ag was new, and had cost probably
five dollars. The cloth sacque could not have been made for less than
twelve dollars. A fair valuation of the whole would have been near forty
dollars.

"How much?" repeated Pinky, an impatient quiver in her voice.

"Six dollars," replied the man.

"Six devils!" exclaimed Pinky, in a loud, angry voice.

"Six devils! you old swindler!" chimed in Miss Peter.

"You can take them away. Just as you like," returned the man, with cool
indifference. "Perhaps the police will give you more. It's the best I
can do."

"But see here, Jerkin," said Pinky: "that sacque is worth twice the
money."

"Not to me. I haven't a store up town. I can't offer it for sale in the
open market. Don't you understand?"

"Say ten dollars."

"Six."

"Here's a breast-pin and a pair of ear-rings," said Miss Peter; "we'll
throw them in;" and she handed Jerkin, as he was called, the bits of
jewelry she had taken from the person of Flora Bond. He looked at them
almost contemptuously as he replied,

"Wouldn't give you a dollar for the set."

"Say eight dollars for the whole," urged Pinky.

"Six fifty, and not a cent more," answered Jerkin.

"Hand over, then, you old cormorant!" returned the girl, fretfully.
"It's a shame to swindle us in this way."

The man took out his pocket-book and paid the money, giving half to each
of the girls.

"It's just a swindle!" repeated Pinky. "You're an old hard-fisted
money-grubber, and no better than a robber. Three dollars and a quarter
for all that work! It doesn't pay for the trouble. We ought to have had
ten apiece."

"You can make it ten or twenty, or maybe a hundred, if you will," said
Jerkin, with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. He gave his thumb a little
movement over his shoulder as he spoke.

"That's so!" exclaimed Pinky, her manner undergoing a change, and her
face growing bright--at least as much of it as could brighten. "Look
here, Nell," speaking to Miss Peter, and drawing a piece of paper from
her pocket, "I've got ten rows here. Fanny Bray gave me five dollars to
go a half on each row. Meant to have gone to Sam McFaddon's last night,
but got into a muss with old Sal and Norah, and was locked up."

"They make ten hits up there to one at Sam McFaddon's," said Jerkin,
again twitching his thumb over his shoulder. "It's the luckiest office I
ever heard of. Two or three hits every day for a week past--got a lucky
streak, somehow. If you go in anywhere, take