He gathered up all the change his pockets had held, big and little pieces of silver, and dropped them softly into the shoes, now stiffly dried,--then opened the door. The small, draggled chap emerged briskly, took in his host from head to foot with a quick, approving look, then glanced out of the window to locate himself. It was all coming back to him apparently. “I was sleepin’ in yer street-stairs,” he explained, as if to get it straight in his own mind. “Then I didn’t know nothink till I ’eerd woices.” “What’s your name, little soul?” “Johnny Brodie.” “Did the voices bother you, Johnny?” Routledge asked. “Naw. I was too warm. Nothink like woices never bothers when you’re warm. Is them your stairs? Nobody never come up them stairs late afore.” “Have you slept there often, Johnny?” “Not wery,” the boy said nervously. He had given Routledge a start for a moment. It was not past the White Mustache to have used a lad of this size, but, once used, the lad would never have spoken of “woices.” Besides, he had slept on the stairs before. Johnny was looking about the walls with covert appreciation. Guns, saddles, and soldier-pictures appealed to him. They were proper man-things. “How long have you been in Bookstalls, and around here?” “Allus.” “But haven’t you any place to sleep?” “Lots.” It wasn’t said with humorous intent. Johnny Brodie was struggling with his shoes. Routledge regarded him with joy. “Lor-gordy,” muttered Johnny, in an awed voice. “Wishermay die if you ain’t tipped over a bank in me boots!... Mine?” Routledge nodded. “Well, I’m chivvied! I ’ont be safe nowheres wit all this.” “Johnny, are all your places to sleep like my stairs? I mean, haven’t you any regular place?” The boy gave him a quick glance and decided that this was not the time for lies. “Lor-gordy--them stairs ain’t bad--on’y wen it’s wery cold. Naw, I ain’t got nothink reg’lar.” “There’s a bit of a room just your size, Johnny, in the back-hall,” the man said. “I’m going away again to-day, and these rooms will be locked up for a long time, but I’ll be back, I think. If I were to fix it with the good landlady for you to have that little room--and I’ll give you a regular army blanket like the soldiers have, to curl up in when it’s cold, and a little cot, and all the things you need--would you use it every night?” “Lor’! Say, Mister, honest?” He nodded. “Run along then, Johnny, and get a good breakfast, and I’ll have it arranged when you get back.”