Seaton nodded.

“Do you know?” the boy’s voice trembled with eagerness.  “Was she my mother?”

“Foley thinks not.  He says she spoke with an accent he thought was Italian.  When I get back to New York I’ll do what I can to clear the matter up for you.  Queer, isn’t it, that human beings crave to know even the worst about their breed.”

“I got to know!  I got to know!  Mr. Seaton, I ran away from Luigi one time.  I guess I was about eight.  I wanted to live in the country.  And I got as far as Central Park before they found me.  He got the police on my trail right off.  And when he had me back in Minetta Lane, first he licked me and then he told me how bad my mother was, and he said if folks knew it, they’d spit on me and throw me out of school, and that I was lower than any low dog.  And he told me if I did exactly what he said he’d never let any one know, but if I didn’t he’d go over and tell Miss Brannigan.  She was a teacher I was awful fond of, and he’d tell the police, and he’d tell all the kids.  And after that he was always telling me awful low things about my mother—­”

Seaton interrupted firmly.  “Not your mother.  Call her Luigi’s wife.”

Nucky moistened his lips.  “Luigi’s wife.  And it used to drive me crazy.  And he told me all women was like that only some less and some worse.  Mr. Seaton, is that true?”

“Enoch, it’s a contemptible, unspeakable lie!  The majority of women are pure and sweet as no man can hope to be.  I’d like to kill Luigi, blast his soul!”

“Maybe you don’t know!” persisted Nucky.

“I know!  And what’s more, when we get back to New York, I’ll prove it to you.  The world is full of clean, honest, kindly people, Enoch.  I’ll prove it to you, old man, if you’ll give me the chance.”

“But if she was my mother, how can I help being rotten?”

“Look here, Enoch, a fellow might have the rottenest mother and rottenest father on earth, but the Lord will start the fellow out with a clean slate, just the same.  Folks aren’t born bad.  You can’t inherit your parents’ badness.  You could inherit their weak wills, for instance, and if you live in Minetta Lane where there’s only badness about you, your weak will wouldn’t let you stand out against the badness.  But you can’t inherit evil.  If that were possible, humanity would have degenerated to utter brutality long ago.  And, Enoch, you haven’t inherited even a weak will.  You’re as obstinate as old Funny Face!”

“Then you think—­” faltered the boy.

“I don’t think!  I know that you come of fine, upstanding stock!  And it’s about time you moved out of Minetta Lane and gave your good blood a chance!”