was necessary to incite John's wrath. A nickname that was supportable from the actors and scene-shifters was insupportable from a child.
"Daubs" therefore turned sharply upon the boy:—
"Are you referring to me?"
"Yes, sir."
John was on the point of brusquely informing the lad that he was not acquainted with a gentleman of the name of Daubs, and peremptorily showing him the door. A glance from the honest brown eyes, however, restrained him. It told him that what he had at first assumed to be impudence was really the result of ignorance—that, and only that.
"I would like to know you, Mr. Daubs. You don't mind knowing a little boy—do you?"
John opened his eyes in astonishment. What a curious imp! John was not aware that anybody had any particular desire for his society; in fact, the reverse had hitherto seemed the case. He was usually regarded as an unsociable being.