then.

Keith swung around as if touched by an electric shock. Before him he saw
another small boy, apparently of his own age, but a little taller, and
light-haired like himself.

"What's your name," asked Keith as soon as he caught his breath.

"Johan," answered the other stolidly, but not unfriendly.

"Have you got another name like me?"

"My name is Johan Peter Gustafsson," was the reply given in the tone of
a lesson painfully learned.

"Where do you live?"

"Right here."

"Not in our house," Keith protested.

"No, down there," Johan explained, pointing to the little side door
leading into the courtyard of one of the corner houses at the Quay.

"What's your father?" Keith continued his cross-examination.

"_Vaktmästare_" said Johan indifferently.

"So is mine," Keith cried eagerly. "Have you got a bank, too?"