“What 'ave you been doing, boy? Finished the book?” “Yes.” “Ah, good. You'll be ze great man, Peter.” He looked down at him proudly as a father might look upon his son. “Ze damnedest fog--” he began, then suddenly he stopped and Peter felt his hand on his shoulder tighten. “Ze damnedest--” Mr. Zanti said slowly. Peter looked up into his face. He was listening. Herr Gottfried, standing in the middle of the shop, was also listening. For a moment there was an intense breathless silence. The noise from the street seemed also, for the instant, to be hushed. Very slowly, very quietly, Mr. Zanti went to the street door and opened it. A cloud of yellow fog blew into the shop. “Ze damnedest fog ...” repeated Mr. Zanti, still very slowly, as though he were thinking. “Any one been?” he said at last to Herr Gottfried. “Oblotzky.” Mr. Zanti, after flinging a strange, half-affectionate, half-inquisitive look at Peter, went through into the room beyond. “What ...” said Peter. “Often enough,” interrupted Herr Gottfried, shuffling back to his seat, “young boys want to know--too much ... often enough.” II The Tressiter children, of whom there were eight, loved Peter with a devotion that was in fact idolatry. They loved him because he understood them so completely and from Anne Susan, aged one and a half, to Rupert Bernard, aged nine, there was no member of the family who did not repose complete trust and confidence in Peter's opinions, and rejoice in his wonderful grasp of the things in the world that really mattered. Other persons might be seen shifting, slowly and laboriously, their estimates and standards in order to bring them into line with the youthful Tressiter estimates and standards.... Peter had his ready without any shifting. First of all the family did Robin Tressiter, aged four, adore Peter. He was a fat, round child with brown eyes and brown hair, and an immense and overwhelming interest in the world and everything contained therein. He was a silent child, with a delightful fat chuckle when really amused and pleased, and he never cried. His interest in the world led him into strange and terrible catastrophes, and Mrs. Tressiter was always far too busy and too helpless to be of any real assistance. On this foggy afternoon, Peter, arriving at Brockett's after much difficulty and hesitation, found Robin Tressiter, on Miss Monogue's landing, with his head fastened between the railings that overlooked the hall below. He was stuck very fast indeed, but appeared to be perfectly unperturbed--only every now and again he kicked a little with his legs. “I've sticked my neck in these silly things,” he said, when he saw Peter. “You must pull at me.” Peter tried to wriggle the child through, but he found that he must have some one to help him. Urging Robin not to move he knocked at Miss Monogue's door. She opened it, and he stepped back with an apology when he saw that some one else was there.