"Where are you carryin' that?" he asked.
"Why do you ask?" said Fosdick, who could not feel very friendly to the author of Dick's misfortune.
"Never mind why," said Micky. "I know well enough. It's for your friend Dick. How does he like his new lodgins'?"
"How do you like them? You've been there often enough."
"Don't be impudent, or I'll lam' ye," said Micky, scowling.
As Fosdick was considerably smaller than himself, Micky might have ventured upon an assault, but deemed it imprudent in the immediate vicinity of the station-house.
"Give my compliments to Dick," he said. "I hope he'll sleep well."
To this Fosdick returned no answer, but, entering the building, descended to Dick's temporary quarters. He passed the bread and cake through the grating, and Dick, cheered by the hope of an acquittal on the morrow, and a speedy recovery of his freedom, partook with a good appetite.
"Can't you give me a mouthful, boss?" muttered the negro woman before mentioned, as she caught sight of Fosdick's load.
He passed a cake through the grating, which she seized eagerly, and devoured with appetite.