"Old Gray will pay dearly fer it, mark me wurruds!"
"What will you do?"
"Never moind, Jack, me b'y! Thrust Andy Mosey to get square wid the ould villian!"
Jack retraced his steps homeward with slow and unwilling steps. All his bright hopes of the past hour had been dashed to naught. No money meant no start in business, and with a thousand men idle what chances were there of finding employment?
"If I had a few dollars in my pocket I might try some other town," he thought. "But without some money, it's hard lines, sure enough."
Jack would not have felt it so much had he been alone, but with Deb depending upon him, his responsibility seemed more than doubled.
Their home was on the second floor of a large apartment house standing upon one of the side streets of Corney. As Jack ascended the stairs he heard talking in the kitchen.
"Wonder who is here? Visitors of some kind," he thought.
Entering, the young machinist found Mr. Hammerby, the house-agent, in earnest conversation with Deb.
Mr. Hammerby was a short, dapper business man, small in form, and a person of few words.