“What is she like? Is she one of the poor sort? Did you look over her traps? Has she got any money?” he asked eagerly.
“Oh, Raste, Raste; as if I searched her pockets! She’s beautifully dressed, and so is the child. She’s got a fine watch and chain, and when I opened her bag to get the child’s nightgown, I saw that it was fitted up with silver.”
“What luck!” exclaimed Raste brightly. “Then she’s a swell, and to-morrow when she goes away she’ll give you as much as a ‘fiver.’”
“I don’t believe she’ll be able to go to-morrow. I think she’s down for a long sickness. If she’s no better in the morning, I want you to cross and find Dr. Debrot”
“Old Debrot? That’s fun! Why, he’s no good—he’ll kill her.”
“Nonsense; you know he’s one of the best doctors in the city.”
“Sometimes, yes. But you can’t keep the woman here, if she’s sick; you’ll have to send her to the hospital. And you didn’t find out her name, nor where she belongs? Suppose she dies on your hands? What then?”
“If I take care of her and she dies, I can’t help it; and I may as well have her things as any one else.”
“But has she got anything worth having? Enough to pay you for trouble and expense?” he asked. Then he whistled softly, and added, “Oh, mum, you’re a deep one, but I see through you.”
“I don’t know what you mean, boy,” said madame, indignantly. “Of course, if I nurse the woman, and give up my bed to her, I expect to be paid. I hate to send her to the hospital, and I don’t know her name, nor the name of her friends. So what can I do?”