"No, I don't think there is!" said Mr. Ravenslee slowly.
"As for that Bud M'Ginnis," cried Mrs. Trapes, seizing on the coffee-pot much as if it had been that gentleman's throat, "I'd—I'd like to—bat him one as would quiet him for keeps—I would so!" and she jerked the coffee-pot fiercely, much to the detriment of her snowy tablecloth. "There! now see what I done, but I do get all worked up over that loafer!"
"Pray why?"
"Why?" snorted Mrs. Trapes indignantly. "Hasn't he made eyes at her ever since they was kids together? Hasn't he worried and worried at her, an' because she won't look at him if she can help it, don't he try to get back at her through that b'y—"
"How does he?"
"How? By puttin' him up to fightin' an' all sorts o' devilment, by teachin' him to be tough, by gettin' him drunk—"
"Oh, does he?"
"Why, bless ye, Bud M'Ginnis can do anything with him!"
"How so?"
"Because Arthur jest worships M'Ginnis for his strength and toughness!"
"I see!"
"Yes, Arthur thinks there's nobody in the world could lick Bud M'Ginnis."
"Hum! May I smoke, Mrs. Trapes?"
"Sure ye may!" she nodded, and began to collect the supper things. "I tell you what," she exclaimed suddenly, flourishing the fork she had just taken up, "if somebody would only come along an' thrash M'Ginnis, thrash him good, it would be a sight better for every one around here—it would so! M'Ginnis is always makin' trouble for some one or other, an' there ain't a man big enough or got heart enough to stand up to him—not even Spider Connolly. Wish I was a man, that's all—just for an hour! Ah!" Here Mrs. Trapes snorted fiercer than usual, and the jut of her elbows was deadly.
"And he gets Arthur drunk, does he!" said Ravenslee, puffing dreamily at his pipe.
"Yes!" sighed Mrs. Trapes as she loaded a tray with the supper things. "Hermy's seen him drunk twice, to my knowing, an' I thought it would break her 'eart, poor dear! Y' see, Mr. Geoffrey, his father died o' the drink, an' she's frightened for fear Arthur should go the same road. Oh, Hermy's life ain't all ice-cream sodas an' lollipops, not much it ain't, poor, brave, beautiful thing!"
Saying which, Mrs. Trapes, sighing again, took up her tray; Mr. Ravenslee, having opened the door for her, closed it again, lighted his pipe, and sinking into the easy-chair, fell into frowning thought.
The windows were open, and from the crowded court below rose the shrill babel of many children's voices, elfin shrieks and cries accompanied by the jingle of a barrel-organ, very wiry and very much out of tune; but Ravenslee, deep-plunged in thought, heard nought of it nor heeded the fact that the pipe, tight-clenched between his strong, white teeth, was out. For Geoffrey Ravenslee had set himself a problem.
The barrel-organ ceased its jangle, the children's voices were gradually hushed, as, one by one, they were called in by hoarse-voiced mothers and led away to bed; and the gloomy court grew ever gloomier as evening deepened into night. But still Mr. Ravenslee lounged in the easy-chair, so motionless that he might have been asleep except for the grim set of his jaw and the bright, wide-open eyes of him.
At last, and suddenly, he sat erect, for he had heard a voice whose soft murmur he recognised even through the closed door.
"I don't know, Hermy dear," came in Mrs. Trapes' harsh tones, "I'm afraid he's gone to bed—anyway, I'll see!" Ensued a knocking of bony knuckles and, opening the door, Ravenslee beheld Mrs. Trapes. Behind her stood Hermione, and in her eyes he saw again that look of wistful, anxious fear he had wondered over at the first.
"Oh, Mr. Geoffrey," said Mrs. Trapes, "it's eleven o'clock, an' that b'y ain't in yet. Here's Hermy been out hunting the streets for him and ain't found him. Consequently she's worriting herself sick over him—drat 'im!"
"Out on the streets!" repeated Ravenslee. "Alone?"
"Yes," answered Hermione, "I had to—try and find him."
"But alone! And at this hour! Miss Hermione, that was surely very—er—unwise of you."
"Yes, you see I didn't know where to look," she sighed. "I've been to the saloon but he wasn't there—"
"The saloon? Good Lord!" exclaimed Ravenslee, his placidity quite forgotten, his face set and stern. "That is no place for you—or any girl—"
"I must go to find Arthur," she said softly.
"No, not there—even for that."
"Why not?"
"Think of the—the risks you run! No girl should take such chances."
"Oh, you mean—that!" said Hermione, meeting his eyes with her frank glance. "But no one would try to insult me hereabouts; this isn't Broadway or Fifth Avenue, Mr. Geoffrey!" and she smiled a very sad, weary little smile. "But I came to ask if you happened to know where Arthur is or—whom he was with?"
"Wasn't wid that Bud M'Ginnis, was he?" questioned Mrs. Trapes sharply.
"No, he wasn't with M'Ginnis," answered Mr. Ravenslee, in frowning perplexity, "but that's about all I can tell you."
"Thank you," sighed the girl, "I must go and try again. I know I shall find him—soon." But, though she tried to speak in a tone of cheerful confidence, her shapely head drooped rather hopelessly.
"You mean you are going out on to the—to look for him again?"
"Why, of course," she answered, "I must find Arthur!"
"Don't, Hermy, don't—so pale an' tired as you are, don't go again!" pleaded Mrs. Trapes, her usual sharpness transfigured into a deep and yearning tenderness; even her voice seemed to lose something of its harshness. "Don't worry, my sweet, the b'y'll find his way home right enough, like he did last time."
"Like—last time!" cried Hermione, and shivering, she leaned against the wall as if she were faint. "Ah, no, no!" she whispered, "not—like last time!" and bowing her head she hid her face in her hands.
Close, close about that quivering form came two motherly arms, and Mrs. Trapes fell to passionate invective and tender soothing, thus:
"There, there, my love—my pretty, don't remember that last time! Oh, drat my fool's tongue for remindin' you, drat it, my dear, my honey! Ah, don't go breakin' your angel's 'eart along of Arthur, my precious—and drat him too! That b'y'll come back all right, he will—he will, I know he will. Oh, if I was only behind 'im with a toasting fork! There, there, Hermy dear, don't fret, Arthur'll come home all right. My honey, you're all tuckered out, an' here it's gettin' on to midnight, an' you to go to Englewood by the early car! Go to bed, dear, an' I'll sit up for Arthur. Only don't cry, Hermy—"
"Oh, I'm not crying, dear," said Hermione, lifting her head. "See, I haven't shed a tear! But I must find Arthur. I couldn't rest or sleep; I should lie listening for his step. So you see, dear, I must go out and find him!"
Hereupon, with swift, dexterous fingers, Hermione straightened the very neat hat which the embrace of Mrs. Trapes had rendered somewhat askew, and, turning to the door, came face to face with Mr. Ravenslee, and in his hand she beheld his battered hat, but she did not notice how fiercely his powerful fingers gripped it.
"Miss Hermione," said he, in his soft, indolent voice, and regarding her beneath languidly drooping lids, "pray accept the hospitality of my—er—apartment. You will find the easy-chair is very easy, and while you sit here with Mrs. Trapes, I'll find your brother and bring him here to you."
"Thank you," she answered a little shortly because of his lazy tone or his sleepy eyes, or his general languid air, or all of them together.