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satisfaction.
    â€˜Go on, then,’ he said, impatiently, ‘tell me.’
    â€˜I went shopping as soon as you left – I put my face on first, of course – and I got speaking to old Ma Beaton five doors down on the opposite side, and the nosy so-and-so asked me who the handsome young men were she’d seen going in and out of my house. Not a thing happens in this street without her knowing, ’cos she sits behind her net curtains all day and watches everything that goes on.’
    Feeling rather let-down, Alistair muttered, ‘Is that it?’
    â€˜No, it’s a long story and I have to tell you everything so you’ll understand.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, carry on. You were speaking to old Ma something …?’
    â€˜Ma Beaton, and I told her you and your pal had come from Scotland to look for jobs. I said Dougal was fixed up—he came back at twelve to say he starts on Monday and then went out again – but I said you were still looking and she said to try Ikey Mo. He’d been telling her he was thinking of taking a young boy on to help him. So I went and told him about you, and you’ve to see him tomorrow about ten.’
    â€˜B … but …’ stammered Alistair, ‘who’s Ikey Mo, and what kind of shop is it?’
    Ivy spluttered with laughter. ‘That’s not his real name. I can’t remember what it is, but Ma Beaton calls him Ikey Mo because he’s a Jew.’
    â€˜What kind of shop is it?’
    â€˜A pawnshop. I started going there when Len came out of the Navy, for he was out of work for months and I used up all our savings, but when he got a start on the North boat, I didn’t need to pawn no more stuff. I used to go to Uncle – that’s what most people call him – every week, and he’s a nice old bloke.’ Noticing Alistair’s deepening perplexity, she said, ‘Don’t you know what a pawnshop is?’
    After hearing what was entailed in the pawnbroking business, Alistair said, ‘I’m sorry, Ivy, but I don’t think I’m fitted for that.’
    Her face darkened. ‘Ain’t a pawnbroker good enough for you?’ she snapped. ‘Is that all the thanks I get for going out of my way to ask about it for you? You think it’s beneath you?’
    He was quite shocked by her outburst; he had spoken without thinking and hadn’t meant to offend her. ‘Oh, please don’t think that! I’m really grateful to you … and the old lady, but it’s just … I’m worried because I don’t know anything about … what was it you called it? Pledging things. I wouldn’t know how much to give for them.’
    â€˜You’ll soon learn,’ Ivy smiled, her spirits restored. ‘The customers’ll tell you if you don’t offer enough, and Uncle’ll walk into you if you give too much.’
    â€˜That’s what I’m worried about.’
    E.D. Isaacson, as the sign under the three brass balls proclaimed the pawnbroker’s name to be, was like no man Alistair had ever seen before, and because he was busy attending to a tall, belligerent woman, the boy had a chance to study him fully. He was shaped rather like a tadpole, his head big in proportion to his short body and legs. His grizzled, curly hair was quite thick, yet his crown was covered by a small skull-cap, and his long nose protruded above a bushy moustache and rounded beard, reminding Alistair of a cow looking over a dyke. Whatever his failings in appearance, however, his attitude to his customer held all the patience of a saint.
    Alistair was so fascinated by the unfamiliarity of the man’s physical make-up that he was unaware of the woman going out, and was startled when the old man spoke to him. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, my boy. What do you think of my little emporium, hmm?’
    Having paid no attention to his surroundings, Alistair took a guilty