last time, won’t you, Arthur?”
“Sure I will—but where ye goin’, Maggie?”
“A long way, Arthur! I don’t s’pose I shall ever—see this place any more—or you—so, Arthur, will you—kiss me good-by—just once?”
Spike hesitated, but she, quick and light-treading, came down to him and caught his hand and would have kissed that, but he snatched it away and, leaning forward, kissed her tear-stained cheek, and blushed thereafter despite the dark.
“Good-by, Arthur!” she whispered, “and thank you—and dear Hermy—oh, good-by!” So saying, she hurried on past Ravenslee, down the dark stairway, while Spike leaned over the balustrade to whisper:
“Good-by, Maggie—an’ good luck, Kid!” At this she paused to look up at him with great, sad eyes—a long, wistful look, then, speaking no more, hurried on down the stair—down, down into the shadows, and was gone.
“We used to go to school together, Geoff,” the boy explained a little self-consciously, “she never—kissed me before; she ain’t the kissin’ sort. I wonder why she did it to-night? I wonder—”
So saying, Spike turned and led the way on again until they reached the landing above, across which two doors, dark and unlovely, seemed to scowl upon each other. One of these Spike proceeded to open with a latchkey, and so led Ravenslee into the dark void beyond. Spike struck a match and lighted the gas, and, looking about him, Ravenslee stared.
A little, cramped room, sparsely furnished yet dainty and homelike, for the small, deal table hid its bare nakedness beneath a dainty cloth; the two rickety armchairs veiled their faded tapestry under chintz covers, cunningly contrived and delicately tinted to match the cheap but soft-toned drugget on the floor and the self- coloured paper on the walls, where hung two or three inexpensive reproductions of famous paintings; and in all things there breathed an air of refinement wholly unexpected in Hell’s Kitchen. Wherefore Mr. Ravenslee, observing all things with his quick glance, felt an ever-growing wonder. But now Spike, who had been clattering plates and dishes in the kitchen hard by, thrust his head around the door to say:
“Oh, Geoff—I don’t feel like doin’ the shut-eye business, d’ you? How about a cup of coffee, an’ I daresay I might dig out some eats; what d’ ye say?”
“Is this—your sister?” enquired Mr. Ravenslee, taking up a photograph from the little sideboard.
“Yep, that’s Hermy all right—taken las’ year—does her hair different now. How about some coffee, Geoff?”
“Coffee?” said Mr. Ravenslee, staring at the picture, “coffee—certainly—er—thanks! She has—light hair, Spike?”
“Gold!” said Spike, and vanished; whereupon Mr. Ravenslee laid the photograph on the table, and sitting down, fell to viewing it intently.
A wonderful face, low-browed, deep-eyed, full-lipped. Here was none of smiling prettiness, for these eyes were grave and thoughtful, these lips, despite their soft, voluptuous curves, were firmly modelled like the rounded chin below, and, in all the face, despite its vivid youth, was a vague and wistful sadness.
“Oh, Geoff,” called Spike, “d’ ye mind having yer coffee a la milko condenso?”
“Milk?” exclaimed Mr. Ravenslee, starting. “Oh—yes—anything will do!”
“Why, hello!” exclaimed Spike, reappearing with a cup and saucer, “still piping off Hermy’s photo, Geoff?”
“I’m wondering why she looks so sad?”
“Sad?” repeated Spike, setting down the crockery with a rattle, “Hermy ain’t sad; she always looks like that. Y’ see, she ain’t much on the giggle, Geoff, but she’s most always singing, ‘cept when her kids is sick or Mulligan calls—”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, Hermy mothers all the kids around here when they’re sick, an’ lots o’ kids is always getting sick. And when Mulligan comes it’s rent day, an’ sometimes Hermy’s a bit shy on the money—”
“Is she?” said Mr. Ravenslee, frowning.
“You bet she is, Geoff! An’ Mulligan’s an Irishman an’ mean—say, he’s the meanest mutt you ever see. A Jew’s mean, so’s a Chink, but a mean Harp’s got ‘em both skinned ‘way to ‘Frisco an’ back again! Why, Mulligan’s that mean he wouldn’t cough up a nickel to see the Statue o’ Liberty do a Salomy dance in d’ bay. So when the mazuma’s shy Hermy worries some—”
“Don’t you help her?” demanded Mr. Ravenslee.
“Help her—whydef><para>There are no significant user interface differences between <noloc>Windows 2000</noloc> and <noloc>Windows XP</noloc> for this component.</para></def></scopeDef></entry><entry entryID=”gls_iis”><term originalTerm=”Internet Information Services (IIS)”>Internet Information Services (IIS)</term><group target=”groupI”
