She didn’t say “Nothing,” as most girls would have. She said, “Everything.”
Master gave her a queer, sidelong look and said, “I heard my wife remark to-day, that it is a long time since you have been to see her.”
“I’ve been busy,” said Stanna with a ripple of a laugh.
She had stopped, and was staring hard at a big, old-fashioned mansion standing on one corner of the street we were passing. It was gloomier than ever to-night in the electric lights. Even by daylight it looked forbidding, except in front where it faced the Drive, for it was surrounded by a semi-circle of huge apartment houses.
“Who has bought that old Sweeney house?” asked my Master, as he followed her glance. “I see workmen there every day.”
“A queer man,” she said with an odd little smile, “a saloon-keeper from the Bowery.”
Didn’t I prick up my ears! Something told me that was Gringo’s master. You know dogs are very quick at understanding. I can’t explain why it is, but something inside me tells me when to jump to a conclusion, and I jump, and nearly always land on my feet.
“The Bowery,” said my master wonderingly.
“You never saw such an odd man,” she went on in a musing way, and with her eyes fixed on the dark house standing so solemnly among its lighted neighbours. “He’s not like any one I ever saw.”