elf to Bud M'Ginnis."

"No, she would never do that, Mrs. Trapes."

"Oh, but she would."

"But, you see, she couldn't!"

"And why not?"

"Oh, well, because--er--I should kill him first."

"Land sakes, Mr. Geoffrey!" and Mrs. Trapes actually blenched before the
glare in his eyes that was so strangely at odds with his soft, lazy
tones.

"And that ends it!" he nodded. "Mrs. Trapes, I've made up my mind!"

"What about?"

"Mr. M'Ginnis. I'll begin to-day."

"Begin what?"

"To prepare myself to bestow on him the thrashing of his life!" So
saying, Ravenslee stretched lazily and finally got up. "Good morning,
Mrs. Trapes!" said he.

"But where are ye going?" she demanded.

"To my peanuts," he answered gravely. "'Man is born to labour,' you,
know."

"But it's early yet."

"But I have much to do--and she laughed at me for being a peanut man,
did she, Mrs. Trapes--she frowned and flushed and stamped her pretty
foot at me, did she?"

"She did so, Mr. Geoffrey!"

"I'm glad!" he answered. "Yes, I'm very glad she frowned and stamped
her foot at me. By the way, I like that text in my bedroom."

"Text?" said Mrs. Trapes, staring.

"'Love one another,'" he nodded. "It is a very--very beautiful
sentiment--sometimes. Anyway, I'm glad she frowned and stamped at me,
Mrs. Trapes; you can tell her I said so if you happen to think of it
when she comes home." And Ravenslee smiled, and turning away, was gone.

"Well," said Mrs. Trapes, staring at the closed door, "of all the--well,
well!" Then she sighed, shook her head, and fell to washing up the
breakfast things.

CHAPTER XV

WHICH INTRODUCES JOE AND THE OLD UN

The clocks were striking nine as, according to his custom of late,
Geoffrey Ravenslee trundled his barrow blithely along Thirty-eighth
Street, halting now and then at the shrill, imperious summons of some
small customer, or by reason of the congestion of early traffic, or to
swear whole-heartedly and be sworn at by some indignant Jehu. At length
he came to Eleventh Avenue and to a certain quarter where the whistle of
a peanut barrow was seldom heard, and peanuts were a luxury.

And here, in a dismal, small street hard by the river, behold Ravenslee
halt his gaily painted pushcart, whereat a shrill clamour arises that
swells upon the air, a joyous babel; and forth from small and dismal
homes, from narrow courts and the purlieus adjacent, his customers
appear. They race, they gambol, they run and