“And what for do I care?” demanded Bridget, suspiciously.
This was a question the boy could not answer. In fact, he wondered himself why such a message should have been sent. He could only look at her in silence.
“Who told you to tell the man was gone?” asked Bridget, with a shrewdness worthy of a practitioner at the bar.
“The Italian told me.”
“Did he?” repeated Bridget, who saw into the trick at once. “He’s very kind.”
“He didn’t want you to know he told me,” said the boy, remembering his instructions when it was too late.
Mrs. McGuire nodded her head intelligently.
“True for you,” said she. “What did he pay you for tellin’ me?”
“Five cents.”
“Thin it’s five cints lost. Do you want to earn another five cints?”