He could not in politeness ask the question that
rose to his lips--why the stranger wore a mitten on one hand; and if the
man observed his curiosity he let it pass.
"You are on business bent, I wot," continued the stranger. "Not for the
world would I delay you. But since the handclasp is but part of the
ceremony of introduction, might we not complete it by exchanging names?"
"My name is Desmond Burke," said the boy.
"A good name, a pleasant name, a name that I know."
Desmond was conscious that the man was looking keenly at him.
"There is a gentleman of the same name--I chanced to meet him in
London--cultivating literature in the Temple; his praenomen, I bethink
me, is Edmund. And I bethink me, too, that in the course of my
peregrinations on this planet I have more than once heard the name of one
Captain Richard Burke, a notable seaman, in the service of our great
Company. I repeat, my young friend, your name is a good one; may you live
to add luster to it!"
"Captain Burke was my father."
"My prophetic soul!" exclaimed the stranger. "But surely you are somewhat
late in following the paternal craft; you do not learn seamanship in this
sylvan sphere."
"True," responded Desmond, with a smile. "My father turned farmer; he
died when I was a little fellow, and I live with my mother. But you will
excuse me, sir; I have an errand to the Hall beyond us here."
"I am rebuked. Nam garrulus idem est, as our friend Horace would say.
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