“That’s what it is,” responded Richling, and rose to spread the street-door wider open, for the daylight was fading.
“Well, I ’ope you’ll egscuse that libbetty,” said Narcisse, rising a little more tardily, and slower. “I muz baw’ fawty dollah—some place. Give you good secu’ty—give you my note, Mistoo Itchlin, in fact; muz baw fawty—aw thutty-five.”
“Why, I’m very sorry,” responded Richling, really ashamed that he could not hold his face straight. “I hope you understand”—
“Mistoo Itchlin, ’tis baw’d money. If you had a necessity faw it you would use it. If a fwend ’ave a necessity—’tis anotheh thing—you don’t feel that libbetty—you ah ’ight—I honoh you”—
“I don’t feel the same liberty.”
“Mistoo Itchlin,” said Narcisse, with noble generosity, throwing himself a half step forward, “if it was yoze you’d baw’ it to me in a minnit!” He smiled with benign delight. “Well, madame,—I bid you good evening, Misses Itchlin. The bes’ of fwen’s muz pawt, you know.” He turned again to Richling with a face all beauty and a form all grace. “I was juz sitting—mistfully—all at once I says to myseff, ‘Faw distwaction I’ll go an’ see Mistoo Itchlin.’ I don’t know ’ow I juz ’appen’!— Well, au ’evoi’, Mistoo Itchlin.”
Richling followed him out upon the door-step. There Narcisse intimated that even twenty dollars for a few days would supply a stern want. And when Richling was compelled again to refuse, Narcisse solicited his company as far as the next corner. There the Creole covered him with shame by forcing him to refuse the loan of ten dollars, and then of five.
It was a full hour before Richling rejoined his wife. Mrs. Riley had stepped off to some neighbor’s door with Mike on her arm. Mary was on the sidewalk.
“John,” she said, in a low voice, and with a long anxious look.
“What?”