Josef Siebel utters another short, derisive laugh, and discreetly turns his gaze toward the smoky ceiling while Papa begins his investigations. From out the capacious bag he draws a rich shawl, hurriedly examines it, and thrusts it back again. "The rag-picker can be an honest man as well as another, Josef," continues this virtuous old gentleman, drawing forth a silver soup-ladle and thrusting it back. "These are very good rags, Josef," and he draws out a switch of blonde hair, and gazes upon it admiringly. Then he brings out a handful of rags, examines them ostentatiously by the light of the candle, smells them, and ties up the bag, seeing which Josef withdraws his eyes from the cobwebs overhead and fixes them on the black bottle upon the shelf. Noting the direction of his gaze, Papa Francoise rests the bag against the table-leg, trots to the shelf, pours a scanty measure from the black bottle into a tin cup, and presents it to Josef with what is meant for an air of gracious hospitality. "You spoke of thirst, Josef; drink, my friend." "Umph," mutters the fellow, draining off the liquor at a draught. Then setting the cup hastily down; "Now, old Top, wot's your bid?" "Well," replies Papa Francoise, trying to look as if he had not already settled that question with his own mind; "well, Josef I'll give you--I'll give you a dollar and a half." "The dickens you will!" Josef makes a stride toward the bag, and lifts it upon his shoulder. "Stop, Josef!" cries Papa, laying eager hands upon the treasure. "What do you want? That's a good price for rags." "Bah!" snarls the burly ruffian, turning toward the door, "wot d'ye take me for, ye blasted old fence?" But Papa has a firm clutch upon the bag. "Stop, Josef!" he cries eagerly; "let me see," pulling it down from his shoulder and lifting it carefully. "Why, it's _heavier_ than I thought. Josef, I'll give you two dollars and a half,--_no more_." The "no more" is sharply uttered, and evidently Siebel comprehends the meaning behind the words, for he reseats himself sullenly, muttering: "It ain't enough, ye cursed cantin' old skinflint, but fork it out; I've got to have money." At this instant there comes a short, sharp, single knock upon the street-door, and Papa hastens to open it, admitting a squalid, blear-eyed girl, or woman, who enters with reluctant step, and sullen demeanor. "Oh, it's _you_, Nance," says Papa, going back to the table and beginning to count out some money, eyeing the girl keenly meanwhile. "One dollar,--sit down, Nance,--two dollars, fifty; there! Now, Nance," turning sharply toward the girl, "what have you got, eh?" [Illustration: "The rag picker can be an honest man as well as another, Josef."--page 117.] "Nothin'," replies Nance sullenly; "nothin' that will suit you. I ain't had no luck."