"You ought to know what I mean," said Patsy. "Just because he had the bad luck to spill a few of your old types, you abused him like a pickpocket, and said he'd got to pay for 'em, and drove him out of the office. And he's been down around the depot every day since, selling papers, tryin' to make money enough to pay you. And now he's got runned over be a hack, when he was goin' across the street to a gentleman that wanted a paper. And they've took him home,—and his blood's all along the road,—and my mother says it's on your head, too, you miserable skinflint! I won't have any of your gifts!"
And with that Patsy thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out the visiting-cards that Ned had printed for him, and threw them high into the room, so that in falling they scattered over everything.
"I'll bring back your car," he continued, "as soon as I can get it. I lent it to Teddy Dwyer last week."
Then he shut the door with a bang, and went away.
We looked at one another in consternation.
"What shall we do?" said Ned.
"I think we ought to go to Jimmy's house at once," said I.
"Yes, of course," said Ned.
And he and I started. Phaeton went the other way—as we afterward learned, to inform his mother, who had long been noted for her benevolence in cases of distress and sorrow among her neighbors.
Ned and I not only went by the postern, but made a bee-line for Jimmy's house, going over any number of fences, and straight through door-yards, grass-plots, and garden-patches, without the slightest reference to streets or paths.