"I think the young varmint might have shown some regret at parting from you, after all this time," returned her husband, to whom it was offensive if even a child was lacking in good feeling. "He never turned his head. Well, I suppose it's a fact, as they say, that the natural child is the natural barbarian."
"Johnny never meant any harm. It was I who didn't know how to manage him," said Polly staunchly.—"Why, Richard, what IS the matter?" For letting her arm fall Mahony had dashed to the other side of the road.
"Good God, Polly, look at this!"
"This" was a printed notice, nailed to a shed, which announced that a sale of frontages in Mair and Webster Streets would shortly be held.
"But it's not our road. I don't understand."
"Good Lord, don't you see that if they're there already, they'll be out with us before we can say Jack Robinson? And then where shall I be?" gave back Mahony testily.
"Let us talk it over. But first come home and have breakfast. Then ... yes, then, I think you should go down and see Mr. Henry, and hear what he says."
"You're right. I must see Ocock.—Confound the fellow! It's he who has let me in for this."
"And probably he'll know some way out. What else is a lawyer for, dear?"
"Quite true, my Polly. None the less, it looks as if I were in for a run of real bad luck, all along the line."