"He lives at No.—Atkinson Street, up the court," answered Leo, rather coolly, as he picked up his cap and comforter.
"I want you to show me the house."
"I must go with Maggie."
Mr. Checkynshaw looked as though the barber's serious illness was of no consequence, compared with his affairs.
"We can go that way, Leo, and you can show him the house as we pass through Atkinson Street," said Maggie, leading the way to the door.
This arrangement was satisfactory to the banker; the house was locked, and Leo led the way out of the court. The humble abode of Mrs. Wittleworth was pointed out to Mr. Checkynshaw; and, after he had been admitted, Leo and Maggie hastened to Pemberton Square, so sad and sorrowful that hardly a word was spoken till they reached the lofty mansion of the great man. With trembling hand Leo rang the bell; and Maggie's slender frame quivered with apprehension while they waited for a reply to the summons. Lawrence answered the bell more promptly than when its call had disturbed him at his dinner.
"Is André Maggimore here?" asked Leo, timidly.
"Who?" demanded Lawrence.
"André Maggimore—the barber—the hair-dresser," replied Leo.
"You mane the man that had the fit," added the servant. "Indade, he's here, thin."