"Oh, Geoff," called Spike, "d' ye mind having yer coffee à la milko
condenso?"

"Milk?" exclaimed Mr. Ravenslee, starting. "Oh--yes--anything will do!"

"Why, hello!" exclaimed Spike, reappearing with a cup and saucer, "still
piping off Hermy's photo, Geoff?"

"I'm wondering why she looks so sad?"

"Sad?" repeated Spike, setting down the crockery with a rattle, "Hermy
ain't sad; she always looks like that. Y' see, she ain't much on the
giggle, Geoff, but she's most always singing, 'cept when her kids is
sick or Mulligan calls--"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Hermy mothers all the kids around here when they're sick, an' lots
o' kids is always getting sick. And when Mulligan comes it's rent day,
an' sometimes Hermy's a bit shy on the money--"

"Is she?" said Mr. Ravenslee, frowning.

"You bet she is, Geoff! An' Mulligan's an Irishman an' mean--say, he's
the meanest mutt you ever see. A Jew's mean, so's a Chink, but a mean
Harp's got 'em both skinned 'way to 'Frisco an' back again! Why,
Mulligan's that mean he wouldn't cough up a nickel to see the Statue
o' Liberty do a Salomy dance in d' bay. So when the mazuma's shy Hermy
worries some--"