“Hallo, new kid, what’s your name?”

“Robert Stonehouse.”

“Don’t be so abrupt, my boy,”—­a delighted titter from the small fry—­“say ‘sir’ when you answer me.”

“I shan’t.”

The little colourless eyes widened in sheer incredulity.  For a moment the role of humorist was forgotten.

“Look here—­no cheek, or I’ll smack your head.”

“He hasn’t been properly brought up,” one of the spotty youth’s companions remarked, not ill-naturedly.  “Can’t expect him to have manners.  He never had a father or a mother, poor darling——­”

“Then where did he come from?”

“God made him.”

“He told old Jaegers he’d never even heard of God.”

“Dear, dear, what a naughty boy.  He doesn’t even say his prayers.”

“But he lives with a lady called Christine——­”

“How nice for him.  Is she a pretty lady, Stonehouse?” Up till now nothing had stirred in him.  He hadn’t cared.  He had indeed felt something of the superiority which they suspected in him.  If that was all they could do——­ Now, suddenly, the blood rushed to the roots of his fair hair.

“Shut up.  You leave Christine alone.”

The big boy was too delighted to be angry.

“Hoity-toity.  She must be a high-stepper.  No trespassers allowed—­eh, what? young cockalorum.  Come on, what’s she like?  Who is she?

“He doesn’t know.”

“She isn’t his mother.”

“He says she isn’t.”

“P’r’aps he doesn’t know that either.  P’r’aps that’s what she says——­”

The full extent of the innuendo, like the majority of the audience, he did not understand, but he saw the wink which passed between the two elder boys.  Ever since that day when he had gathered flowers for his mother in Kensal Green Cemetery he had known of dark things, just beyond his understanding.  He had wandered in the midst of them too long not to be aware of them on the instant.  And it was against Christine—­who had suffered from them so terribly—­they dared——­ A great sigh tore itself free from him.  He put his head down.  He flew at the spotty youth like a stone from a catapult, and they went down together in a cloud of dust.

After that, as in most of his uneven, desperate encounters, he hardly knew what happened.  He felt nothing.  In reality it was an absurd spectacle.  The spotty youth, bounding up from his momentary discomfiture, caught Robert by the collar and smacked him shamefully, severely, as the outrage merited.  And when justice had been satisfied, he released the culprit, and Robert, without pause, returned, fighting with fists and feet and teeth, as he had learnt to do from dire necessity.  It was unprecedented.  The spotty youth gasped.  His companions offered intervention.

“I’ll hold the beggar.”

But honour was at stake.  The small fry, startled out of caution, were tittering in hysterical excitement.