"I have it all but five dollars," said the girl, breathlessly. "The dear old thing was stuffing it into her stocking for Mr. Nimmo. 'You sha'n't rob Peter to pay Paul,' I said, and I snatched it away from her. Then she squealed like a pig, and ran after me."
"You will give this to Claudine?"
"I don't know. I think I'll have to divide it. We had to give that maledicted Jean Drague three dollars for his vote. That was my money."
"Where did you see Jean Drague?"
"I went to his house. Some one told me that the Conservative candidate had called, and had laid seven dollars on the mantelpiece. I also called, and there were the seven dollars, so I took them up, and laid down ten instead."
Agapit did not speak, but contented himself with twisting the ends of his mustache in a vigorous manner.
"And the worst of it is that we are not sure of him now," she said, drearily. "I wonder what Mr. Nimmo would say if he knew how I have been acting?"
"I have been wondering, myself."
"Some of you will be kind enough to tell him, I suppose," she said. "Oh, dear, I'm tired," and leaning her head against the hammock supports, she began to cry wearily and dejectedly.
Agapit was nearly frantic. He got up, walked to and fro about her, half stretched out his hand to touch her burnished head, drew it back upon reflecting that the eyes of the street, the neighbors, and the inn might be upon him, and at last said, desperately, "You ought to have a husband, Bidiane. You are a very torrent of energy; you will always be getting into scrapes."