“She doesn’t live there,” said Quigg.  “She is some connection, I believe, of the queer old Dutchman that I spoke of, and is probably only helping Miss Whedell to receive callers.  I should think, from the way they abuse each other, that they were old and dear friends.”

CHAPTER IX.

MRS. SLAPMAN AT HOME.

Full of new and pleasant thoughts, Marcus Wilkeson walked on toward the half-antique house which contained the strange old gentleman.  Just as he was about to swing back the iron gate of the front yard, he saw, at a distance, the two friends of his bosom and Mr. Quigg descending a flight of steps to the sidewalk.  They saw him at the same time; and both Overtop and Maltboy violently beckoned him to approach.  Mr. Quigg added his solicitations in a calmer and more dignified manner, moving his arm like an automaton three times from the elbow.  Even the driver, Captain Tonkins, in the spirit of invitation peculiar to his mental state, steadied himself on the seat, poked his right arm and his long whip toward Marcus, and said:  “Hu-hullo there—­come along?” Having done this, Captain Tonkins furtively poured a gill of brandy into the tin cup, and drank it under cover of the buffalo robe.

In compliance with this general request, Marcus forbore to open the gate of the old gentleman’s house, and joined his friends.

“How many people have you called on, you old humbug?” asked Overtop, as Marcus drew near.

Marcus was on the point of alluding to the chance acquaintances that he had made that morning; but a moment’s reflection stopped him.

“I told you,” said he, “that my only visit was to be to our odd old neighbor.  I was at his gate, when you called.  And now, what do you want?”

“I want to tell you,” said Matthew Maltboy, “that Miss Whedell—­the Juno-like young lady with the handkerchief, you know—­is—­”

“All your fancy painted her,” interrupted Marcus.

“She’s lovely—­she’s divine,” said Maltboy, rapturously finishing the quotation.  “I have made an impression.  Congratulate me, old boy!”

“I do,” said Marcus, laughing, “and only hope that you will find it as easy getting out of the scrape as into it.  And what have you discovered, Top?”

“That there isn’t a sensible woman or an original idea, so far, on the block.  I wouldn’t budge an inch farther, but for Quigg’s promise to introduce me to a young widow who lives next door—­a regular prodigy of science and art, according to his story.  I think you said she was a widow, Quigg?”

“I suppose so,” said Quigg, “as I never saw nor heard of her husband; and she’s lived on this block five years last May.”

The three besieged Marcus to lay aside his scruples for once, and join them in visiting this accomplished lady.  Marcus fought them until his patience was exhausted, and then gave in.