ere's plenty o' others."

"My money is jest as good's any one else's," said the first. "Jest as
good's any one else's;" and began wrangling with his friend.

The woman pushed me before her and we went up-stairs to a bedroom, the
door of which she closed and locked. She said nothing about what had
taken place below, and I at once made up my mind that it had been some
sort of joke.

"You oughtn't to sleep on that floor," said she, "You'll take your death
o' cold. Lay down here, and have a good comfortable nap. I'll see that
Captain Sproule finds you."

I started to lie down in my clothes. "Take off them clothes," said she,
as if astonished. "Do you think I want my bed all dirtied up with 'em?"
And she began undressing me as if I had been a baby. She was so tender
and motherly about it that I permitted her to strip me to my shirt, and
then turned in. The bed was soft, and sleep began to come back to me. I
saw my new friend preparing for bed, and presently I awoke to find her
lying by me, and holding me in her arms: I heard her sitheing[2], and I
was sure she was crying. This woke me up, and I lay wondering if there
was anything I could do for her, but I said nothing. Pretty soon there
came a loud rap at the door, and a woman asked to be let in.

[2] The writer insists that "sitheing" is quite a different thing from
sighing, being a long-drawn, quivering sigh. In this I think he is
correct.--G.v.d.M.

"What do you want?" asked my friend, getting out of bed as if scared,
and beginning to put on her clothes, I hustled out and began dressing--a
very short job with me. In the meantime the woman at the door grew
louder and more commanding in her demand, so much so, that before she
was fully dressed, my strange friend opened the door, and there stood a
great fleshy woman, wearing a lot of jewelry; red-faced, and very angry.
I can't remember much that was said; but I remember that the fat woman
kept saying, "What do you mean? What do you mean? I want you to
understand that my guests have their rights. One man's money is as good
as another's," and the like. "Whose brat is this?" she finally asked,
pointing at me.

"He's driving for a man with money," said my friend sarcastically.

"Who you driving for, Johnny?" she asked; and I told her.

"Captain Sproule is down-stairs," said she. "He's looking for you. Go
on down! And as for you, Madam, you get out of my house, and don't come
back until you can please my visitors--you k