"Well, see here, old un, my head's been considerable mixed to-night; seems to me ye did tell me a yarn, but tell it agin."

"Why, there's not much of it. We was doing well; I bought rags an'--an'

things."

"Rags an' things--oh, yes!"

"An' we was very comfortable. But one night--" and Papa turned his eyes toward Mamma, as if expecting her to confirm all that he said--"one night, when there was a number there, a fight broke out. We was in another room, the old woman an' me,--"

"Yes," interjected Mamma, "we was."

"An' we ran in, an' tried to stop the fight."

Mamma nodded approvingly.

"But we wasn't strong enough. Before we could see who did it, a man was killed. And in a minute we heard the police coming. Before they got there, we had all left, and they found no one but the dead man to arrest. Ever since, they've been tryin' to find out who did the killin'."

"Um!" grunted Franz, "and did you tell me they had arrested somebody?"

"No, my boy. They caught one fellow, a sailor, but he got away."

"Oh, he got away. How many was there, at the time of the killin'?"

"There were three in the room, besides the man that was killed, and there was the old woman and me in the next room."

"You forgit," interrupts Mamma, "there was Nance."

"Oh, yes," rejoined Papa, as if grateful for the correction, "there was Nance."

Franz glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping girl, and then asked sharply: "And what was Nance doin'."

"Nance was layin' on a pile o' rags in a corner," broke in Mamma, "an' I had to drag her out."

Franz gave utterance to something between a grunt and a chuckle.

"So you dragged her out, did ye? 'Tain't exactly in your line neither, doin' that sort o' thing. Ye must a-thought that gal worth savin'."

"She ain't worth savin' now," broke in Papa, hastily. "She's a stone around our necks."

"That's a fact," said Mamma. "An' it's all in consequence of that white-faced charity tramp's meddlin' we've got to get out of here, an'

we'll be tracked wherever we go by that drunken gal's bein' along."

"Well, ye ain't obliged ter take her, are ye?" queried Franz, as if this part of the subject rather bored him. "Your keepin' _her_ looks all rot to me. She ain't good for nothin' that I kin see, only to spoil good whiskey."

Papa and Mamma exchanged glances, and then Papa said:

"Jest so, my boy; she spoils good whiskey, but she's safer so than without it. We kin afford to keep her better than we kin afford to turn her loose."

"D'ye mean ter say," queried Franz, "that if that gal knew anything, she'd know too much?"

"That's about it, my boy."

Franz gave vent to a low whistle. "So," he said; "an' _that's_ why ye keep her full o' drugged liquor, eh? I'll lay a pipe that's the old woman's scheme. Have I hit the mark, say?"

"Yes, Franzy."

"Yes, my boy."

"Then what the d.i.c.kens are ye mincin' about? Why don't ye settle the gal afore we pad?"

"Easy, my boy, easy," remonstrates Papa.

"Just wot _I_ say, Franz," puts in Mamma. "When we leave here, it won't be safe for us to take her--nor for you, either."

"Safe!" cried Franz, springing from the table with excited manner; "safe! It 'ud be ruination! Afore to-morrow we must be out o' this. I ain't goin' to run no chances. If 'twas safe to turn her loose, I'd say do it. I don't believe in extinguishin' anybody when 'tain't necessary; but when _'tis_, why--" He finishes the sentence with a significant gesture.

"But, Franz--" begins Mamma, making a feint at remonstrance.

"You shet up!" he exclaims; "I'm runnin' this. The gal's been tried an'

condemned--jest leave her to me, an' pa.s.s on to the next pint. Have ye got a hen-roost handy?"

"D'ye think we're in our dotage, Franzy," said Papa plaintively, "that ye ask us such a question? Did ye ever know us to be without two perches?"

"Well, is it _safe_, then?"

"If we kin git there without bein' tracked, it's safe enough."

"Well," said Franz, "we kin do that ef we git an early start, afore our prisoner is missed. As soon as it's still enough, an' late enough, we'll mizzle."

"Wot's yer plan, Franzy?"

"Easy as a, b, c. You an' the old woman lead the way, ter make sure that there won't be n.o.body ter bother me, when I come after with the gal."

"With the gal?"

"Yes; ye don't want ter leave a dead gal here, do ye? Ye might be wanted agin, _fer a witness_."

Papa winced and was silent.

"But, Franz,--" expostulated Mamma.

"You shet up! I'm no chicken." And Franz drew his dirk and ran his finger along the keen edge. "Here's my plan: You two give me the bearings of the new hen-roost, an' then start out, keepin' a little ahead, an' goin' toward the drink. I'll rouse up the gal an' boost her along, keepin' close enough to ye to have ye on hand, to prove that I'm takin' home my drunken sister if any one asks questions. When we get near the drink, you'll be likely to miss me."

"Oh!"

"An' after a while I may overtake ye, somewhere about hen-roost, _alone_!"

"Oh," said Mamma, "you'll finish the job in the drink?"