"But where to!" says she, glancin' desperate down the stairs.
And, say, the thought of how comic old Bloom looked strugglin' out of his hat, and of how eager he'd be to get her sent to the Island for it, was too much for me.
"In here," says I, steppin' out of the studio door. "You too," and I motions to the red-haired gent. Then, turnin' to Elisha P., I goes on, "Better join the group, Mr. Bayne."
"But, you know," he protests, "this is the very thing I wished to avoid. I do not care to mingle with such—er——"
"I expect not," says I; "but if you stay here you'll be gathered in as a witness to the assault. Course, if you'd rather do that—why——"
"No, no!" says he. "I—I think I will step in, for a moment at least."
He made up his mind just in time; for I'd no sooner herded the bunch into the front office and locked the door than we hears Bloom towin' the cop up the stairs and describin' puffy how he'd been most murdered. We listens while they searches the hallways clear to the top, and then hears the cop trampin' down again. He calls back to Bloom that he'll keep an eye out for the female assaulter.
"That's Roundsman Foley," says I, "and he's got a four-mile beat to cover between now and five o'clock. Inside of twenty minutes he'll be blocks away. Might as well sit down, Folks."
"Say, Mister," speaks up the young woman, "I don't know who you are, but we're much obliged. Tim, speak up."
Timothy wanted to; but he ain't an easy converser, and the language seems to clog his tongue.