Part 5 (1/2)

”If you please, sir,” said Billy in his singing voice, ”would you mind telling us the time?”

”Go to----” But at that moment the gentleman lowered his fierce old eyes and encountered the gaze of Billy, who was standing full in his path.

Have you ever seen a wild beast suddenly grow tame? I have not, but I saw something like it on the occasion of which I speak. Never did a swifter or more astonis.h.i.+ng change pa.s.s over the countenance of any human being. I really think the old fellow suffered a physical shock, for he stepped back two paces and looked for a moment like one who has been seriously hurt. Then he recovered himself; lowered his spectacles to the tip of his nose; gazed over them, at me for a moment, at Billy for a quarter of a minute, and finally broke out into a hearty laugh.

”Well,” he exclaimed, in the merriest of voices, ”you're a couple of young rascals. What are your names, and how old are you, and what school do you belong to, and who are your fathers?”

We answered his questions in a fairly business-like manner until we came to that about the fathers. Here there was an interlude. For Billy had to explain, in succession, that he had no father, and no mother, and no brothers, and no sisters--indeed, no relations at all that he knew of.

And there was some emotion at this point.

”Bless my soul,” said the old gentleman, ”that's very sad--very sad indeed. But who pays for your schooling?”

”A friend of my mater's,” said Billy. ”He's very good to me and has me to his house for the holidays.”

”And gives you plenty of pocket-money?”

”Lots,” answered Billy.

The old gentleman ruminated, and there was more emotion.

”Then you are not an unhappy boy?” he said at length.

”Not a bit,” answered Billy.

”Thank G.o.d for that! Thank G.o.d for that! I should be very sorry to learn you were unhappy. I hope you never will be. You don't _look_ unhappy.”

”I'm not,” repeated Billy.

All this time the old gentleman seemed quite unconscious of my existence. But I was not hurt by that. I was well used to being overlooked when Billy was with me, and never questioned for a moment the justice of the arrangement. But now the old gentleman seemed to recollect himself.

”What was it you asked me just now?” said he.

”We asked if you would mind telling us the time.”

”Ha, just so. Now are you quite sure that what you asked for is what you want? You said '_the_ time' not 'time.' For you must know, my dears, that there's a great difference between 'time' and '_the_ time.'”

Billy and I looked at each other, perplexed and disgusted--perplexed by the subtle distinction just drawn by the old gentleman; disgusted at being addressed as ”my dears.” (”He might as well have given us a kiss while he was about it,” we thought.)

”We want _the_ time, if you please,” we said at length.

”What, _the whole of it_?” said the old gentleman.

”No,” answered Billy, ”we only want the bit of it that's going on now.”

”Which bit is that?” said our venerable friend.

”That's just what we want to know,” answered Billy.

This fairly floored the old gentleman. ”You'll be a great Parliamentary debater one day, my boy,” he said, ”but the bit of time that's going on now is not an easy thing to catch. My watch can't catch it.”