Sam’s exclamation of concern died on his lips, and he at once stepped into the vestibule, alert with expectation. Softly closing the door, he said, “What is it, Smith? Speak low and be quick. Aunty is in there”—and he indicated with his thumb the library.
“Sure, she’s in good company, God presarve them. Will yees listen, plaise?”
“Yes, hurry!”
“Whill. I flim-flammed around the scow dwellin’s an’ shanties on the neck ave lant betwix Giles Lak an’ the river—just beyant the Narth Pacific Mills, but divil a wan be the name ave Garge Golda cud I foind at all. Sure, I was nearly dishartened entirely, so I wus, whin who shud bump forninst me but me frint Kelly.”
“Well?” grunted Sam.
“Kelly is a longshoreman, and he understands his business, too, so he do; but he says he’s too big and fat to wurruk much, an’ I belaive him, too, so I do.”
“Well, go on!” again grunted Sam, impatiently.
“Sure, I showed him the Garibaldi you gave me this marnin. ‘Where did yees foind that?’ says he, careless like.
“‘I didn’t foind it at all,’ says I; ‘my frint found it.’
“‘Where at?’ says he.