Blue’s paper route was raced over. Although he was late in starting, the last house was reached on time. He was in front of the Tobin Block a whole minute ahead of Fitzpatrick.
The two mounted the stairs in silence. Mrs. Sweeney herself answered the ring. The door was opened a mere crack, and her head appeared beyond it.
“What ye want?” she asked in a surly voice.
The officer touched his cap. “I wish to see Mrs. Sweeney.”
“That’s me name. What ye want?”
“Perhaps we can talk better inside,” he suggested; but the crack was not widened, and with a little tolerant smile he went on. “I have come to get a bird that belongs to this young gentleman’s brother,” with a sidelong nod towards Blue. “I—”
“It’s our bur-rd!” she snapped. “’Tain’t theirs! He t’ased Mame out iv it be pertindin’ ’t warn’t no good, an’ so she—a little gur-rl—lit him take it. Look ut th’ cheek iv him, whin it’s not his ut all, kapin’ it an’ kapin’ it, till Mame had ter go an’ fitch it home!”
“Madam,” said the officer quietly, “there’s no use putt’n’ up a bluff. I understand the case from beginnin’ to end. Blue Stickney bought the bird of your girl, it was a right up and down sale, and she has no claim on it. If you’ll hand it over at once, you’ll save yourself trouble.”
“I guess not much!” she bristled,—“our own bur-rd! He’s lied to ye!”
“Mrs. Sweeney,”—a heavy hand was laid on the door,—“I’ve no time to waste in talk. I will thank you to bring me that bird, or I shall be obliged to take unpleasant measures.”