During the morning a young man came in, carrying a basket of groceries, and, while the cook was heaping the different articles on a table, the two fell into conversation.
When the washerwoman’s eyes fell on this young man, she stopped work, and the napkin she was rubbing rolled down the wash-board into the suds, while she held on to a side of the tub with each hand, looking keenly through the door, herself quite unseen.
“I had to do it myself this morning,” said the youth, addressing the cook, “because our boy’s been and got took up for helping to rob the concern.”
“Not that pretty, dark-eyed little fellow that comes here generally of late,” said the cook, with something like regret in her voice.
“Yes, just him; and no mistake about that. He was took to the Tombs last night.”
“You don’t say so! What did he take?”
“Money, and lots on lots of groceries—tea worth its weight in gold; lots of things.”
“But what could he do with them?”
“Well, it’s all out now, and I don’t mind your knowing about it. The boy’s mother is a sly old party, poor as a wharf-rat, and, oh my, how crafty! She sot the boy on, and hid the things for him in the wood-house. The detective found them there. Now, tell me, do you want any better proof than that?”
“Then they found the things on the premises?”