young Master?"

She snapped her fingers at him, and marched forward folding her arms
tightly. "You mind your own business," she said. "It's young Master
Loristan I'm speaking to, not his servant. It's time he was talked to
about this."

"Silence, woman!" shouted Lazarus.

"Let her speak," said Marco. "I want to hear. What is it you wish to
say, Madam? My father is not here."

"That's just what I want to find out about," put in the woman. "When is
he coming back?"

"I do not know," answered Marco.

"That's it," said Mrs. Beedle. "You're old enough to understand that
two big lads and a big fellow like that can't have food and lodgin's
for nothing. You may say you don't live high--and you don't--but
lodgin's are lodgin's and rent is rent. If your father's coming back
and you can tell me when, I mayn't be obliged to let the rooms over
your heads; but I know too much about foreigners to let bills run when
they are out of sight. Your father's out of sight. He," jerking her
head towards Lazarus, "paid me for last week. How do I know he will
pay me for this week!"

"The money is ready," roared Lazarus.

The Rat longed to burst forth. He knew what people in Bone Court said
to a woman like that; he knew the exact words and phrases. But they
were not words and phrases an aide-de-camp might deliver himself of in
the presence of his superior officer; they were not words and phrases
an equerry uses at court. He dare not ALLOW himself to burst forth.
He stood with flaming eyes and a flaming face, and bit his lips till
they bled. He wanted to strike with his crutches. The son of Stefan
Loristan! The Bearer of the Sign! There sprang up before his furious
eyes the picture of the luridly lighted cavern and the frenzied crowd
of men kneeling at this same boy's feet, kissing them, kissing his
hands, his garments, the very earth he stood upon, worshipping him,
while above the altar the kingly young face looked on with the nimbus
of light like a halo above it. If he dared speak his mind now, he felt
he could have endured it better. But being an aide-de-camp he could
not.

"Do you want the money now?" asked Marco. "It is only the beginning of
the week and we do not owe it to you until the week is over. Is it
that you want to have it now?"

Lazarus had become deadly pale. He looked huge in his fury, and he
looked dangerous.

"Young Master," he said slowly, in a voice as deadly as his pallor, and
he actuall