"Now, you listen," he says sharply. "The quicker yer stop this fool business, the better it'll be fer yer plans. Who's that gal, I say? How did she git inter yer clutches? What's this fortin', and where's it comin' from? When ye've answered these 'ere questions, ye kin talk ter _me_; not afore." "Jest trust us fer that, Franzy," says Papa softly. "Not any! Then here's another thing: how are ye goin' ter git that gal's consent?" "Trust us fer that, too," says Mamma, in a tone betokening rising anger. "We know how ter manage her." "An' that means that ye've got her young un! Now look here, both on ye. Do you take me fer a stool-pigeon, to go into such a deal with my eyes blinded? Satisfy me about the gal, an' her right to a fortin', an' let me in to the young un deal, an' I'm with ye. I don't go it blind." And now it is Mamma's turn. She bounds up, confronting her Prodigal, with wrath blazing in her wicked eyes. Papa turns away and groans dismally: "Oh, Lord, they're goin' to quarrel!" "Look here, Franz Francoise," begins Mamma, in a shrill half whisper, "ye don't want ter go too fur! I ain't a-goin' ter put all the power inter _yer_ hands. If this business ain't worth somethin' to me, it shan't be to you. I kin soon satisfy ye on one pint: the gal ain't my gal, but she came honest into my hands. I'm willin' ter tell ye all about the gal, an' her fortune, but ye kin let out the young-un business. That's my affair, and I'll attend to it in my own way. Now, then, if I'll tell ye about the gal, prove that there's money in it, and git her consent, will ye marry her an'--" [Illustration: "Look here, Franz Francoise, ye don't want to go too far!"--page 316.] "Whack up with ye afterwards?" drawls Franz, all trace of anger having disappeared from his face and manner. "Old woman, I'll put it in my pipe an' smoke it. Ye kin consider this confab ended." Turning upon his heel he goes back to the couch, drops down upon it with a yawn, and composes himself to sleep. CHAPTER XLIV. MR. FOLLINGSBEE'S VICTORY. When Alan Warburton reached the residence of Mr. Follingsbee, he found that legal gentleman sitting alone in his cosy library, very much, so Alan thought, as if expecting him. And the first words that the lawyer uttered confirmed this opinion. Rising quickly, Mr. Follingsbee came forward to meet his guest, saying briskly: "Ah, Warburton, good evening. I've been expecting you; sit down, sit down." As Alan placed his hat upon the table beside him, and took the seat indicated, he said, with a well-bred stare of surprise: "You expected me, Mr. Follingsbee? Then possibly you know my errand?" "Well, yes; in part, at least." The lawyer took up a folded note, and passed it across the table to his visitor, saying: "It was left in my care about two hours ago." Alan glanced up at him quickly, and then turned his attention to the perusal of the note. It ran thus: ALAN WARBURTON: