street. He took his way to Mott Street, which is considerably less
pretentious, and halted in front of a shabby brick lodging-house
kept by a Mrs. Mooney, with whose son Tom, Dick was acquainted.

Dick rang the bell, which sent back a shrill metallic response.

The door was opened by a slatternly servant, who looked at him
inquiringly, and not without curiosity. It must be remembered that
Dick was well dressed, and that nothing in his appearance bespoke
his occupation. Being naturally a good-looking boy, he might readily
be mistaken for a gentleman's son.

"Well, Queen Victoria," said Dick, "is your missus at home?"

"My name's Bridget," said the girl.

"Oh, indeed!" said Dick. "You looked so much like the queen's picter
what she gave me last Christmas in exchange for mine, that I
couldn't help calling you by her name."

"Oh, go along wid ye!" said Bridget. "It's makin' fun ye are."

"If you don't believe me," said Dick, gravely, "all you've got to do
is to ask my partic'lar friend, the Duke of Newcastle."

"Bridget!" called a shrill voice from the basement.

"The missus is calling me," said Bridget, hurriedly. "I'll tell her
ye want her."