"No, I don't think she would be here, but have you not a sort of a hotel attached to your place?"
"Oh! Yes," drawled Mr. Gallagin. "I can furnish you a room, if you have any friends—and if you haven't a friend, I might furnish you one or two of them."
"No, I do not wish a room."
"Oh!" ejaculated the proprietor.
"I wish to see Elsa Loewen, and I have heard that she is here."
"Oh! you have, and who may be your informant?" demanded the bar-keeper, coldly. "I'd like to know what gentleman has sufficient interest in me to make me the subject of his conversation."
"I cannot give you my informant, but I have information that she is here, and I appeal to you to let me see her."
"To me? You appeal to me?" Mr. Gallagin put his hand on his thin chest and nodded toward himself.
"Yes, for her mother; her father. She is a good girl. She is their only daughter. They are distracted over her—disappearance. If you only knew how terrible it is for a young girl like that to be lured away from home where every one loves her, to be deceived, betrayed, dragged down while——"
The earnestness of her tone more than the words she uttered, and the strangeness of her appeal in that place, had impressed every one within reach of her voice, and quite a throng of men and women had left the tables and pressed forward listening to the conversation, and for the most part listening in silence, the expression on their faces being divided between wonder, sympathy, and expectancy, and a low murmur began to be audible among the women, hardened as they were. Mr. Gallagin felt that it was a crucial moment in his business. Suddenly from under the fur came the fierce claw and made a dig to strike deep.