"Come in, my lad," called Joey, bounding down the steps with all the
resilience of a youth of twenty. "My crimes, I'm 'appy to see you."
They shook hands warmly, the little maid bobbing her head in rhythmic
appreciation.
"You knew I was coming?" asked David, following the old man into the
"drawing-room."
"I found a note under the door this morning, David, left there
mysterious-like during the night. It was left by the fairies, I
daresay, although the 'and-writing was scarcely wot you'd call
dainty." Joey pulled a knowing wink.
"Dick Cronk," announced David. "He came up with me. Braddock is in the
city, Joey."
"Sit down in that chair by the winder, David. So! Wot a 'andsome chap
you've got to be! My eye! Ruby will be proper crazy about you. I beg
pardon: you mentioned Tom Braddock. Well, he was a setting right thore
where you are not more than twenty-four hours ago."
"You don't mean it!"
"Ruby will be in before long," rambled the old clown, thoroughly
enjoying himself. "She's off to the market. Do you know, Davy, she's a
most wonderful manager, that girl o' mine. We've been in from the road
for nearly a month now--closed the most prosperous season on record at
Rochester, New York, on the 17th of May--and Ruby 'ad the 'ouse
running like it 'ad been oiled inside o' two hours arfter we got off
the cars.
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