ring at the bell. He went to the window and saw Calton's trap at the door, while the owner was shortly afterwards shown into the room.
"Well, you are a nice fellow," cried Calton, after greetings were over. "Here I've been waiting for you with all the patience of Job, thinking you were still up country."
"Will you have some breakast? asked Brian, laughing at his indignation.
"What have you got?" said Calton, looking over the table. "Ham and eggs. Humph! Your landlady's culinary ideas are very limited."
"Most landladies' ideas are," retorted Fitzgerald, resuming his breakfast. "Unless Heaven invents some new animal, lodgers will go on getting beef and mutton, alternated with hash, until the end of the world."
"When one is in Rome, one mustn't speak ill of the Pope," answered Calton with a grimace. "Do you think your landlady can supply me with some brandy and soda?"
"I think so," answered Fitzgerald, rising, and ringing the bell; "but isn't it rather early for that sort of thing?"
"There's a proverb about glass houses," said Calton, severely, "which applies to you in this particular instance."
Whereupon Fitzgerald laughed, and Calton having been supplied with what he required, prepared to talk business.
"I need hardly tell you how anxious I am to hear what ye've got to say," he said, leaning back in his chair, "but I may as well tell you that I am satisfied that I know half your secret already."
"Indeed!" Fitzgerald looked astonished, "in that case I need not—"
"Yes you need," retorted Calton. "I told you I only know half."
"Which half?"
"Hum—rather difficult to answer—however, I'll tell you what I know, and you can supply all deficiencies. I am quite ready—go on—stop—" he arose and closed the door carefully. "Well," resuming his seat, "Mother Guttersnipe died the other night."
"Is she dead?"
"As a door-nail," answered Calton, calmly. "And a horrible death-bed it was—her screams ring in my ears yet—but before she died she sent for me, and said—"
