Now, meeting the virginal purity of those eyes, Spike felt his cheeks burn, and he wriggled in his chair.

“Bud only told me Geoff had been—­been here,” he stammered, “and I guess it was the truth—­I—­I mean—­”

“Oh, boy, for shame!” and turning about, she swept from the room, her head carried very high, leaving him crouched in his chair, his nervous fingers twisting and turning a small box in his pocket—­the box that held the forgotten hair-comb.  He was still sitting miserably thus when he heard a knock on the outer door and a moment later a woman’s voice, querulous and high-pitched.

“Oh, Miss Hermy, my Martin’s very bad t’night, an’ I got t’ go out, an’ I can’t leave him alone; would ye mind comin’ down an’ sittin’ with him for a bit?”

“Why, of course I will.”

“Y’ see, since he had th’ stroke, he’s sorrered for our little Maggie—­he was hard on her, y’ see, an’ since she—­she died—­he’s been grievin’ for her.  Had himself laid in her little room—­seemed to comfort him somehow.  But to-day, when he heard we had to leave because th’ rent was rose, it nigh broke his poor heart.  An’ I got to go out, an’ I can’t leave him alone, so—­if y’ wouldn’t mind, Miss Hermy—­”

“Just a moment—­I’ll come right now.”  As she spoke, Hermione reentered the kitchen, untying her apron as she came.  Spike sat watching, waiting, yearning for a word, but without even a glance Hermione turned and left him.  When he was alone, he started to his feet and tearing the box from his pocket dashed it fiercely to the floor; then as suddenly picked it up, and approaching the open window, drew back his hand to hurl it out and so stood, staring into the face that had risen to view beyond the window ledge, a round face with two very round eyes, a round button of a nose, and a wide mouth just now up-curving in a grin.

“Hey, you, Larry, what you hangin’ around here for?” demanded Spike, slipping the box into his pocket again.  “What you doin’ on our fire escape, hey?”

“Brought back yer roof!” replied the lad.

“Well, where is it?”

“Here it is.”  And climbing astride the window sill, Larry handed in the jaunty straw.

“Where’d you find it?”

“Bud give it me, ‘n’ say—­”

“All right,” nodded Spike, dusting the straw tenderly with a handkerchief.  “Now git, I wanter be alone.”

“But, say, Kid, Bud says I was ter say as he’s sorry for what he said, ‘n’ say, he says you’d better be gettin’ over t’ O’Rourke’s, ‘n’ say—­”

“I ain’t comin’!”

“But say, you’re t’ fight Young Alf, ‘n’ say—­”

“I ain’t comin’!”

“But say, dere’s a lot of our money on ye—­I got two plunks meself, ‘n’ say, you just gotter fight anyway.  Bud says so—­”

“I can’t help what Bud says; I ain’t comin’.”

“Not comin’!” exclaimed Larry, his eyes rounder than ever.

“No!”

Larry’s wide mouth curved in a slow grin, and he nodded his close-cropped head; said he: