“What man?” she replied, fiercely, “I know nothink about men, an’ ’ave nothink to do with ’em. Ned Frog’s the on’y man as ever comes ’ere, an’ he lives up there.”
She made a motion, as if pointing upwards somewhere, and banged the door in her visitor’s face.
“Up there!” The missionary had reached the highest landing, and saw no other gleam of light anywhere. Groping about, however, his hand struck against a ladder. All doubt as to the use of this was immediately banished, for a man’s heavy tread was heard in the room above as he crossed it.
Mounting the ladder, the missionary, instead of coming to a higher landing as he had expected, thrust his hat against a trap-door in the roof. Immediately he heard a savage human growl. Evidently the man was in a bad humour, but the missionary knocked.
“Who’s there?” demanded the man, fiercely, for his visitors were few, and these generally connected with the police force.
“May I come in?” asked the missionary in a mild voice—not that he put the mildness on for the occasion. He was naturally mild—additionally so by grace.
“Oh! yes—you may come in,” cried the man, lifting the trap-door.
The visitor stepped into the room and was startled by Ned letting fall the trap-door with a crash that shook the whole tenement. Planting himself upon it, he rendered retreat impossible.
It was a trying situation, for the man was in a savage humour, and evidently the worse for drink. But missionaries are bold men.
“Now,” demanded Ned, “what may you want?”