Then John related to her the incident of meeting her brother, and of the words that had passed between them, without making it clear to the young ladies, however, that the nature of the business that he followed was of the most questionable. "Poor brother! that must be Michael," said Star, when John had concluded his story. "Wish I could see him; I know I could prevail on him going home." "Would you help us find him?" asked Edith, directing her question to John. "It would give me pleasure to aid you," replied John. "How interesting a company we three can make in this undertaking," cried Edith, with enthusiasm. "Papa, will you permit me to join them?" "If Mr. Winthrope is your guide, you may," he answered, now interested himself. "When shall we begin our search?" asked Edith, eagerly looking at John, and beaming one of her sweetest smiles on him. "Whenever Mr. Jarney gives me leave of absence--or, better, I can do it before or after hours. How will that do?" "Capital!" cried Edith. "Papa, that will be fine. You can trust me with Mr. Winthrope?" "Oh, of course," he answered. "Good, papa, dear!" she exclaimed. "Now, Star--Miss Barton, we will go home. When shall we begin?" "When I notify you," replied John, rising to bid the ladies good day. The two young ladies departed. To John, it was like the going of two sunbeams that had crossed his lonely pathway, to shine for a moment, then disappear, with the promise of returning on a fairer day to come. CHAPTER XI. THE AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT. Mike Barton, the rounder, knocked off from his lecherous avocation the afternoon referred to in the previous chapter, as was his custom every day at that time, and wandered aimlessly through the throngs of pedestrians in the main thoroughfares of the city. He was submerged in an elegant overcoat of black that shut him up from head to foot, so that only his feet stuck out below, and his head half protruded above; for the day was in its nastiest mood. A new derby hat sat cocked to one side of his head, and his hair was in imitation of the devotees of the game of football. With his hands poked deeply into his side coat pockets, he shambled along, smoking a cigarette, that, at times, sent up a cloud, like a halo of fog, around his head. He was careless, unconcerned, and impudently independent in his gait. He pushed his way through the crowds with such an abandon of gentility that the curious stared at him, and gave a shrug of their shoulders, as much as to say, "There goes a bad one." He would stop at times, when a crowd had formed to gaze at some new attraction in a window; then, with a toss of his head, would push on, maybe shouldering a meek little woman out of the way; or sidling up to an unsophisticated girl with a licentious stare, or a suggestive smile; or he would drop into a saloon, or billiard hall, or tobacco stand to see his fellow touts; and then go on, ever aimless in his peregrinations.