Major Griggs hurried down to the corner, and up the avenue into Billy's
place. "Gimme a rye-high," he said to the servitor. "Haven't seen a
bow-legged, dirty-faced little devil of a six-year-old lost kid around
here anywhere, have you?"

Mr. Toomey retained Miss Purdy's hand on the steps. "Think of that dear
little babe," said Miss Purdy, "lost from his mother's side--perhaps
already fallen beneath the iron hoofs of galloping steeds--oh, isn't it
dreadful?"

"Ain't that right?" agreed Mr. Toomey, squeezing her hand. "Say I start
out and help look for um!"

"Perhaps," said Miss Purdy, "you should. But, oh, Mr. Toomey, you are so
dashing--so reckless--suppose in your enthusiasm some accident should
befall you, then what--"

Old man Denny read on about the arbitration agreement, with one finger
on the lines.

In the second floor front Mr. and Mrs. McCaskey came to the window to
recover their second wind. Mr. McCaskey was scooping turnips out of his
vest with a crooked forefinger, and his lady was wiping an eye that the
salt of the roast pork had not benefited. They heard the outcry below,
and thrust their heads out of the window.

"'Tis little Mike is lost," said Mrs. McCaskey, in a hushed voice, "the
beautiful, little, trouble-making angel of a gossoon!"