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Gilsum," said the musical and
plaintive voice, _but_ have been disappointed. Next week I am sure I
will have some for you."
"Pshaw!" ejaculated the man, pulling the greasy cap over his eyes in a
spirit of savage determination. "I can't waste time talking. I _will_
find out why he don't pay me now."
The inexorable Mr. Gilsum pushed aside the feeble hand of the little
girl, and was about to go up the stairs in good earnest, when Marcus
Wilkeson, who had lingered near the door to catch the exact purport of
the conversation, called out to him:
"Hallo, my friend! what's the row?"
Mr. Gilsum stopped, and, turning, said snappishly:
"None of yer business. Unless," he prudently added, "yer a friend of the
comical old chap up stairs, and want to pay his debts."
"I am a friend, and I will pay them," rejoined Marcus, speaking from the
impulse of the moment. Since he had become rich, and could afford the
luxury, he frequently spoke and acted upon impulse, without regard to
consequences.
Mr. Gilsum's face suddenly changed from an aspect of moroseness to one
of bewitching amiability.


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