“What sort of work do you have to do?”

“To go places and find out things.”

“Why, then you’re a detective, Bubbles.”

A look of contempt swept into the child’s face.  “Detectives is in business,” he said, “for what they can get out of it.  We’re in it because the house we live in is dirty and full of rats, and we want to make it clean.”

The boy had raised his voice a little, and Barbara found herself thrilling to it.

“But, Bubbles,” she objected, “you can’t go to school and college and keep up this work at the same time.”

“If I get education,” said Bubbles, “it’s so’s to be fitter for the work when I come out.  But I can’t give the work up till the job I’m on is finished.  It wouldn’t be square.”

“Can you tell me the job?”

“I’m one o’ them that’s helpin’ to get the old un where he’s wanted.”

“What old one?”

“Blizzard.”

Barbara was very much taken aback.  “The man I made the bust of?”

“We can send him to the chair any time.  But what’s the use?  He knows things that we got to know before we pass him up.”

“But, Bubbles, how can you help?”

“Oh, I’m little.  I can get into little places.  They wouldn’t want me if I weren’t of use.”

“But I don’t like the idea of your running down Blizzard, Bubbles.”

“Why not, Miss Barbara?  There’s no one in the city that’s needed as much as him.”

“Aside from that, Bubbles—­I’m willing to grant that—­there’s a reason why I think you should have nothing to do with running him down.”

“It’s got to be an awful good one, Miss Barbara—­not just good to you, and maybe to me, but to men higher up.”

“I think it would be good enough for the very highest up, Bubbles.  Will you take my word for it?”

“Yes, Miss Barbara.  But they won’t take my word for your word.”

“No,” she said, “of course not.”

She considered for a few moments.  Then she said:  “Bubbles, I’m going to tell you my reason.  I hope I’m not doing wrong.  It’s a serious thing for me to tell you and for you to know.  There is very little doubt but that Blizzard is your father.”

“Say that again, please,” said Bubbles.

“Blizzard is probably your father.”

Bubbles took the news very coolly.  His eyes sparkled; but he made no exclamations of surprise or chagrin.  Instead he said:  “That accounts for it.”

“Accounts for what?”

“Oncet he caught me in his house.  He said the next time he’d skin me alive.  If I hadn’t been his son he’d a skun me that time.  Do you get me, Miss Barbara?  He’s my father, sure.  But—­” Now chagrin, wonder, and perplexity were written in Bubbles’s face.  “Why,” he said, “it makes everything different.  He never done anything for me; but if he’s my father—­”

“You can’t very well spy on him, can you, Bubbles?  You’ve got to stand aside and leave all that to others.”