“You’d better,” said Donal, crouching by the fire like a cat ready to spring.
Alec Morrison left the sty. At the hour of noon Norah bade good-bye to Donal and Jean and set off for Glasgow, where she intended to call on Sheila Carrol, the beansho.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE RAT-PIT
I
THE address on the letter which Norah received from Sheila Carrol was “47, Ann Street, Cowcaddens,” but shortly after the letter had been written the Glasgow Corporation decided that 47 was unfit for human habitation, and those who lived there were turned out to the streets.
It was late in the evening of the day on which she left Jean and Donal that Norah came to No. 47, to find the place in total darkness. She groped her way up a narrow alley to the foot of a stair and there suddenly stepped on a warm human body lying on the ground.
“What the devil!—Ah, ye’re choking me, an old person that never done no one no harm,” croaked a wheezy voice, apparently a woman’s, under Norah’s feet. “I only came in oot of the cauld, lookin’ for a night’s shelter. Hadn’t a bawbee for the Rat-pit. Beg pardon! I’m sorry; I’ll go away at once; I’ll go now. For the love of heaven don’t gie me up to the cops. I’m only a old body and I hadn’t a bawbee of my own. I couldn’t keep walkin’ on all night. Beg pardon, I’m only a old body and I hadn’t a kirk siller piece[F] for the Rat-Pit!”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t know that there was anyone here,” said Norah, peering through the darkness. “I’m a stranger, good woman.”
“Ye’re goin’ to doss here too,” croaked the voice from the ground.
“I’m lookin’ for a friend,” said Norah. “Maybe ye’ll know her—Sheila Carrol. She lives here.”