r. Ristofalah nivver
goes into peticklers, an' so I har'ly know anny more than jist she's
a-comin'. Come, git in an' tell me about Mrs. Richlin'--that is, if ye
like the subject--and I don't believe ye do." She lifted her finger,
shook it roguishly close to her own face, and looked at him sidewise.
"Ah, nivver mind, sur! that's rright! Furgit yer old frinds--maybe ye
wudden't do ud if ye knewn everythin'. But that's rright; that's the way
with min." She suddenly changed to subdued earnestness, turned the catch
of the door, and, as the door swung open, said: "Come, if ud's only fur
a bit o' the way--if ud's only fur a ming-ute. I've got somethin' to
tell ye."

"I must get out at Washington Market," said Richling, as he got in. The
hack hurried down Old Levee street.

"And now," said she, merriment dancing in her eyes, her folded arms
tightening upon her bosom, and her lips struggling against their own
smile, "I'm just a good mind not to tell ye at ahll!"

Her humor was contagious and Richling was ready to catch it. His own eye
twinkled.

"Well, Mrs. Ristofalo, of course, if you feel any embarrassment"--

"Ye villain!" she cried, with delighted indignation, "I didn't mean
nawthing about _that_, an' ye knew ud! Here, git out o' this carridge!"
But she made no effort to eject him.

"Mary and I are interested in all your hopes," said Richling, smiling
softly upon the damaged bundle which he was making into a tight package
again on his knee. "You'll tell me your good news if it's only that I
may tell her, will you not?"

"_I_ will. And it's joost this,--Mr. Richlin',--that if there be's a war
Mr. Ristofalah's to be lit out o' prison."

"I'm very glad!" cried Richling, but stopped short, for Mrs.
Ristofalo's growing dignity indicated that there was more to be told.

"I'm sure ye air, Mr. Richlin'; and I'm sure ye'll be glad--a heap
gladder nor I am--that in that case he's to be Captain Ristofalah."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, sur." The wife laid her palm against her floating ribs and
breathed a sigh. "I don't like ud, Mr. Richlin'. No, sur. I don't like
tytles." She got her fan from under her handkerchief and set it a-going.
"I nivver liked the idee of bein' a tytled man's wife. No, sur." She
shook her head, elevating it as she shook it. "It creates too much
invy, Mr. Richlin'. Well, good-by." The carriage was stopping at the
Washington Market. "Now, don't ye mintion it to a livin' soul, Mr.
Richlin'!"

Richling said "No