“Come,” she insisted, patting the seat beside her with honeyed persuasiveness, “come and tell me all about ud. Mr. Ristofalah nivver goes into peticklers, an’ so I har’ly know anny more than jist she’s a-comin’. Come, git in an’ tell me about Mrs. Richlin’—that is, if ye like the subject—and I don’t believe ye do.” She lifted her finger, shook it roguishly close to her own face, and looked at him sidewise. “Ah, nivver mind, sur! that’s rright! Furgit yer old frinds—maybe ye wudden’t do ud if ye knewn everythin’. But that’s rright; that’s the way with min.” She suddenly changed to subdued earnestness, turned the catch of the door, and, as the door swung open, said: “Come, if ud’s only fur a bit o’ the way—if ud’s only fur a ming-ute. I’ve got somethin’ to tell ye.”
“I must get out at Washington Market,” said Richling, as he got in. The hack hurried down Old Levee street.
“And now,” said she, merriment dancing in her eyes, her folded arms tightening upon her bosom, and her lips struggling against their own smile, “I’m just a good mind not to tell ye at ahll!”
Her humor was contagious and Richling was ready to catch it. His own eye twinkled.
“Well, Mrs. Ristofalo, of course, if you feel any embarrassment”—
“Ye villain!” she cried, with delighted indignation, “I didn’t mean nawthing about that, an’ ye knew ud! Here, git out o’ this carridge!” But she made no effort to eject him.
“Mary and I are interested in all your hopes,” said Richling, smiling softly upon the damaged bundle which he was making into a tight package again on his knee. “You’ll tell me your good news if it’s only that I may tell her, will you not?”
“I will. And it’s joost this,—Mr. Richlin’,—that if there be’s a war Mr. Ristofalah’s to be lit out o’ prison.”
“I’m very glad!” cried Richling, but stopped short, for Mrs. Ristofalo’s growing dignity indicated that there was more to be told.
“I’m sure ye air, Mr. Richlin’; and I’m sure ye’ll be glad—a heap gladder nor I am—that in that case he’s to be Captain Ristofalah.”