she burst out crying. The Honorable John Ruffin looked at her with an expression of extreme discomfort for a minute or two; then he rose, patted her gently on the shoulder, and begged her to stop.
Tears were really foreign to Pollyooly's strenuous nature, and they soon ceased. The Honorable John Ruffin resumed his seat with an air of considerable relief.
He went on with his breakfast, till she grew quite calm. Then he said, "Well, Seventy-five, the King's Bench Walk is a very good address—it is my own. If you and your brother, who, as I gather from his name, is a boy of pacific tendencies, were to remove your furniture to the garret above this room, and take up your abodes there, you would be supplied with that indispensable requirement to a successful modern career. Moreover, I have long felt that it is absolutely wrong, in the present congested condition of housing in central London, to keep that garret empty. It is an airy room, but a good oil stove in the winter would make it quite habitable for the young and hardy."
"But the rent, sir . . . a room like that," gasped Pollyooly.
