“Sure ye may!” she nodded, and began to collect the supper things.  “I tell you what,” she exclaimed suddenly, flourishing the fork she had just taken up, “if somebody would only come along an’ thrash M’Ginnis, thrash him good, it would be a sight better for every one around here—­it would so!  M’Ginnis is always makin’ trouble for some one or other, an’ there ain’t a man big enough or got heart enough to stand up to him—­not even Spider Connolly.  Wish I was a man, that’s all—­just for an hour!  Ah!” Here Mrs. Trapes snorted fiercer than usual, and the jut of her elbows was deadly.

“And he gets Arthur drunk, does he!” said Ravenslee, puffing dreamily at his pipe.

“Yes!” sighed Mrs. Trapes as she loaded a tray with the supper things.  “Hermy’s seen him drunk twice, to my knowing, an’ I thought it would break her ‘eart, poor dear!  Y’ see, Mr. Geoffrey, his father died o’ the drink, an’ she’s frightened for fear Arthur should go the same road.  Oh, Hermy’s life ain’t all ice-cream sodas an’ lollipops, not much it ain’t, poor, brave, beautiful thing!”

Saying which, Mrs. Trapes, sighing again, took up her tray; Mr. Ravenslee, having opened the door for her, closed it again, lighted his pipe, and sinking into the easy-chair, fell into frowning thought.

The windows were open, and from the crowded court below rose the shrill babel of many children’s voices, elfin shrieks and cries accompanied by the jingle of a barrel-organ, very wiry and very much out of tune; but Ravenslee, deep-plunged in thought, heard nought of it nor heeded the fact that the pipe, tight-clenched between his strong, white teeth, was out.  For Geoffrey Ravenslee had set himself a problem.

The barrel-organ ceased its jangle, the children’s voices were gradually hushed, as, one by one, they were called in by hoarse-voiced mothers and led away to bed; and the gloomy court grew ever gloomier as evening deepened into night.  But still Mr. Ravenslee lounged in the easy-chair, so motionless that he might have been asleep except for the grim set of his jaw and the bright, wide-open eyes of him.

At last, and suddenly, he sat erect, for he had heard a voice whose soft murmur he recognised even through the closed door.

“I don’t know, Hermy dear,” came in Mrs. Trapes’ harsh tones, “I’m afraid he’s gone to bed—­anyway, I’ll see!” Ensued a knocking of bony knuckles and, opening the door, Ravenslee beheld Mrs. Trapes.  Behind her stood Hermione, and in her eyes he saw again that look of wistful, anxious fear he had wondered over at the first.

“Oh, Mr. Geoffrey,” said Mrs. Trapes, “it’s eleven o’clock, an’ that b’y ain’t in yet.  Here’s Hermy been out hunting the streets for him and ain’t found him.  Consequently she’s worriting herself sick over him—­drat ’im!”

“Out on the streets!” repeated Ravenslee.  “Alone?”

“Yes,” answered Hermione, “I had to—­try and find him.”