“This the lot?“ He spoke as if he had a perfect right to ask the question.
“It is.” Her eyes and her voice contested the right, yet in spite of themselves they admitted it.
“Who owns this here property?” Again the half truculent glance explored every nook and cranny of the meager premises.
“Whatmore the builder.”
Josiah rubbed a thick knuckle upon his cheek. “Ah!” That was his only comment. “Owns the row, I suppose?”
Melia supposed he did.
“What rent do you pay?”
“Twenty-five.” She resented the question, but the growing magnetism of having again a real live man to deal with was making her clay in his hands.
He took a step to the shop door, the paper still in his hand, and stood an instant looking up the dreary length of narrow street. It was only an instant he stood there, but it was long enough to enable him to make up his mind. Suddenly he swung round on his heel to confront the still astonished and resentful Melia.