“All right, show’s over,” Hawker said sourly. “You can go now, boy, and …”
“Hey, not so quick, Hawker! How about you interdooce us to this boy o’ yours,” the slack-jawed individual broke in, leering at Robin with squint eyes that seemed to look in two directions at the same time. These were lodged on either side of a flat red nose as lumpy as a meat pie. It was attached to an equally red face bulging out from a cap so greasy it was no longer any nameable color.
“Looks like now we’ll be seein’ more o’ him, one way or t’ other, and you never know when us bein’ familiar with him might come in handy. Don’t you agree with my line o’ thinkin’, Quill?”
“Maggot’s got a point,” his tablemate replied in a thready voice that sounded as if it were being pulled through a keyhole. This man was as narrow as the other was broad. A narrow face, a narrow nose, crafty narrow eyes, a frame so narrow he could have fitted into a crack in a wall and disappeared so quickly he would leave nothing behind but an evil whisper of air.
“I don’t see how either one o’ you got any point,” grumped Hawker. “But first o’ all, don’t go bleatin’ about him bein’ any boy o’ mine. I inherited him, more s the rotten luck.”
“Seems to me as you’re makin’ good use o’ your rotten luck,” said Quill with a crooked grin.
“And you knowed about him b’fore you married his ma,” Maggot said. “You can’t go cryin’ about it, Hawker. Anyways, maybe it’ll learn you not to be wantin’ so hard what ain’t yours, mostly ‘cause it ain’t yours. This time you ended up getting’ what you wanted. Now you gotta live with it.”
“Maggot’s got another point,” Quill said agreeably.
“Aw, shut your big yaps, both o’ you,” Hawker said, clenching his fists angrily.
“Now, you don’t need to go makin’ fists over us offerin’ some words o’ friendly advice,” said Maggot. “You’re too quick makin’ them fists, Hawker. How many fights you got into over doin’ it, mostly for nothin’? One day it’s gonna be the end o’ you when a knife does more’n just put a beauty mark on your cheeks.”
“Well, I don’t want to hear any more o’ your points,” groused Hawker.
“Here’s one anyway, Hawker,” said Quill. “You can’t look for us to sit around bleedin’ over your hard luck when you got this boy workin’for you. You ain’t allowin’ him back to school just so’s he can go on the streets sellin’ papers. You’re lookin’ to puttin’ him in a factory maybe. You already got him collectin’ rents, and he learns fast. Look how he’s brung you the missin’ fifty cents, pretty as you please. Seems like you ain’t wasted no time startin’ to train him. So what’s to bleed about?”
“What do you mean, ‘wasted no time’?” Hawker snapped. “Didn’t I give him a whole week to do all the snivelin’ he wanted after his ma died?”
“Got to say that was generous o’ you, Hawker,” said Maggot. “And o’ course, there’s that other little matter you got stuck with. Can’t blame you for bein’ sore ’bout that. You knew ’bout it likewise b’fore you got hitched, but got to admit I’m willin’ to bleed a little for you ’bout that one.”
“Well,” said Quill, “you can just farm it out like you’re doin’. If it lives long enough, you’ll have two workin’ for you, protectin’ your old age. Anyways, no use talkin’ ’bout it, right, Hawker?”
“Right!” said Hawker, scowling.
“So what’s this boy’s name?” Quill asked. “Ain’t you gonna tell us?”
Hawker jerked his head at Robin. “Tell ’em your name, boy. Don’t just stand there like a tree stump.”
Robin, who had been listening to the conversation being held on his bleak future as if he were, in truth, a tree stump with no ears and certainly no feelings, could barely get out his name.
“It’s … it’s Robin,” he said weakly.
Upon hearing this, both Quill and Maggot grinned. “Don’t blame you for not wantin’ to use it,” Maggot said. “What kind o’ name is that for a boy?”
Hawker shook his head in disgust. “His ma said when she was havin’ him, this bird came up to the window and was talkin’ to her. That’s the kind o’ bird it was, so she named the baby after it.”
“Sounds like his ma was a pretty face with no brain behind it,” said Maggot. “Wonder his pa never said nothin’ to stop it.”
“Maybe where the family come from, it ain’t so strange,” said Quill. “Seems to me somewheres I heard o’ boys named it.”
“Not around here,” grumbled Hawker.
“Well, when he gets out on the street, maybe he’ll start callin’ hisself somethin’ else, just for protection,” said Maggot.
“And speakin’ o’ street,” said Hawker, “you better go hit the street, boy, and pick up the brat. I ain’t aimin’ to pay Mrs. Jiggs any more than I got to. Now get a move on!”
As Robin hurried down the street, he had to keep dashing away the angry tears from his eyes. Never mind that the street boys might see him. Never mind that some of the streets he had to travel were dark and very nearly deserted, streets that might ordinarily have filled him with fright. All he knew was that his brain was pounding with rage.
How dared those men talk about his mama as they had? A pretty face with no brain behind it! Well, they were hideously ugly faces with not a single brain to share between the two of them! How he would have loved to hurl that insult at them! And he would have if he were ten feet tall, with muscles
