Anyhow, after that he used to grin when I opened the door, instead of greeting me as formerly with a face the picture of despair.

But to return to our inexperienced friend.
At last the wicket is suddenly opened.

A peremptory official demands of him "name and address." Not expecting the question, he is a little doubtful of his address, and has to correct himself once or twice.

The official eyes him suspiciously.
"Name of mother ?" continues the official.
"Name of what ?" "Mother!" repeats the official.

"Had a mother of some sort, I suppose." He is a man who loved his mother sincerely while she lived, but she has been dead these twenty years, and, for the life of him he cannot recollect her name.