“To take me home tomorrow.”
“Sure a Daize. I donna forget.”
Then the child kissed him, and at the contact of her soft, warm lips with his—like a stream of sunshine, the child innocence of purest lips, pierced his heart with a shaft of kindly sympathy.
“Good a da night, a Daize,” he said in a voice soft and gentle. Then he released the child and arose to his feet. It drew from her a look of steady admiration, and then she replied:
“Good night!” On the threshold of the sleeping apartment she turned and said:
“I shall pray for you tonight, Mister Golda. I shall pray for you not to forget tomorrow.” And she softly closed the door.
As Jack mildly stared at the child, the light in his eyes changed to a look far off, and there gradually stole over his face an aspect of infinite sadness, reminiscent of the days of his childhood.
On resuming his presence of mind, he went to the cupboard and took from there a bottle. After removing the stopper he took a straight draught of liquor, turned low the light and tip-toed to the bedroom door, listened, and heard Dorothy say:
“Oh, dear Jesus, make George Golda good; help him remember his promise to take me home tomorrow.”
Jack was deeply moved by the child’s sweet disposition, and he turned away disgusted at the despicable role he was enacting, and muttered reflectively: “Good God, that I should come to this! From secretary-treasurer of the Securities Investment Association to be a kidnapper of babes!