“Too busy! God rest ye. Mr. O'Day! I'm never too busy to eat, sleep, look after John and Bobby, and listen to what ye've got to say. Hold on till I put these bills away. There ain't one of 'em'll be paid till after New Year--not then, if the customer can help it. They'll all spend their own money or somebody else's. There!”--and she laid the pile on a shelf behind her. “Now, go on--what's it ye want? Come, out with it; and mind, I've said 'Yes, and welcome' before ye've asked it.” O'Day, from his seat near the stove, studied her face for a moment, his own brightening as he felt the warmth of her loyalty. “Don't promise too much till you hear me out. I am looking for a job.” Kitty turned quickly, her eyes two round O's, all the ruddiness gone from her cheeks. “Mr. O'Day! Why! Why!--and what's Otto done to ye? I'll go to him this minute and--” Felix laughed gently. “You will do nothing of the kind. Mr. Kling is all right and so am I. I want the job for a tramp who tried to hold me up one night, and who is now scrubbing the floor in a rather disreputable public house on Third Avenue.” Kitty let out all her breath and brought her plump hands down on her plump knees, her body rocking as she did so. “Oh, is that it? What a start ye give me! I thought ye and Kling had quarrelled. Sure, I'll take your tramp if ye say so. We want a man to wash the wagons, and help Mike clean up. John fired the macaroni we had last month and I didn't blame him. What can yer man do?” “Not much.” “What do ye know about him?” “Nothing, except that he tried to rob me.” “And what do ye want me to take him on for? To have him get away some night with a Saratoga trunk and--” “No, to KEEP him from getting away with it. He's been on the ragged edge of life for some months, if I read him aright, and has all he can do to keep his footing. I found him a while ago by the merest accident, and he is still holding on. A week with you and your husband will do him more good than a legacy. He will get a new standard.” “What's he been doin' that he's up against it like this?” she asked, ignoring the compliment. “Trying to forget a wife who went back on him--so he tells me.” “Has he done it?” “Yes. If you can believe him. She has become a drunkard.” “Well--that's about the worst thing can happen to a man--if he's telling ye the truth. What's become of her?” “He did not say. All I know is that he has not seen her since she went away.” “Maybe he didn't want to,” she flashed back. “Did ye get out of him whose fault it was?” Felix, whose remarks had been addressed to the red-hot coals in the stove, glanced quickly toward Kitty, but made no answer. “Ye don't know, that's it, and so ye don't say I'll tell ye that it's the man's fault more'n half the time.” “And what makes you think so, Mistress Kitty?” he asked, trying to speak casually, not daring to look at her for fear she would detect the tremor on his lips, wondering all the time at her interest in the subject.