‘There, there, don’t cry,’ said Kornicker. ‘It bothers me; I don’t know what to do when women cry. But you haven’t a doctor; that will never do. Keep up your heart,’ said he, rising; ‘I’ll return presently.’ Saying this, and without waiting for a reply, he left the room.
Arriving in the street, his first impulse was not only to feel in his pockets, but with the utmost care to turn them inside out, and to examine them narrowly.
‘Not a copper—pockets to let!’ said he, restoring them to their former condition, after a long and unsuccessful search. ‘But this girl must be looked after; that’s settled. Now then,’ said he, in a very meditative mood, ‘who’s able to do it and will?’
This seemed a question not easily answered, for he stood for more than a minute in profound thought, in endeavoring to solve it; but apparently making up his mind, he hurried along the street. The direction which he took was toward the upper part of the city, and he was some time in reaching his destination, which was no other than Harry Harson’s house. He crossed the court-yard and knocked at the door, which was opened by Harson.
‘I want a word with you,’ said Kornicker, abruptly.
Harson told him to come in; led the way to his sitting-room, and pointing to a chair, told him to be seated.
‘I haven’t time,’ said Kornicker, shaking his head. ‘Do you know me?’
‘I’ve seen you, but I can’t recollect where.’
‘Here,’ said Kornicker, ‘here, in this room. I breakfasted here. I’m Michael Rust’s clerk.’
‘Then you can scarcely expect a cordial reception from me,’ said Harson, coldly.