CHAPTER XXVII.
OLD PEGGY.
Tim Roach was not only selfish, but liked to make mischief. He resolved to be revenged upon Johnny for declining to "treat" him to a dinner, and having plenty of time on his hands, took pains to seek out the humble home tenanted by old Peggy.
It was on the third floor of a tall, shabby brick house, not far from the Chicago and Alton depot. Tim had been there before, and didn't require directions. He ascended the rickety staircase, nearly treading on two dirty faced children belonging to a neighbor of Peggy's, who were playing on the landing. As a third child, older, made her appearance, Tim stopped long enough to inquire, "Is Peggy at home?"
"Yes," answered the girl. "She's home, but, oh my, ain't she tight!"
"That's nothin' new," said Tim, composedly.
He knocked at Peggy's door, and receiving no answer, opened it.
The old woman had thrown herself on a truckle bed at one corner of the room, and was breathing noisily with her eyes half closed.
"Is it you, Johnny!" she asked, without turning her head.
"No, it's me!"
"Who's me?"