Page:The little blue devil (IA littlebluedevil00mackiala).pdf/18

do anything, of course. You wait till you’re big and strong and———”

“But I haven’t time. And I must.”

“Antoine, what under the sun do you mean?”

“Don’t say Antoine. Call me Tony as you mostly do—I’m English, not French. And I mean I must do something. I know that! I’m not such a kid as to think you can live on eleven francs fifty centimes. It’s not half our hotel bill for one day. And———”

“Tony, what’s the trouble? What on earth has a bilingual whippersnapper like you to do with hotel bills? I don’t understand what you’re at.”

“It’s just—he—has—turned me out," said Tony, so quietly that the slow words sounded flat and lifeless, as if he did not understand them himself. “I’m—on my own. And ten’s rather small to do anything.”

“He? Your fa—You can’t mean———”

“Yes, he has. My father. He–he said. . . he was going to Moscow and there wasn’t room.”

Antoine stopped dead. It is probable that he felt tears somewhere near and did not wish them to come to his voice. He was never a tearful child.

“But—he can’t do a thing like that! He has to support you.”

“He’s done it," snapped Tony, in a tone that seemed to say: Since I must have a scoundrel for a father, admit that he is the most efficient of scoundrels. “And he’s off—you can’t stop him. And—d’you suppose I’d go back to him?”

A disconcerting infant! But obviously something must be done.

“I say, Tony, you’ll stay with me till we can settle things? There are places where they take care of———”

“I won’t go to an orphanage,” said Tony suspiciously. “You never get out.”