Frank's entrance was evidently unwelcome to most of the company.
"What are you bringing in that boy for, John?" demanded a low-browed fellow, with a face like a bull-dog.
"He is a friend of Fred," answered John.
"He's a telegraph boy. He comes here a spy. Fred don't know him. Clear out, boy!"
Frank took no notice of this hostile remark, but walked up to Fred Vivian.
"Fred," said he, thinking it best to speak as if he knew him, "it is getting late, and your mother is anxious about you. Won't you come home with me?"
"Who are you?" asked Fred, with drunken gravity. "You aint my mother."
"I come from your mother. Don't you know me? I am Frank Kavanagh."
"How do, Frank? Glad to see you, ol' feller. Take a drink. Here, you boy, bring a drink for my frien', Frank Kavanagh."
The three others looked on disconcerted. They were not ready to part with Fred yet, having secured only a part of his money.