“Mike,” said the girl, “this is me frien’, Patsy Murphy.”
“Not Nick Carter’s man?” said the one called Mike, extending his hand.
“De same,” said the girl, proudly.
The man looked doubtfully between the two and asked:
“How’d you get in wid him, den?”
“Oh, we got acquainted dis afternoon,” replied the girl, tossing her head.
“I heard something about it,” said the saloon-keeper; “will yer have a drink?”
“No,” said Patsy, “but I wish you would answer me some questions. Do you know that there was a robbery in this house this afternoon?”
“I heard something about it,” said the saloon-keeper, “but I don’t know anything about it.”
“There was,” said Patsy, “and from the floor above.”