CHAPTER II.

The Mayor is so protected that be cannot help himself.

A commotion without,--a kind of howl, a kind of hoot. Mr. Williams, the
warehousemen, the tanners, Mike Callaghan, share between them the howl
and the hoot. The Mayor started: is it possible! His door is burst
open, and, scattering all who sought to hold him back,--scattering them
to the right and left from his massive torso in rushed the man who had
taken in the Mayor,--the fellow with one eye, and with that fellow,
shaggy and travel-soiled, the other dog!

"What have you done with the charge I intrusted to you? My child! my
child! where is she?"

Waife's face was wild with the agony of his emotions, and his voice was
so sharply terrible that it went like a knife into the heart of the men,
who, thrust aside for the moment, now followed him, fearful, into the
room.

"Mr.--Mr. Chapman, sir," faltered the Mayor, striving hard to recover
dignity and self-possession, "I am astonished at your--your--"

"Audacity!" interposed Mr. Williams.

"My child! my Sophy! my child! answer me, man!" "Sir," said the Mayor,
drawing himself up, "have you not got the note which I left at my
bailiff's cottage in case you called there?"