"Hooray for Rothsay!" which was taken up by the chorus and echoed and re-echoed from one end to the other of the city, and from earth to sky.
Poor Rothsay himself passed out upon the sidewalk, unrecognized in the obscurity.
An empty hack was standing at the corner of the square, a few hundred feet from the house.
To this he went, and spoke to the man on the box:
"Is this hack engaged?"
"Yes, sah, it is—took by four gents as can't get no lodgings at none of the hotels, nor yet boarding houses—no, sah. Dere dey is ober yonder in dat dere s'loon cross de street—yes, sah. But it don't keep open, dat s'loon don't, longer'n twelve o'clock—no, sah. It's mos' dat now, so dey'll soon call for dis hack—yes, sah!"
Rothsay left the talkative hackman and passed on.
A hand touched him on the arm.
He turned and saw old Scythia, clothed in a long, black cloak of some thin stuff, with its hood drawn over her head.
Rothsay stared.