"Hi 'opes so," replied Buster, doubtfully. "Shall Hi come to meet you?"
"Never mind."
"Hi don't mind, Mrs. Malone."
Mrs. Malone vanished in the hall and proceeded upstairs at so rapid a gait that she failed to perceive on the dimly lighted stairway the figure of Bekowsky, who had been brought to a standstill by the sudden appearance of Lord Castlereagh in fighting array at the head of the stairs. The dog so strongly resented any movement, whether up or down, on the part of the old-clothesman, that that individual had remained stationary, not daring to stir a foot in either direction until Mrs. Malone collided with him, forcing him to advance upward on his hands and knees several steps, a performance that brought Lord Castlereagh leaping down upon him.
Bekowsky gave one yell of terror and flew down the stairs in three bounds, the dog yelping furiously at his heels, while Mrs. Malone escaped a bad fall only by hanging on to the banisters, against which she had backed herself in an effort to regain the breath rudely expelled from her lungs by the collision.
"Buster, you omadhaun, what devil's work is this?" gasped Mrs. Malone, as Lord Castlereagh disappeared below.
Receiving no answer, the good woman prudently decided to abandon her visit to the garret until the bulldog should have returned to his domicile, leaving the stairs free from peril, and therefore turned her steps to her own headquarters on the floor beneath.
Chapter Nine
TOM MOORE RECEIVES CALLS FROM MRS. MALONE AND MR. DYKE
Meanwhile Lord Castlereagh, having failed to overtake the terror-stricken old-clothesman before the lower door was reached, discreetly abandoned the pursuit, as experience had taught him it was not best for a bulldog to engage in public altercations when not accompanied by his master. So he came trotting upstairs, beaming with doggish good nature, the result of a gratifying realization of duty well done. As the door to the room from the window of which Buster was still surveying the rapidly diminishing throng clustered in front of the house was closed, the bulldog scratched vigorously with his claws for admittance, his request being speedily gratified, for, in spite of the old-clothesman's voluble explanations, the crowd refused to regard him as anything but a defeated contestant and, turning a deaf ear to his indignation, quietly dispersed to their various affairs, leaving Buster a complete victor in the recent battle.