politic to
disclose his name. So he answered simply:--"Ikey." Now, this name was
not contrary to any statute or usage. The man appeared to accept it in
good faith, and Michael decided in his heart that he was softer than
what he'd took him for.

He recovered some credit, however, by his next inquiry which seemed to
place baptismal names among negligibles: "Ah, that's it, is it? But Ikey
what? What do they call your father, if you've got one?"

Three courses occurred to Michael; improbable fiction, evasive or
defiant; plausible fiction; and the undisguised truth. As the first, the
Duke of Wellington's name recommended itself. He had, however, decided
mentally that this man was a queer customer, and might be an awkward
customer. So he discarded the Duke--satire might irritate--and chose the
second course to avoid the third. But he was betrayed by Realism, which
suggested that a study from Nature would carry conviction. He decided on
assuming the name of his friend the apothecary round the corner, up the
street facing over against the Wheatsheaf. He replied that his father's
name was Heeking's. It was easier to do this than to invent a name,
which might have turned out an insult to the human understanding. He was
disgusted to be met with incredulity.

"Don't believe you," said the man. "You're a young liar. Where's your
father now--now this very minute?"

"Abed."

"What's he doing there?"

"Sleeping of it off. It was Saturday with him last night. He had to be
fetched from the King's Arms very careful. Perkins's Entire. Barclay
Perkins. Fetched him myself! Mean to say I didn't?" But this part of the
tale was probable and no comment seemed necessary.

"Where's your mother?"

"Cookin' 'im a bloater over the fire. It does the temper good. Can't yer
smell it?" A flavour of cooking confirmed Michael's words, but he seemed
to require a more formal admission of his veracity than a mere nostril
set ajar and a glance at an open window. "Say, if you don't! On'y
there's no charge for the smelling of it. She'll tell yer just the same
like me, word in and word out. You can arks for yourself. I can 'oller
'er up less time than talkin' about it. You've only to say!"

But this man, the twist of whose face had not been improved by his
recognition of the bloater, seemed to wish to confine his communications
to Michael, rather decisively. Indeed, there was a sound of veiled
intimidation in his voice as he said:--"You leave your mot