"A personal friend of Mr. Asher's."
On hearing this dreaded name Mrs. Benker softened, and welcomed Steel into a neat parlor, where he seated himself in a horsehair mahogany chair of the most slippery description and related what had happened. Alexander stood by and wept all the time. He wept more when his mother spoke.
"I expected it," she said in quiet despair; "that boy is the bane of my life. I'll speak to you shortly, Alexander. Go to your room and retire to bed."
"Oh, mother! mother!" cried Master Benker, writhing at the prospect of a thorough whipping.
"Go to your room, Alexander, and make ready," repeated the widow, with a glare, and the boy retired slowly, wriggling and snuffling. When his sobs died away and an upstairs door was heard to close with a bang, Mrs. Benker addressed herself to Steel.
"I hope you will induce Mr. Asher to overlook this," she said, clasping a pair of lean, mittened hands; "I am so poor."
"I'll do my best," responded Steel; "that is, if you will give me some information about your late lodger, Mr. Wilson."
"Why should I do that?" asked Mrs. Benker suspiciously.
"Because Mr. Asher wishes to know all about him. You see, your son allowed Mr. Wilson to serve this summons, and it is necessary that Mr. Asher should learn where he is."
"That's only fair; but I don't know. Mr. Wilson has not returned here since he left on the day before New Year."