Pym had a voice that shook his mantelpiece ornaments; he was all on the same scale as his ink-pot.

"Your Christian name, boy ?" he roared hopefully, for it was thus he sometimes got the idea that started him.
"Thomas," replied the boy.
Pym gave him a look of disgust "You may go," he said.

But when he looked up presently, Thomas was still there.

He was not only there, but whistling--a short, encouraging whistle that seemed to be directed at the door.

He stopped quickly when Pym looked up, but during the remainder of the interview he emitted this whistle at intervals, always with that anxious glance at his friend the door; and its strained joviality was in odd contrast with his solemn face, like a cheery tune played on the church organ.
"Begone!" cried Pym.
"My full name," explained Tommy, who was speaking the English correctly, but with a Scots accent, "is Thomas Sandys.