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."
"All right!" said Dick.
The servant descended into the lower regions, and in a short time a
stout, red-faced woman appeared on the scene.
"Well, sir, what's your wish?" she asked.
"Have you got a room to let?" asked Dick.
"Is it for yourself you ask?" questioned the woman, in some surprise.
Dick answered in the affirmative.
"I haven't got any very good rooms vacant.
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