There are but three rooms in the shanty, the front one being about half of the entire floor, and two smaller rooms, answering as bedrooms, took up the other half.
In the outer or larger room an old acquaintance—McGinnis—may be seen, seated at a deal table, before him a half-emptied soda-bottle and a glass. The bottle, however, did not contain soda, but what may well be termed "liquid fire."
"Well, that was a good job," McGinnis was saying to his wife, who was bustling around to get him something to eat. "A bully good job, and no mistake. I don't know as I ever had one before that paid so well for so little trouble."
"That Brown is a foine, liberal gintleman, I'm a-thinkin'," remarked Mrs. McGinnis, as she turned the slice of ham in the frying-pan.
"He doesn't throw any money away, ye can depind on that," McGinnis abruptly rejoined. "Whin he pays me that sum of money jist to capture the girl, yez can jist bet your life he's a-goin' to make more money by the operation than he gives me."
"Ah, McGinnis, you're a sharp one, that's what ye are," said his wife, admiringly. "Now, shure, I'd never a-thought of the likes of that. It's an alderman ye'd ought to be, instead of what ye are."
"Whist!" interrupted McGinnis, bringing her to a halt. "Niver mind mentioning me occupation. Walls sometimes have ears, so they do. But, I say, be lively, old woman, for the boss is a-comin' to-night to have a look at the gal."
The ham had been discussed, and McGinnis had just lighted his pipe, when a low knock came at the door.
"That's him!" exclaimed McGinnis, as he started for the door. "He's on time, jist."
Surely enough, it was the highly respectable-looking lawyer, who had asked Helen if he had not seen her somewhere before, and also what her name was.