"Does—does he live in—in Queen Street?" asked Jack, with gasp.
"The very street," said I.
"Number seven hundred and ninety-nine?"
"The very number. But see here, old chap, how the mischief do you happen to know exactly all about that house? It strikes me as being deuced odd."
"And you saved her?" said Jack, without taking any notice of my question.
"Haven't I just told you so? Oh, bother! What's the use of all this fuss?"
"Miss O'Halloran?" said Jack.
"Miss O'Halloran," I repeated. "But will you allow me to ask what in the name of common-sense is the matter with you? Is there a bee in your bonnet, man? What's Miss O'Halloran to you, or you to Miss O'Halloran? Haven't you got enough women on your conscience already? Do you mean to drag her in? Don't try it my boy—for I'm concerned there."
"Miss O'Halloran!" cried Jack. "Look here, Macrorie—you'd better take care."
"Take care?"