Now what
is your wildest guess for that little devil's name, Mr. Seaton?"
The gray-hatred man shook his head. "Pat Donahue, by his hair."
"But not by his face, if you could see it. His name is Enoch
Huntingdon. Yes, sir, Enoch Huntingdon! What do you think of that?"
The astonishment expressed in Seaton's eyes was all that the officer
could desire.
"Enoch Huntingdon! Why, man, that gutter rat has real blood in him, if
he didn't steal the name."
"No kid ever stole such a name as that," said Foley. "And for all he's
homely enough to stop traffic, his face sorta lives up to his name.
Want a look at him?"
Mr. Seaton hesitated. The tragic death of his own boy a few years
before had left him shy of all boys. But his curiosity was roused and
with a sigh he nodded.
Foley crossed the street, Seaton following. As they turned into the
Square, Nucky saw them out of the tail of his eye. He rose, casually,
but Foley forestalled his next move by calling in a voice that carried
above the street noises, "Nucky! Wait a moment!"
The boy stopped and stood waiting until the two men came up. Seaton
eyed the strongly hewn face while the officer said, "That person you
were with a bit ago, Nucky--I don't think much of her.
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