watch was kept in rain. She dreaded the thought of passing another night in uncertainty. Long ago her tears had dried up; she had a parched throat and trembling, feverish hands. Between seven and eight o’clock she went to Mrs. Griffin and begged her to take care of the child for a little while.
“I’m goin’ to see if I can hear anything about him. Somebody may know where he is.”
And first of all she directed her steps to Shooter’s Gardens. It was very unlikely that her mother could be of any use, but she would seek there. Afterwards she must go to Farringdon Road Buildings, though never yet had she presented herself to Bob’s father.
You remember that the Gardens had an offshoot, which was known simply as The Court. In this blind alley there stood, throughout the day, a row of baked-potato ovens, ten or a dozen of them, chained together, the property of a local capitalist who let them severally to men engaged in this business. At seven o’clock of an evening fires were wont to be lighted under each of these baking-machines, preparatory to their being wheeled away, each to its customary
