“Forgotten? Trust him for that. He never forgets anything. I saw him tonight, about eight⁠—helped him to shut up his shop⁠—and he had got the letters then in his hairy cap. He pulled it off and showed ’em me. When the shop was closed, he took them out of his cap, hung his cap on the chair-back, and stood turning them over before the fire. I heard him a little while afterwards, through the floor here, humming like the wind, the only song he knows⁠—about Bibo, and old Charon, and Bibo being drunk when he died, or something or other. He has been as quiet since as an old rat asleep in his hole.”

“And you are to go down at twelve?”

“At twelve. And as I tell you, when you came it seemed to me a hundred.”

“Tony,” says Mr. Guppy after considering a little with his legs crossed, “he can’t read yet, can he?”