Placing his hand upon the clustering tendrils that surrounded the
classic nob of the infant Italian, he said softly, like a strain of
distant music:--
"Boy, you have done well. Love the Good. Protect the Innocent.
Provide for The Indigent. Respect the Philosopher. . . . Stay!
Can you tell we what IS The True, The Beautiful, The Innocent, The
Virtuous?"
"They are things that commence with a capital letter," said the
Boy, promptly.
"Enough! Respect everything that commences with a capital letter!
Respect ME!" and dropping a half-penny in the hand of the boy, he
departed.
The Boy gazed fixedly at the coin. A frightful and instantaneous
change overspread his features. His noble brow was corrugated with
baser lines of calculation. His black eye, serpent-like, glittered
with suppressed passion. Dropping upon his hands and feet, he
crawled to the curbstone and hissed after the retreating form of
the Baronet, the single word:--
"Bilk!"
BOOK II.
IN THE WORLD.
"Eleven years ago," said Sir Edward to himself, as his brougham
slowly rolled him toward the Committee Room; "just eleven years ago
my natural son disappeared mysteriously. I have no doubt in the
world but that this little bootblack is he.
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