The spectral voice gave force to the directness of the question. Abandoning the hint of professional bullying he had taken toward Jennie, Flynn, with Pansy's teeth not six inches from his calf, went a pace or two toward the figure in the entry.
"Has he been takin' money, that boy of yours? Well now, and have you any reason to think so, ma'am?"
"None—apart from what I hoped."
"Momma!"
Jennie sprang to her mother, grasping her by the arm. While Jackman stood like an iron figure in the background, Flynn, always with Pansy's teeth keeping some six inches from his calf, advanced still another pace or two.
"Ah, now, that's a quare thing, ma'am, for the mother of a lad to say—that she hoped he was takin' money."
"Oh, don't mind her," Jennie pleaded. "She hasn't been just—just right—ever since my father died."
"I didn't think of it at first," Lizzie stated, in a lifeless voice. "I believed what he told us, that he was making money on the side. It was only latterly that I began to suspect that he wasn't; and now I hope he took it from the bank."
"But, good God! ma'am, why? Don't you know he'll be caught—and what he'll get for it?"
"Oh, he'd get that just the same, if you mean suffering and punishment and a life of misery. All I want is that he should be the first to strike. Since he's got to go down before brute power—"