"I tell you I must see 44, the man that had the thrunks, goin' away a few days agone," said an unmistakably Irish voice, rich and round.
"Oh, if you please, ma'am," placidly continued a small, silvery one.
The dispute, however, was very suddenly cut short by the owner of the loud voice exclaiming, "Arrah, get out o' the road, you cantankerus witch of Endher," and O'Bryan and Polly rushed up the stairs without further ceremony. The door of Travers' room was flung open. "Ha! ha!" cried O'Bryan, "there he is, every inch of him; that's 44; long life to you; and it's glad I am I've found you, and glad you'll be yourself, I'm thinkin', if a trifle o' money will do yez any good."
"What's the matter with you, my friend, what do you seek from me?" demanded Travers.
"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon for breaking in upon you so suddenly," said Polly, "but have you lost any money!"
"I have, indeed," replied Henry, "a large sum; do you know anything about it?"
"Yes, sir," cried Polly, with a radiant flash of her eye. "Here it is;" handing over the wallet, with its contents, with a sigh of the greatest possible relief. "Tell me one thing, sir," she hesitatingly went on, "was it—was it—taken from you?"
"No, my good woman, it was lost by an old friend of mine, dropped, he believes, in the street."
"It was, sir, just as you say, thank Heaven for it. Yes, sir; my husband found it. Is it all there, sir? oh, pray relieve me by saying it is."
"Yes, every penny."