"
"Let me carry it for you," said
Antony Dart
"Spile yer coat," with her sidelong
upward glance.
"I don't care," he answered. "I
don't care a damn."
The final expletive was totally
unnecessary, but it meant a thing he
did not say. Whatsoever was thrusting
him this way and that, speaking
through his speech, leading him to
do things he had not dreamed of
doing, should have its will with him.
He had been fastened to the skirts of
this beggar imp and he would go on
to the end and do what was to be done
this day. It was part of the dream.
The sack of coal was over his
shoulder when they turned into
Apple Blossom Court. It would
have been a black hole on a sunny
day, and now it was like Hades, lit
grimly by a gas-jet or two, small
and flickering, with the orange haze
about them. Filthy, flagging, murky
doorways, broken steps and broken
windows stuffed with rags, and the
smell of the sewers let loose had
Apple Blossom Court.
Glad, with the wealth of the pork
and ham shop and other riches in
her arms, entered a repellent doorway
in a spirit of great good cheer
and Dart followed her. Past a room
where a drunken woman lay sleeping
with her head on a table, a child
pulling at her dress and crying, up a
stairway with broken balusters and
breaking steps, through a landing,
upstairs again, and up still farther
until they reached the top. Glad
stopped before a door and shook
the handle, crying out:
" 'S only me, Polly.
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