“I didn’t ask for no card,” returned Roddy, sarcastically. It was the first words he had exchanged with Nolan for almost two years, and the fact that he had spoken first, galled him. “Lend me a hand,” requested he, “I don’t t’ink she kin walk.” They found the girl upon her feet, leaning dazedly against the heavy timbers of the machine. Roddy drew his breath, hissingly as he recognized her; and Dick stabbed through the air at him with one quivering finger. “What is this, eh? Tell me, quick!” grated he. “If there’s anything wrong,” answered Roddy, “may I rot and die if I had a hand in it! You know I t’ought well o’ her, Nolan!” Dick rubbed some of the blood from her face; she was sobbing and clung to him tightly. “Who done this?” demanded he. Ferguson’s straining ears caught the whispered answer, and a sense of smothering filled his breast. “Kin ye walk?” “I think so; he didn’t hurt me much.” “I’ll take her home,” said Dick; “ye needn’t wait.” He held out his hand and the other gripped it. “If yer goin’ to do anyt’ing,” said Ferguson, eagerly, “I want to stand in with ye.” “Don’t say anything,” warned Nolan. “An’, say, where kin I see youse in the mornin’?” “At the club,” said Roddy, “afore ye go to work. And ye kin bank on me not to say a word.” And they parted. Chapter XIII “_A gadder kin put more good t’ings to the bad in a three-minute round, than a draught horse could pull from here to the corner._” CHIP NOLAN’S REMARKS. MRS. BURNS was bending over her washtub, placed upon a bench in the alley, taking the skin from her knuckles rubbing one of Tim’s red flannel shirts. It was wash day in Murphy’s Court and a network of clothes lines was strung from dwelling to stable, making a constant bending necessary to safe progress. Mrs. Nolan was hanging out her wash in her allotted space, her mouth stopped with clothes-pins and her skirts tucked up out of the damp; Mrs. McGonagle, who was making a social call, sat upon Mrs. Burns’ doorstep watching the efforts of her hostess across the drifting steam. “Glory be!” exclaimed that lady, at length, pausing and wiping the perspiration from her face with one bleached and wrinkled hand, “the owld felly himself cud do nawthin’ wid it! Sure I’ve rubbed it, an’ I’ve b’iled it; I’ve bleached it, an’ I’ve got down on me two knees an’ scrubbed it, but sorra the cleaner it’ll git!” “God love yez, avic, don’t I know,” said her caller. “Faith Goose gits his shirts in sich a state from his bit av work, that the washin’ fair takes me breath from me.” “An’ it’s Murphy’s wash I’ll have till do after me own,” said Mrs. Burns, grappling once more with the labor at hand, half hidden in the thick cloud of steam. “It’s a-most dead I’ll be afore noight.” Mrs. Nolan flung a bedspread to the breeze and clamped it down with pins. “How is Mary gittin’?” inquired she. “About the same,” answered Mrs. Burns. “Poor sowl; she’s failin’ fast.”