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Updated: June 24, 2025
He desired to get no nearer to that eating house on Scollay Square. At least, not with his present companion. "There's the Barquette," said Miss Bostwick, with the air of one used daily to the grandeur of such hostelries. But Tunis had seen her lodgings! However, her airs amused him, and Tunis Latham was no penny-squeezer.
A familiar figure confronted him, with dark staring eyes, gaping mouth, and stubby beard; my old friend Jock. For a moment there returned that feeling of stage fright. Next to the Rendalls, the Scollay household, and particularly Jock, had seen and conversed most often with the mysterious Merton.
"Is it one of the principal streets?" she asked Bartley. He gave the laugh of a veteran habitue of Boston. "Tremont Row? No. Wait till I show you Washington Street to-morrow. There's the Museum," he said, pointing to the long row of globed lights on the facade of the building. "Here we are in Scollay Square.
The Harvard junior, who was carrying her umbrella, protested: "What's the use, Miss Williams? He'll make it up before he gets to Scollay Square, you may be sure. Those chaps don't lose anything. Why, the other day, I gave one a quarter and he went off as cool as you please. 'Where's my change? said I. 'You gave me a nickel, said he.
Emerging at Scollay Square, and walking a few blocks, they came to a window where guns, revolvers, and fishing tackle were displayed, and on which was painted the name, "Timothy Mulally." Mr. Tiernan entered. "Is Tim in?" he inquired of one of the clerks, who nodded his head towards the rear of the store, where a middle-aged, grey-haired Irishman was seated at a desk under a drop light.
In Tunis Latham's mind there was more uncertainty regarding the mysterious Ida May Bostwick than there was in the minds of Cap'n Ira and Prudence. Whenever he considered his "errand of mercy" the captain of the Seamew had a flash of that girl with the violet eyes who worked in the restaurant on Scollay Square. The Balls did not know where Ida May worked.
What have you got to say for yourselves?" I saw their bewildered eyes wandering from one to the other of the family, and in a moment Mrs. Scollay asked in a quavering voice, "What's come over Jock, do ye say, sir?" "He has confessed!" repeated my uncle. "We know that he is a German spy!" He glared at each astounded face in turn and then exclaimed over his shoulder,
What was that great strapping Scollay fellow doing at home on a small croft where he was quite superfluous, when his country needed every man? And why did the lout stare and then laugh? Considering what a vigilant eye was watching him behind Mr. Hobhouse's glasses, it seemed to me unwise as well as rude.
You must not eat the bread of idleness, and Mr Scollay will put you to some work or other. I must speak to you again about this, and let me see, as you have chosen to come on board, that you do your best to learn your duty." Archy's conscience was not aroused. He went forward, well pleased at having, as he thought, got off so cheaply; yet he did not feel at his ease.
I gave them my proper name, Roger Merton, since it was just the sort of ultra English name which a disguised Hun would adopt, and I learned that theirs was Scollay: Peter Scollay, the father, Mrs. Scollay, Peter, the younger, Maggie, and Jane; besides Jock, the idiot.
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