“Quite right, my boy,” said Papa, briskly. “Well, here it is: I—I’m wanted, for a witness, in a—a murder case.”
“Oh,” groaned Franz, in tones of exaggerated grief, “my heart is broke!”
“You needn’t laugh, Franzy,” remonstrated Papa, aggrieved. “It’s the business I was tellin’ you about—at the other place, you know.”
“Well, see here, old un, my head’s been considerable mixed to-night; seems to me ye did tell me a yarn, but tell it agin.”
“Why, there’s not much of it. We was doing well; I bought rags an’—an’ things.”
“Rags an’ things—oh, yes!”
“An’ we was very comfortable. But one night—” and Papa turned his eyes toward Mamma, as if expecting her to confirm all that he said—“one night, when there was a number there, a fight broke out. We was in another room, the old woman an’ me,—”
“Yes,” interjected Mamma, “we was.”
“An’ we ran in, an’ tried to stop the fight.”
Mamma nodded approvingly.