“I got these ’ere torts to carry?” he said. “Has the Man come back?” “No, but we’ll talk about him--when you are through with your work.” “I don’t know nothin’ about ’im.” “Oh, but it’s enough that you know him--and are fond of him. How long will you be busy?” “Till dark.” “Oh, dear! But you will come to my house after that, won’t you, Boy? I’ll have a good supper for you--and some things to take away. You’ll be glad if you come.... Won’t you come, Boy?” Five minutes later, Johnny stared at the receding carriage and at the money in his hand. He had promised to go to Cheer Street that evening when his work was done. How it came about, was one of those things which he must figure out in silence and darkness. Certainly he had not intended to go. Evidently she was one of the Man’s possessions, and what a way she had with her!... Everything about the Man was right. He was all that a man could and should be. More would be superfluous and distasteful.... It had looked as if the Man had wanted to be alone that morning, when this woman had borne him away in the carriage. Johnny had never quite forgiven her for that. Possibly the Man might have had more to say to him if she hadn’t come.... She wanted to go up into the Room, but the Man hadn’t allowed that.... “’E took me in, an’ not ’er!” he mused with sudden amazement. The long-locked lodging--that Superlative Place!... Johnny had a pet dream. He was back on the stairs, and the Man came and carried him up into that place of kingliest attraction. Those were rooms like a man ought to have--shields, guns, knives, saddles, tufts of hair (certainly scalps), chain-shirts, and shirts with tattoo-marks all over; and there was one saddle, with mud still on the stirrups, sorrel hair on the cinch, and a horsy smell.... Johnny jerked himself out of his delectable memories. “I’ll go,” he muttered; “but she needn’t think she’ll ’ear anything about ’im from me.” * * * * * Noreen returned to Cheer Street in the twilight, troubled by the thought that there was to be company in the evening. She had forgotten, and wanted the whole time with the boy.... He had passed the night in the lodgings with Routledge--the very hours which had made an outcast of her lover. What might the boy not have heard? At least he knew the Man--one soul in London who knew Routledge and did not seek to crush him. Her father regarded her hungrily as she entered. “You’ve been gone long, Noreen,” he said. “’Tis a queer thing that comes over a man with the years, deere. I was thinking this afternoon of going away for a year--the thought of it! It’s all gone from me. Old Jerry is off to the wars no more, unless they furnish portable pavilions for the women of the correspondents.”