"The things ain't goin' to hurt your old coal shed none!" began Nance, firing up; then with a sudden change of tactics, she slipped her hand into Mr. Jack's fat, red one, and lifted a pair of coaxing blue eyes. "Say, go on an' let him, Mr. Jack! I told him you would. I said you was one of the nicest men in the alley. You ain't goin' to make me out a liar, are you?" "Vell, I leave him put 'em in for to-night," said the saloonkeeper grudgingly, his Teuton caution overcome by Celtic wile. The conclave of women assembled in the hall of Number One, to carry out Mrs. Snawdor's threat of "taking a hand," were surprised a few minutes later, to see the objects under discussion being passed over the fence by Mr. Jack and Dan under the able generalship of the one feminine member of the alley whose counsel had been heeded. When the last article had been transferred to the shed, and a veteran padlock had been induced to return to active service, the windows of the tenement were beginning to glow dully, and the smell of cabbage and onions spoke loudly of supper. Nance, notwithstanding the fourth peremptory summons from aloft, to walk herself straight home that very minute, still lingered with Dan. "Come on home with me," she said. "You can sleep in Uncle Jed's bed 'til five o'clock." "I kin take keer of myself all right," he said. "It was the things that pestered me." "But where you goin' to git yer supper?" "I got money," he answered, making sure that his nickel was still in his pocket. "Besides, my mother might come while I was there." "Well, don't you fergit that to-morrow we go to Mis' Purdy's." Dan looked at her with heavy eyes. "Oh! I ain't got time to fool around with that business. I don't know where I'll be at by to-morrow." "You'll be right here," said Nance firmly, "and I ain't goin' to budge a step without you if I have to wait all afternoon." "Well, I ain't comin'," said Dan. "I'm goin' to wait," said Nance, "an' if I git took up fer not reportin', it'll be your fault." Dan slouched up to the corner and sat on the curbstone where he could watch the street cars. As they stopped at the crossing, he leaned forward eagerly and scanned the passengers who descended. In and out of the swinging door of the saloon behind him passed men, singly and in groups. There were children, too, with buckets, but they had to go around to the side. He wanted to go in himself and buy a sandwich, but he didn't dare. The very car he was waiting for might come in his absence. At nine o'clock he was still waiting when two men came out and paused near him to light their cigars. They were talking about Skeeter Newson, the notorious pickpocket, who two days before had broken jail and had not yet been found. Skeeter's exploits were a favorite topic of the Calvary Micks, and Dan, despite the low state of his mind, pricked his ears to listen. "They traced him as far as Chicago," said one of the men, "but there he give 'em the slip."