They went through half of the south side of the block, and found only plain and commonplace people.  Overtop and Maltboy began to be weary.  The former was gradually discovering that his theory was a bore.  The latter wondered whether Quigg knew the tall girl, concerning the identity of the front part of whose residence Maltboy was at fault, although he knew every brick of the rear.

“In this ’ere house,” said Quigg, “I shall be treated rudely, because they owe me fifty dollars for groceries.  It’s a curious fact, but I have noticed that debtors always act kind o’ cold to creditors, as if it was the creditors that owed the money.”

Mr. Quigg spoke with an important air, as if he had made an original discovery in human nature.

CHAPTER VI.

Something hidden.

While this exploring party were going through the block, Mr. Marcus Wilkeson dressed himself with more than usual care, preparatory to a call upon the unknown old gentleman over the way, who that very morning had appeared at his window, the first time in three days, and tendered the compliments of the season in two low bows and a smile.  Having carefully adjusted his necktie, and smoothed the creases of his gloves, Mr. Wilkeson grasped his old friend, a hickory cane, by its sturdy elbow, and marched forth to make his solitary visit.

As ’he turned the corner of the street upon which the unknown old gentleman’s residence was situated, thinking of the oddity of the call he was about to make, and half inclined to abandon it, he saw, in a doorway a few yards in front of him, a little girl who bore a striking resemblance to the patient creature that he had often noticed sitting at a window in the room of the pale mechanic.  A single glance at the cracked and dirty front of the building established its connection with the weather-stained and shaky rear premises in which the worker toiled at his strange task from morning to night, and far into the morning again.

The little girl was earnestly talking with a rough, hungry-looking fellow in a greasy cap and tattered blue overalls.  As Marcus approached, he heard the following fragment of conversation: 

“Yer can’t fool this child again, now, I tell yer.  Why don’t he pay me? that’s what I want to know.  I will go up.”  The man stepped forward, as if to ascend the stairs.

“Please don’t, Mr. Gilsum,” said the girl, in a sweet, pleading tone, laying a red and toilworn little hand softly on his arm.  “Papa will pay you next week.  He will, believe me, sir.”

“So you told me last week,” growled Mr. Gilsum, “and the week before that.  It’s all humbug.  Why don’t he pay me now? that’s what I want to know.”  Again he put a foot forward, and was again restrained by the hand of the little girl.

“I have tried very hard to earn money, Mr. Gilsum,” said the musical and plaintive voice, but have been disappointed.  Next week I am sure I will have some for you.”