"Aye, hiding from the bailiffs."
"Good heavens!" cried Bobby. "Why, everyone here thinks he's a great swell."
"He's run away from Ireland, him and his horses, and done it so cleverly that no one knows where he's gone to; but I've found out. It's the truth I'm telling you. Well, now, see here. He owes a chap in London no end of money; the chap's name is Lewis, and Lewis sent a man to French's house over in Ireland to take possession. Hammering away at the house door, the man was, and it empty. Well, I got an inkling from a letter that Michael French himself and his daughter and his governess and his horses were down here, and here I've come to find out; and here he is, and it's to-morrow morning I'm going to see Lewis, and it's to-morrow night the bailiffs will be in at French's."
"Gloats!" cried Bobby. "Oh, this is too much of a good thing all at once. Why, it will crack French up and ruin him! All the people here will cut him. He'll be done for, utterly done for!"
"He'll get such a twisting he'll never get over it," said Giveen. "It'll mean pretty nigh the workhouse for him and his brat. Cocking her up with a governess! And, see here——"
"Yes?"
"That governess is all me eye!"
Mr. Giveen accompanied this cryptic remark with a wink that spoke volumes of libel and slander, and Mr. Dashwood rose from his seat and executed a double-shuffle on the bar-room floor.
"What are you doing?" asked Giveen.