“Gimme them fifteen cents, mister,” said the boy, impatiently.
“But I don't like the place. I wouldn't stay here.”
“It's cheap,” said the young Arab. “Rafferty'll give you a lodging for ten cents, meals fifteen. You can't complain of that, now.”
“I don't complain of the price. It's dirty. I wouldn't stay in such a dirty place.”
“Oh, you're a fine gentleman, you are!” said the boy, sarcastically. “You'd better go to the Fifth Avenoo Hotel, you had.”
“I won't stop here. I want some decent place.”
Meanwhile, Mrs. Rafferty herself had come to the door, and caught the meaning of the conference. She took instant umbrage at Herbert's last words.
“Dacent, do ye say?” she repeated, with flaming eyes and arms akimbo. “Who dares to say that Bridget Rafferty doesn't keep a dacent house?”
“He does,” said the Arab, indicating Herbert, with a grin.
“And who are you, I'd like to know?” demanded Mrs. Rafferty, turning upon Herbert angrily. “Who are you, that talks agin' a poor widder that's tryin' to earn an honest living?”