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. Nevertheless Baslim had stated the law: since a master exercised high and low justice over a slave, he was therefore liable in his own person for his slave's acts, even to capital punishment.
Thorby started to sob, for the first time since the beginning of their relationship. "Don't turn me loose. Pop -- please don't! I've got to belong to you"
"I'm sorry, son. I told you you don't have to go away."
"Please, Pop. I won't ever swipe another thing!"
Baslim took his shoulder. "Look at me, Thorby. I'll make you a bargain."
"Huh? Anything you say. Pop. As long as -- "
"Wait till you hear it. I won't sign your papers now. But I want you to promise two things."
"Huh? Sure! What?"
"Don't rush. The first is that you promise never again to steal anything, from anybody. Neither from fine ladies in sedan chairs, nor from poor people like ourselves -- one is too dangerous and the other . . . well, it's disgraceful, though I don't expect you know what that means. The second is to promise that you will never lie to me about anything . . . not anything."
Thorby said slowly, "I promise."
"I don't mean just lying about the money you've been holding out on me, either. I mean anything. By the way, a mattress is no place to hide money. Look at me, Thorby. You know I have connections throughout the city."
Thorby nodded. He had delivered messages for the old man to odd places and unlikely people
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