"I talked m'self int' it," said Tray, importantly. "Newspapers ain't good enough, and you gets pains in wet weather. So I turns a good boy"—he grinned evilly—"and goes to a ragged kids' school to do the 'oly. The superintendent ses I'm a promising case, and he arsked Mr. Pash, as is also Sunday inclined, to 'elp me. The orfice-boy 'ere went, and I come." Tray tossed the shilling and spat on it for luck as he slipped it into the pocket of quite a respectable pair of trousers. "So I'm on m'waiy to bein' Lord Mayor turn agin Wittington, as they ses in the panymine."
"Well," said Beecot, amused, "I hope you will prove yourself worthy."
Tray winked. "Ho! I'm straight es long es it's wuth m'while. I takes m'sal'ry 'ome to gran, and don't plaiy pitch an' torse n'more." He winked again, and looked as wicked a brat as ever walked.
Paul had his doubts as to what the outcome of Mr. Pash's charity would be, and, being amused, was about to pursue the conversation, when the inner door opened and Pash, looking troubled, appeared. When he saw Paul he started and came forward.
"I was just about to send Tray for you," said he, looking anxious. "Something unpleasant has come to light in connection with Krill."
Beecot started and brought out the scrap of paper. "Look at that," he said, "and you will see that the man warned Sylvia."
Pash glanced hurriedly over the paper. "Most unfortunate," he said, folding it up and puffing out his cheeks; "but it's too late. The name of Krill was in those printed bills—a portrait also, and now—"
"Well, what?" asked Paul, seeing the lawyer hesitated.
"Come inside and you'll see," said Pash, and conducted Beecot into the inner room.