"Speak her soft, Galley."
The name he had given was repeated over the throng by many, doubtless, who had not heard of her, but there were others who knew, and told of the work that Eleanor Leigh had been doing in quarters where any other woman of her class and kind had never showed her face; of help here and there; a hand lent to lift a fallen girl; of succor in some form or another when all hope appeared to be gone.
It was a strange champion who had suddenly stepped forward into the arena to protect her, but the girl felt immediately that she was safe. She turned to her champion.
"I thank you," she said simply. "If you wish to help me, help me get hold of this poor girl whom I have come for. Ask him to let me see her, if only for one moment, and I may save her a life of misery."
The man turned to the proprietor. "Why don't you let her see the girl?" he said.
Gallagin scowled at him or winked, it could scarcely be told which. "What the —— is it to you? Why can't you keep your mouth for your own business instead of interfering with other folks? You have seen trouble enough doing that before."
"Let her see the girl."
"What business is it of yours whether I do or not?"
"Just this—that when I was away and my wife was starvin', and you never givin' her nothin', and my little gal was dyin', this here lady came there and took care of 'em—and that's what makes it my business. I don't forgit one as helped me, and you know it."
"Well, I'll tell you this, there ain't no gal of that name here. I don't know what she's talkin' about."
"Oh! Come off! Let her see the gal."
"You go up there and look for yourself," said the proprietor. "Take her with you if you want to and keep her there."
"Shut your mouth, d——n you!" said Talman. He turned to Miss Leigh.
"She ain't here, lady. He'd never let me go up there if she was there. But I'll help you find her if you'll tell me about her. You can go home now. I'll see you safe."
"I am not afraid," said the girl. "My carriage is not far off," and with a pleasant bow and a word of renewed supplication to the proprietor, whose eye was resting on her with a curious, malign expression, she turned and passed back through the room, with her gaze straight ahead of her, while every eye in the room was fastened on her; and just behind her walked the squatty figure of Red Talman. A few doors off a carriage waited, and as she reached the door she turned and gave him the name of the girl she was seeking, with a little account of the circumstances of her disappearance and of her reason for thinking she might be at Gallagin's place. She held out her hand to the man behind her.
"I don't know your name or what you alluded to, but if I can ever help any of your friends I shall be very glad to do what I can for them."
"My name's Talman. You've already done me a turn."
"'Talman!' 'Red—'! Are you the father of my little girl?"
"That's me."
"What I said just now I mean. If you want help, let me know, or go and see Mr. Marvel, the preacher, on the West side—you know him—and you will get it. And if you can find anything of that poor girl I shall be eternally grateful to you. Good-night."
"Good-night, ma'am."
The man watched the carriage until it had disappeared around the corner and then he returned to the saloon. He walked up to the bar, and Gallagin advanced to meet him.
"If you are lyin' to me," he said, "you better not let me know, but you better git that gal out of your place and into her home, or the first thing you know there will be a sign on that door."
The other gave a snarl.
"I am puttin' you wise," said Talman. "There's trouble brewing. That's big folks lookin' for her."
"I guess Coll McSheen is somethin' in this town still. But for him you wouldn' be walkin' around."
"But for—! He's a has-been," said Talman. "He's shot his bolt."
"You ought to know," sneered Gallagin.
"I do."
"That the reason you take no more jobs?"
"It's a good one."
"Have a drink," said Gallagin, with a sudden change of manner, and he did him the honor to lift a bottle and put it on the bar.
"I ain't drinkin'. I've got work to do."
"Who's your new owner?"
"Never mind, he's a man. Send the gal home or you'll be pulled before twenty-four hours."
"You're runnin' a Sunday-school, ain't you?"
"No, but I'm done workin' for some folks. That's all. So long. Git her out of your house if she's here. Git her out of your house."
He walked down the room, and as he passed a table the big man with the two women accosted him.
"Who's your friend?" he asked with a sneer. It was Wringman, who having finished his labors for the day in proving to famished strikers how much better off they were than formerly, was now refreshing himself in one of his favorite haunts, at his favorite occupation.
Talman stopped and looked at him quietly, then he said: "That man up there"—with his thumb over his shoulder he pointed toward the bar—"that man there has been a friend of mine in the past and he can ask me questions that I don't allow folks like you to ask me. See? I have known a man to git his neck broke by buttin' too hard into other folks' business. See?"
Wringman, with an oath, started to get out of his chair, but his companions held him down, imploring him to be quiet, and the next moment the big bouncer from the bar was standing beside the table, and after a word with him Talman made his way through the crowd and walked out of the door.
The bar-keeper beckoned to his bouncer and the two held a muttered conference at the end of the bar. "He's gittin' too big for his breeches," said the bar-keeper as he turned away. "He'll git back there if he fools with me and pretty quick too."