Noah dared not order anything, and he looked at Quentin for guidance.

"Oh, I ain't smart," he said, as his eyes hungrily followed the bread basket that was put before them. He could smell the sweetness of the warm bread, and his mouth watered, but he did not take any, afraid to be told off. "Because you'll give me more than a bob?" he said, his eyes still on the bread.

Quentin arches an eyebrow at the lad since the waiter was still waiting for Noah's order. "You should order something." He points out providing no more guidance than that beyond. "And help yourself to the bread." He waits for the teen to make his decision before continuing.

"Yes, I might give you more than a bob. However, knowing the kind of person I am can inform how you should act to get more than a bob." He explains. "Or, to be more direct. I'm trying ta figure out if ya are really a wee gobshite or iffin ye could be a decent bloke if given tha righ' chance. I like to think o' meself as being a decent enough fella and I like ta help those who are hard done by due ta things they cannot control." He once again switches easily into the vernacular of the commoner. Years spent as a soldier and then aboard sailing vessels making speaking so vulgarly easy enough to do for the posh man.

Noah looked at the waiter. "Uhm... the same," he said. He turned back to the Marquis, rather confused by what he was saying and how he was supposed to respond. As far as he was aware he was indeed a gobshite and unable to make something of himself. He had already accepted that. He just wanted money to buy himself and his brother food for a few nights and maybe a drink or two... or three. But if he was going to tell the man he wasn't smart enough to make something out of his life, he'd never get more money.

"How do I prove I'm not a gobshite, ser?"

"You are a gobshite." Quentin says bluntly. "You can't prove to me that you are not because that is what the world has made of you. What you need to do is prove to me that you don't want to be a gobshite. That you wish to be something better than that. Despite a rough beginning, you've already done somethings to convince me that there is something more inside of you. The fact that you clearly didn't have the actual stomach for mugging, that you are willing to work for coin, and your obvious concern for your brother are all marks in your favour. Are you a teetotaler?" He inquires of the lad suddenly.

Noah wasn't insulted by the bluntness. He was used to being called far worse things. He listened, getting rather hopeful that he might convince the guy to give him more money as the man listed things in his favour. But when the man asked him if he was a teetotaler, a mocking smirk appeared on the boy's face even before he could control it. Teetotalers were assholes who thought they were better than the common lot, prigs like Mr. Ward and teachers and preachers. "No ser, me dad says beer's safer than water." There was no point in lying, since his face had already given him away.

"Indeed," Quentin says arching a brow. "And tell me, lad, what exactly had that philosophy and therefore the drink done for your father?" He'd gotten the impression that there probably wasn't a lot of love lost there. The boy should consider, what being a drunk had done for his sire.

"My dad is okay, it's not his fault, it's my mam as drives 'im to drink more than is good for 'im sometimes. 'e usually controls 'imself." His dad was an asshole, but so was his mother, and as long as he blamed both their faults on the other, he could manage to call them assholes and still protect them from external scrutiny.

Right?

Quentin cocks an eyebrow at the lad which said everything it needed to. That the excuse he'd just furnished the lord with didn't hold even an ounce of water with the man. However, he also wasn't going to go hard into the teen who likely knew the truth, even if he was trying to avoid admitting it. It was actually a point in his favour that he still clearly wanted to think the best of a father that was failing him.

"Perhaps. But I would guess he'd have more business if he could keep his drinking under control at all times. Business that would mean you wouldn't have to be out on the street trying to mug people to feed yourself and your brother. So perhaps you should give more consideration to the merits of not drinking."

Noah flustered and considered snapping back at the man who was insulting his father - with the truth. But he held his tongue. He wanted the money. "Our lot don't get anywhere anyway," he muttered. That was what his father always said, and it had become an easy excuse for not trying.

"Yes, that is often the case." Quentin agreed. "Hard work can only take you so far. A person can work hard but still be kept from succeeding due to the people in his life taking what coin he has earned for himself to turn it into their own vices. And that hard-working individual goes along with it merely because they think that is how things are." Quentin says, guessing that much of the money the boy managed to earn through honest labour went toward drink and not for himself.

"However, sometimes an industrious and hard-working person can be afforded an opportunity that will let them rise beyond their station. Lad, I could quite easily give you the twenty-odd pounds I currently have in my wallet. But if you went home with such a sum, answer me honestly, what would happen?"