Reaching Mulligan's at last, they beheld numerous groups of whispering folk who thronged the little court, the doorway, and the hall beyond; they whispered together upon the stairs and murmured on dim landings. But as Ravenslee and Spike, making their way through these groups, mounted upward, they found one landing very silent and deserted, a landing where was a certain battered door whose dingy panels had been wetted with the tears of a woman's agony, had felt the yearning, heartbroken passion of a woman's quivering lips such a very few hours ago. Remembering which, Geoffrey Ravenslee, turning to look at this grimy door, beheld it vague and blurred and indistinct as he turned and climbed that much-trodden stair. Upon the top landing they found Mrs. Trapes, who leaned over the rails to greet them. "So you found that b'y, Mr. Geoffrey. Hermy'll be glad. You'll have heard of poor little Maggie Finlay? Poor lass--poor, lonely lass! 'T was her father drove her to it, an' now he's had a fit--a stroke, the doctor's with him now--an' Hermy, of course! She's always around where trouble is. I guess there won't be much rest for her to-night--long past midnight now! I'm glad you found that b'y. I said you would. I'll jest go down and tell Hermy; she'll be glad." Spike stood awhile after Mrs. Trapes had gone down-stairs, very silent and with head a-droop, then, slow and heavily, turned and opened his door, but paused to speak over his shoulder in a hoarse whisper. "Geoff--if ever--any man--made my sister go through what Maggie Finlay went through--I'd--shoot him dead--by God in Heaven, I would!" CHAPTER X TELLS HOW MR. RAVENSLEE WENT INTO TRADE It was a week later, and Mr. Ravenslee leaned from the window of his room to observe the view, which consisted chiefly of dingy brick walls and dingier windows, swaying vistas of clothes in various stages of dampness, clothes that fluttered from many lines stretched across the court, from window to window, at different altitudes; for to-day it had been washing day in Mulligan's; also the evening was warm. So Mr. Ravenslee lounged and smoked and gazed upon the many garments, viewing them with eyes of reverie. Garments, these, of every size and hue and shape and for either sex, garments that writhed and contorted themselves in fantastic dances when gently stirred by a small, cool wind which, wafting across the river from the green New Jersey shore, breathed faintly of pine woods. He was yet in absorbed contemplation of the aerial gambols of these many garments when to him came Mrs. Trapes, clutching a hot iron. "Mr. Geoffrey, what'll you eat for supper?" she demanded. "Mrs. Trapes, what do you suppose I'm worthy of?" "How about a lovely piece o' liver?" "Liver!" he repeated, rubbing a square, smooth-shaven chin. "Hum! liver sounds a trifle clammy, doesn't it? Clammy and cold, Mrs. Trapes!"