“Aint no manner of doubt about that ere,” returned Cooney.
“I am sorry I sent you.”
“Why, it’s all right enough—aint it?”
“Yes; but it strikes me you’ve been too forward with the girl.”
“Nuffin of the sort. Is it likely?”
“Well, if I must say what I think, I feel certain that there’s nothing more likely. You ought to know better.”
“Well, I’m blest! Do you expect a bloke to stand like a mute at the door of a gentleman’s house?”
“There, shut up! Enough of this,” observed Rawton, who made a shrewd guess of what had taken place. “He never could keep his tongue still,” murmured Rawton, “and I suppose never will. However, it doesn’t much matter I suppose.”
On the following evening, at a little before the appointed time, Bill Rawton left the lodging-house, and made direct for the doctor’s house.
As he came within sight of this he observed the boy in the street with a basket of medicine bottles on his arm.