WE WERE COMING OUT OF OUR DOOR THE NEXT morning when we heard the loud, braying voice of a street vendor a few streets away. We did not get many out here in Newington. I would not have noted it in passing, but Barker’s ears are more acute than mine, or perhaps he was listening for it. It made him turn and follow the voice to its source. At the corner of Brook Street, there stood a hokey-pokey man with his cart.
There were two of them, to be precise, a man in his fifties and a boy no more than twelve. The man was alternating between offering his wares and singing snatches of Verdi. He was talented enough to have attracted a handful of people so early in the morning.
There were two of them, to be precise, a man in his fifties and a boy no more than twelve. The man was alternating between offering his wares and singing snatches of Verdi. He was talented enough to have attracted a handful of people so early in the morning.
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