His father was
waiting to kill him and Mrs. Pascoe was at his elbow. Peter screamed, the
sweat was pouring off his forehead, his throat was tight with agony when
suddenly by his side was old Frosted Moses, with his flowing beard. "It
isn't life that matters," he was whispering in his old cracked voice, "but
the courage that you bring to it."
The figures faded, the light grew broader and broader, and Peter woke to
find Mr. Zanti, by the aid of a candle, climbing into bed.
But some time passed before he had courage to fall asleep again.
CHAPTER XII
BROCKETTS: ITS CHARACTER, AND ESPECIALLY MRS. BROCKETT
I
On the next afternoon about six o'clock, Mr. Zanti, accompanied by the
languid and shabby gentleman whom Peter had noticed before, appeared in the
shop.
"Signor Rastelli," said Mr. Zanti, and the languid gentleman shook hands
with Peter as though he were conferring a great benefit upon him and he
hoped Peter wouldn't forget it.
"Zis," said Mr. Zanti, "is my young friend, Peter Westcott, whom I love as
if 'e were my own son--Signor Rastelli," he continued, turning to Peter,
"I've known him for very many years and I can only say zat ze longer I 'ave
known him ze more admirable I 'ave thought 'im."
The gentleman took off his tall hat, stroked it, put it on again and
looked, with his languid eyes, at Peter.
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