The assistant inspector preserved a discreet and resentful silence, but two or three of his companions murmured between their pipe-stems and their lips, "Not much he wouldn't."
"Now that's what troubles me," 'Tilda Jane continued. "The rest is bad, but is that bad? I guess I'll have to ask some minister, an', gen'l'men all, I guess you'd better let me go on to Ciscasset. You've got a nice place here, an' plenty o' things to eat, an' I think you're very fair, but I feel like movin' on," and pausing, she anxiously scanned the row of faces about her.
"Run away to bed now," said Jack. "We'll tell you to-morrow what you're to do," and as 'Tilda Jane picked up her pet and disappeared, he sauntered across the room, took up a telegraph form, and addressed a message to the creamery shark's father.
"Hobart Dillson, Ciscasset. Girl, age about twelve. Dark hair, eyes—run away from place unknown. Going to your address. Held as immigrant without means. Refuses to give name. Can you supply any information? Answer paid for."
[CHAPTER VIII.]
A THIRD RUNNING AWAY.
"Look here, little girl," said Jack, stopping 'Tilda Jane as she was coming out of the dining-room the next morning, "I've had a telegram from your friend in Ciscasset."
"An' what does he say?" she asked, breathlessly.
"I'll read it," and he drew a paper from his pocket. "Never heard of girl. Don't want her. Hobart Dillson."