y afternoon,
sore, stiff and hungry: they had broken their fast merely on
half-a-dozen sandwiches, keeping their seats the while that the young
toper might be spared the sight of intoxicating liquors. Now, stopping
only to brush off the top layer of dust and snatch a bite of solid
food, Mahony hastened away, his witness at heel, to Chancery Lane.

It was a relief to find that Ocock was not greatly put out at Purdy
having failed them. "Leave it to us, sir. We'll make that all right."
As on the previous visit he dry-washed his hands while he spoke, and
his little eyes shot flashes from one to the other, like electric
sparks. He proposed just to run through the morrow's evidence with "our
young friend there"; and in the course of this rehearsal said more than
once: "Good ... good! Why, sonny, you're quite smart." This when Johnny
succeeded in grasping his drift. But at the least hint of unreadiness
or hesitation, he tut-tutted and drew his brows together. And as it
went on, it seemed to Mahony that Ocock was putting words into the
boy's mouth; while Johnny, intimidated, said yes and amen to things he
could not possibly know. Presently he interfered to this effect. Ocock
brushed his remark aside. But after a second interruption from Mahony:
"I think, sir, with your permission we will ask John not to depart from
what he actually heard," the lawyer shuffled his papers into a heap and
said that would do for to-day: they would meet at the court in the
morning. Prior to shaking hands, however, he threw out a hint that he
would like a word with his brother on family matters. And for half an
hour Mahony paced the street below.

The remainder of the day was spent in keeping Johnny out of
temptation's way, in trying to interest him in the life of the city,
its monuments and curiosities. But the lad was too apathetic to look
about him, and never opened his mouth. Once only in the course of the
afternoon did he offer a kind of handle. In their peregrinations they
passed a Book Arcade, where Mahony stopped to turn the leaves of a
volume. Johnny also took up a book, and began to read.

"What is it?" asked Mahony. "Would you like to have it, my boy?"

Johnny stonily accepted the gift--it was a tale of Red Indians, the
pages smudged with gaudy illustrations--and put it under his arm.

At the good supper that was set before him he picked with a meagre
zest; then fell asleep. Mahony took the opportunity to write a line to
Polly to tell