Coming in from the kitchen, Jinny called out: ‘Ah, there you are, Ricka! You’re back early.’

He was walking slowly but jauntily down the stairs. His mouth was smiling, but the blue eyes were cold in the pale, arrogant face. He looked a great deal older than ten.

‘Gretchen has done your boots for you,’ Jinny said.

He glanced from her to Dadda and me. He said in English: ‘A waste of time. I do not need them.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Jinny asked him. ‘Is the game off?’

‘I am a Jew,’ he said, ‘and Ikey is a thief. They tell me so. I am not to play football with them.’

The colour mounted in Jinny’s cheeks. ‘By God!’ she said. ‘I’ll go up there and …’

Dadda interrupted her. ‘No, Jinny. What good would that do?’