"Well, yes. 'Twas that the old doc had some scientific work. Dad
told him about his jool. One day he took it over to Berkeley. It
was some kind of thing that the professor just wanted. He kept it.
Dad made him promise not to wear it."

"I see. Did your father ever tell you where he got it?"

"Oh, yes. He often spoke about that. The old man wasn't a
plasterer, you know--just a labourer. He was digging a basement.
It was a funny basement--a sort of blind cellar. There was a stone
wall right across the middle, and then there was a door of wood to
look like stone. You can go down into the back cellar, but not
into the front. If you don't know about the door, you'll never
find it. Dad often spoke about that. He was working in the back
cellar when he found this. 'Twas sticking in some blue clay."

"Where was this place? Do you remember?"

"Sure. 'Twas in Chatterton Place. Pat and I was kids then; we took
the old man's dinner."

"Do you know the number?"

"It didn't have no number; but I know the place. 'Tis a two-story
house, and was built in 'ninety-one."

I nodded. "And afterwards you moved to Oakland?"

"Yes."