"She's doing it," responded Jacob, who noticed the change of Peter's interest, which was now of the kindly kind.
"God bless her!" exclaimed Peter, as he turned again to his ever present peephole expression.
"Mike Barton's dead," said Jacob, slowly.
"The devil!" shouted Peter, turning from his peephole.
"Yes; didn't you hear of it?"
"No. How?"
"Automobile accident."
"There are others to take his place," said Peter, grunting like a satisfied pig after eating heartily. "How did it happen?"
"Stole Jarney's auto, with the two young ladies in it; run it like h—— to the country, to kidnap them, I suppose; ran into a telegraph pole—busted the machine, and busted his head."
"Poor wretch! I am glad he is gone, for his sister's sake," said Peter, sighing, which he could do sometimes.