The man had a strange way of speaking, Noah decided; elaborate rather than getting to the point, typical toff he was. The boy shrugged. "Someone took my money, so I needed money," he said. He led the man through a long street. He often bought food from street vendors, but never ate indoors, since that was more expensive, so he did not actually know which establishment was good. But he resolved to lead the man to something that looked fancy enough. He didn't care. He just wanted his shilling.

"And you decided that mugging was a good way to go about that? Panhandling is likely more within the scope of your abilities, perhaps pickpocketing though that comes with its own risks. Why jump to mugging? Especially when you were blatantly not prepared to do it."

Which referred not simply to the boy's poor choice in weapon but the fact that he clearly didn't have the stomach for it. Quentin had seen how the boy was trembling while he held the knife so he couldn't quite understand it.

Noah turned red and clenched his fists, though he didn't snap back, because he felt kind of scared. "Beggin' won't get ye more than a few pennies, nor will pickpocketing. I was hungry and I need to feed me brother too. Anyway, what's it to you, I didn't mug ye in the end, did I?"

"No, you did not. You showed commendable wisdom in deciding against that particular course of action." Quentin says with a chuckle. "As for what it is to me." He pauses for a moment in consideration. "Do you know what the true mark of nobility is?"

Noah stopped walking and looked up at the man puzzled. "Wha?" Why was he talking so weird? He didn't understand rich folks. They made every interaction unnecessarily difficult. "I don't know nowt about nobility."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't." He says with a chuckle. "Let me provide you with some perspective. Had I simply given you my purse, you would have found yourself with what would have been to you a life-changing amount of money." He didn't give the boy the exact number, which was a sum of roughly twenty-five pounds, he simply wanted to make that understanding clear to him. "Conversely, the loss of this sum of money is to me, a minor inconvenience."

He continues as they meander through the streets. "Now, most of the nobility simply take such difference in wealth as the natural order of things. However, I have never been entirely found of simply accepting what is because others cannot imagine better." He pauses for several moments and then shakes his head. "Most of what I am saying I am sure is quite beyond you, not due to any lack of intelligence on your part but rather ignorance. No one has cared enough about your education to ensure you can understand the meandering musing of pompous noblemen. So, allow me to attempt to put it into vernacular you might better comprehend."

Quentin coughs into his hand and then says in a startlingly accurate impression of an old dock worker. "Listen ya little gobshite. Ye threatened me with a knife, like a daft little bugger looking fer a beating. But I ain't some fishmonger whose going ta thrash ye fer trying ta feed yerself and yer brother then send ye on your way no richer cept fer the burises. I'm a hoity-toity posh type and I'm try ta decide what ta do with ya by taking stock of what kind of little gobshite you really are. I might send ya on yer way with more than a shilling iffin I think you'll do something worthwhile with it."

There is a beat as he lets this sink in before he continues in his usual tone of voice, which was a smooth baritone with a posh accent. "Does that make it a bit clearer?" He inquires.

Noah only looked more puzzled as the man began to lecture, losing him in the long sentences and fancy words. But when the man altered his tone and called him a 'gobshite', he jumped, and half expected said trashing. It didn't come however.

"Aye ser," he quickly answered, quite intimidated. For a toff, this guy did a pretty good imitation of working man. He paused for a moment, wondering how he could best convince the man to give him more than a shilling. But he decided that was probably by just doing as he was told. "This way, ser..." He began to lead the man on along the street, his mind on that purse with a life-altering amount of money.

"Tell me a bit about your brother. Why does it fall onto you to see him fed?"

Quentin inquires as they continued the walk. His ultimate goal was to take stock of the lads character. He wanted to know if the potential mugger was merely a good kid driven to desperation by circumstance or a true delinquent.

Noah looked up at the man, and then ahead. "My parents are out of work a lot." Technically that wasn't a lie, even though it wasn't the whole truth. "I don't want us to end up in t' workhouse. They'll separate us, and I heard they'll beat ye, and half starve ye, and treat ye like animals."

"That sounds entirely believable," Quentin says wryly about the workhouses. The English were not exactly known for looking kindly upon the less fortunate. "I take it that your parents being frequently out of work is not entirely voluntary on their part." He says, having guessed that the father at the very least was likely a drunkard. "Do you do any honest work to bring home coin?" He asks the lad.