“Indeed!” exclaimed Charlie in surprise. “I know the house well. The head of it is a well-known philanthropist. How came you to leave them? They never would have allowed an old servant to come to your pass—unless, indeed, he was—”
“A fool, sir, or wuss,” interrupted Zook; “an’ that’s just what I was. I runned away from ’em, sir, an’ I’ve been ashamed to go back since. But that’s ’ow I come to know old Missis Mag, an’ it’s down ’ere she lives.”
They turned into a narrow passage which led to a small court at the back of a mass of miserable buildings, and here they found the residence of the old woman.
“By the way, Zook, what’s her name?” asked Charlie.
“Mrs Mag Samson.”
“Somehow the name sounds familiar to me,” said Charlie, as he knocked at the door.
A very small girl opened it and admitted that her missis was at ’ome; whereupon our hero turned to his companion.
“I’ll manage her best without company, Zook,” he said; “so you be off; and see that you come to my lodging to-night at six to hear the result of my interview and have tea.”
“I will, sir.”
“And here, Zook, put that in your pocket, and take a good dinner.”