"But he only knows a little of it. I have come to tell you the whole."
"Wait a minute," interrupted Greg. "The fellows are down-stairs. They sacrificed half their earnings to-night on the chance of seeing you. Do you mind if I bring them up for a moment?"
"By all means bring them up!" said Amy.
When Greg went to call them Bessie with an apology disappeared for a moment, returning with a strip of linoleum which she put down near the door.
"There's a mud-hole in the yard," said she.
The four men—for of course Hickey came with them—filed into the room in their shabby overcoats, caps in hand. A threatening look in Bessie's eyes warned them not to step off the linoleum. It was hardly big enough to hold them all. They were almost overcome. Though they carried such young ladies in their cabs as a matter of course, to be personally introduced to one of them was another matter. They could scarcely lift their eyes to hers; their voices died away in their throats. There was nothing of the pixie about Amy now. Towards these dumb souls she exhibited an angelic kindliness.
"You're Hickey," she said to the first in line. "Of course I feel as if I knew you quite well already, but I'm glad to have the chance of speaking to you."
"This is Bull Tandy," said Greg indicating the next.
"William Tandy," corrected that individual acutely distressed.
"Oh, I like Bull much better," said Amy quickly. "There's something so strong and steady about it."