“Why, it’s only Tony!” said Mrs. Trapes, glancing down a vista of riotous garments.

“Precisely,” answered Ravenslee, rising and stretching his long arms, “Tony has solved my difficulty; I’ll go into the peanut trade.”

“What?  Sell peanuts?  You?”

“Why not?  ‘Man is born—­’ you know.”

“But—­my land!  Only dagos and guinneys sells peanuts!”

“Splendid!  I shall be the exception, Mrs. Trapes.  Anyway, a peanut man I’ll be!” And catching up his disreputable hat, Ravenslee nodded and left his landlady staring after him and murmuring “well!” at intervals.  Presently she reached for her iron, stone-cold long since, and stood awhile clutching it in bony fingers and staring at nothing in particular.

“He’s sure a man, Hermy my dear!” she said at last, nodding at the stuffed parrot in the corner.  “I’ve watched him careful and I know.  And there’s some things better than money, my dear—­ah, much better!  So if I should help to bring you into his arms—­man an’ wife, my dear—­why, I guess it would be the best thing Anne Angelina Trapes ever done—­yes, mam!” Saying which, she went back to her ironing.

On the stairs Ravenslee met Spike, who hailed him joyously.

“Say, Geoff, I’m all alone to-night; come an’ eat supper with me—­how about it?”

“Suppose you have supper at Mrs. Trapes’ with me?”

“No, she gets on me nerves—­so come on over, will you?”

“With pleasure.”

“‘N’ say, I’m a few chips shy on butter, Geoff—­bring in ten cents’ worth, will you?”

“Right, O comrade, I’ll be with you anon.  Make boil the kettle against my coming,” and Ravenslee hastened down the stairs.  Reaching the court he met the Italian trundling his barrow toward a certain shed, its usual nocturnal biding place.

“How goes it, Tony?” he enquired, shaking hands.

The Italian nodded and flashed his teeth.  “Ver-a good, pal!” he answered.

“Tony, where can I get a peanut outfit like yours?”

“Ha!  You go-a in-a da peanut-a beezneez, hey?  You want-a push-a de cart, hey?”

“That’s it, Tony.”

“Ver-a good!” nodded the good-natured Italian.  “You come-a long-a me, pal.  I take-a you get-a push-a-de-cart, up-a de street, yes?” Having very soon locked away his barrow, the loquacious Tony led Ravenslee along certain streets and into a certain yard, where presently appeared a stout man with rings in his ears, who smiled and nodded and greeted them with up-flung finger and the word “altro.”  Presently Ravenslee found himself examining a highly ornate barrow fitted with stove and outfit complete, even unto the whistle, and mounted upon a pair of the rosiest wheels he had ever seen.  Thereafter were more smiles and nods, accompanied by the ever recurrent “altro”, the transfer of certain bills into the stout man’s pocket, and Geoffrey Ravenslee sallied forth into the street, bound for Mulligan’s, with the chattering Tony beside him and the gaily-painted barrow before him, receiving many friendly hints as to the pitfalls and intricacies of the peanut trade and hearkening with unflagging interest to the story of “lil Pietro” and the unbounded goodness of “da Signorina Hermione.”