She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. Most of the boys did not possess the manners that he did. Rats and things crawling all over. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. It is a precaution merely.
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