The boy was
sitting on the edge of his bunk, his red hair a beautiful bronze in the
dim daylight that filtered through the high window.
"How are you, Enoch?" said Mr. Seaton. "My name is John Seaton.
Officer Foley pointed you out to me the other day as a lad who was
making bad use of a good name. That's a wonderful name of yours, do
you realize it?"
"Every uplifter I ever met's told me so," replied Nucky, ungraciously,
without looking up.
Mr. Seaton smiled. "I'm no uplifter! I'm a New York lawyer!
Supposing you take a look at me so's to recognize me when we meet
again."
Nucky still kept his gaze on the floor. "I know what you look like.
You got gray hair and brown eyes, you're thin and tall and about fifty
years old."
"Good work!" exclaimed Enoch's caller. "Now, look here, Enoch, can't I
help you out of this scrape?"
"Don't want to be helped out. I was doin' a man's job and I'll take my
punishment like a man."
Seaton spoke quickly. "It wasn't a man's job. It was a thief's job.
You're taking your sentence like a common thief, not like a man."
"Aw, dry up and get out o' here!" snarled Nucky, jumping to his feet
and looking his caller full in the face.
Seaton did not stir. In spite of its immaturity, its plainness and its
sullenness, there was a curious dignity in Nucky's face, that made a
strong appeal to his dignified caller.
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