More abject howling and protesting, and then the boy blubbered out—
“It was for my mother I took them.”
“Your mother, ye villin. She’s fond o’ them things, I s’pose?” derisively returned McSweeny.
“Ye—ye—yes, sir.”
“And she’s got them now, eh!”
“Yes—oo! hoo! hoo!”
“And where does she live?”
“Bu—bu—bu—ccleuch Street, sir.”
“Then we’ll go there now,” sternly observed McSweeny, highly elated with the success of his bold measures; “and luck here now, if ye try to escape I’ll shoot you—shoot you! with a double-barrelled poker.”
The terror-stricken culprit rose and got his cap; and they were moving out of the lobby when Mr Stafford appeared.