“Oh, yes; I think you will,” he countered evenly. “It is only a question of money, isn’t it? How much?” and he drew out a handful of the gold coins.
The woman laughed, a hoarse chuckle with a choking noise to punctuate it.
“Oh, well; if you’re so dead set on it, I’ll sell her to you. How much will you give for her?”
Philip’s eyes burned and his reply was shot-like.
“I’ll pay the price of a human soul. It’s for you to name it, if you haven’t forgotten that you have a soul of your own.”
The woman shrank back as if he had struck her in the face, and in a flash she became a snuffling suppliant.
“There, there, dearie—don’t you look at me that way!” she whimpered. “Of course I ain’t sellin’ nobody’s soul. You pay me what it cost to fetch her here and take her along.” And she named the amount.
He counted the money out and gave it to her; after which he stepped to the hall telephone and twisted the crank until he got a connection with a near-by hack stand. By the time he had brought the girl down, a hack was at the curb. Sending the driver up for the trunk, Philip led the girl to the door. As he did so, the Goguette had recovered herself sufficiently to give a parting flick of the whip.
“Good-by, girlie,” she said. “When he gets through with you, you know where to come.”
“Don’t answer her,” said Philip in low tones; and when the man came with the trunk he got a curt order: “To the Union Depot, and be swift about it.”