"Well," she gave forth, "y' ARE a
queer one!"
And yet in the amazement on her
face he perceived a remote dawning
of an understanding of the meaning
of the thing he had done.
He had spoken like a man in a
dream. He felt like a man in a
dream, being led in the thick mist
from place to place. He was led
back to the coffee-stand, where now
Barney, the proprietor, was pouring
out coffee for a hoarse-voiced coster
girl with a draggled feather in
her hat, who greeted their arrival
hilariously.
"Hello, Glad!" she cried out.
"Got yer suvrink back?"
Glad--it seemed to be the creature's
wild name--nodded, but held
close to her companion's side, clutching
his coat.
"Let's go in there an' change it,"
she said, nodding toward a small pork
and ham shop near by. "An' then
yer can take care of it for me."
"What did she call you?" Antony
Dart asked her as they went.
"Glad. Don't know as I ever 'ad
a nime o' me own, but a little cove
as went once to the pantermine told
me about a young lady as was Fairy
Queen an' 'er name was Gladys Beverly
St. John, so I called mesself that.
No one never said it all at onct--
they don't never say nothin' but
Glad. I'm glad enough this mornin',"
chuckling again, " 'avin' the
luck to come up with you, mister.
Never had luck like it 'afore."
They went into the pork and ham
shop and changed the sovereign.
There was cooked food in the windows--
roast pork and boiled ham
and corned beef.
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