"Unless," continued the woman, catching a second glance at the
sixpence; "unless old Joe is at the stable, as he's very likely to be.
I'll go and find out for you." And she push'd open a door at her back,
stepp'd through an adjoining room into a yard, whence her voice was
the next moment heard calling the person she had mention'd, in accents
by no means remarkable for their melody or softness.
Her search was successful. She soon return'd with him who was to act
as messenger--a little, wither'd, ragged old man--a hanger-on there,
whose unshaven face told plainly enough the story of his intemperate
habits--those deeply seated habits, now too late to be uprooted, that
would ere long lay him in a drunkard's grave. The youth inform'd him
what the required service was, and promised him the reward as soon as
he should return,
"Tell Richard Hall that I am going to his father's house this
afternoon. If he asks who it is that wishes him here, say the person
sent no name," continued the stranger, sitting up from his indolent
posture, as the feet of old Joe were about leaving the door-stone, and
his blear'd eyes turned to eaten the last sentence of the mandate.
"And yet, perhaps you may as well," added he, communing a moment with
himself: "you may tell him his brother Frank, Wild Frank, it is, who
wishes him to come."
The old man departed on his errand, and he who call'd himself Wild
Frank, toss'd his nearly smoked cigar out of the window, and folded
his arms in thought.
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