Antony Dart
did not smile, but he felt a faint
stirring of curiosity, which was, after
all, not a bad thing for a man who
had not felt an interest for a year.
"What is it you are going to
buy?"
"I'm goin' to fill me stummick
fust," with a grin of elation. "Three
thick slices o' bread an' drippin' an'
a mug o' cawfee. An' then I'm
goin' to get sumethin' 'earty to carry
to Polly. She ain't no good, pore
thing!"
"Who is she?"
Stopping a moment to drag up the
heel of her dreadful shoe, she
answered him with an unprejudiced
directness which might have been
appalling if he had been in the mood
to be appalled.
"Ain't eighteen, an' tryin' to earn
'er livin' on the street. She ain't
made for it. Little country thing,
allus frightened to death an' ready
to bust out cryin'. Gents ain't goin'
to stand that. A lot of 'em wants
cheerin' up as much as she does.
Gent as was in liquor last night
knocked 'er down an' give 'er a
black eye. 'T wan't ill feelin', but
he lost his temper, an' give 'er a
knock casual. She can't go out
to-night, an' she's been 'uddled up
all day cryin' for 'er mother."
"Where is her mother?"
"In the country--on a farm.
Polly took a place in a lodgin'-'ouse
an' got in trouble. The biby was
dead, an' when she come out o'
Queen Charlotte's she was took in by
a woman an' kep'. She kicked 'er
out in a week 'cos of her cryin'.
The life didn't suit 'er. I found 'er
cryin' fit to split 'er chist one night
--corner o' Apple Blossom Court--
an' I took care of 'er.
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