"Very good. Come along and show me Crawford's House. I'll pay you for your trouble."
Red Jim led the way back to the bridge.
"Who has he picked up?" asked Bayliss jealously, as the two men passed the group.
None of the loungers answered.
"He's turning down Crawford Street," said Bayliss, when the two men had gone a hundred yards beyond the bridge.
"So he is," said another. Bayliss was the most ready of speech, and monopolised the conversation. His mates regarded him as one rarely gifted in the matter of language; as one who would, without doubt, have made an orator if ambition had led the way.
"I wonder what Red Jim is bringing that man down Crawford Street for? No good, I'm sure."
"Seems a stranger," suggested the other man. "Maybe he wants Jim to show him the way."
"Ay," said Bayliss in a discontented tone. "There's a great deal to be seen down Crawford Street! Lovely views; plenty of rotting doors. Now, if they only got in on the wharf, Jim could show him the old empty ice-house there. Do you know, if any one was missing hereabouts, and a good reward was offered, I'd get the drags and have a try in the ice-house. There's ten feet of water in it if there's an inch, so I'm told."
"It is a lonesome place. I wonder they don't pump the water out."