These last words were accompanied by so suggestive a movement that Loney sprang lightly up the steps and disappeared in search of Mr. Goldberg. As the child disappeared, he shouted:
“Hop! Go! Git!” Then, turning to Dora, he said: “Dat’s de racket. Your old man’ll git more coin for dis job dan he ever seen afore.”
“I’ll be glad,” replied Dora, half-afraid of this strange-looking creature, “for business has been very poor lately.”
There was a darkening of the cellar-door, and Dora raised her eyes to see a tall, dark, handsome and well-dressed man assisting a lady down the steps. She was a handsome and very stylishly dressed woman—large and with a most unwomanly expression on her features. In short, it was but too evident that she had been drinking and could scarcely maintain her equilibrium.
“Be careful, Muriel, or you’ll fall,” said the man, whose name was John Pierson. “Why the deuce can’t you wear sensible shoes, anyway? You’ll break your neck with those high heels yet!”
As they reached the middle of the room, Muriel laughed idiotically and mumbled something about him and accused him of trying to appear so “su-su-perior, just because I kicked my heel off.”
“So this is the place, eh?” asked Pierson of Dopey, looking about him curiously at the same time. Dopey took on an air of great importance and replied, huskily:
“Dis is de j’int. It’s on de bum, all right, all right, but it’s de nearest shoemaker dere is, but——”
“Oh, that’s all right. Any old port in a storm, you know,” stammered Muriel, and, as she saw Dora, she said: “Who you, m’ dear?”
“Dora Goldberg, lady.”