“Yousa da rich. Gotta da mon a plent. Go, Signora, get a moores a da mon. Leave a Daize a da here.”
“Mr. Golda, I’ll not stay. I am going home with mamma!” and Dorothy pouted indignantly.
Seeing him obdurate, and fearing the effect of a forcible separation from her mother now so fondly clasped in her arms, Virginia resolved to try persuasion once more, before putting into execution the plans she had matured as a last and desperate resort. With blanched face, its very seriousness compelling attention, she said, in a faltering voice:
“If your heart is human you cannot look upon that stricken mother without feeling that in the last great day the Judge of all will judge you as you now deal with her.”
He turned from her without a word, derision betrayed in his face, contempt in his action. It, however, placed Jack in a dilemma. There the mother, for whom he felt a kindly interest, quietly resting with her lost darling in her arms, yet ever and anon a scared, haunted look flitted from her eyes.
He looked at the girl a moment, then broke into low, derisive laughter.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha. Eesa fine a da lady. He, he, he, he. Signora beez a da accomplice ova da conspirator to break a up a da brodder’s home, eh? Signora good a da lady.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” and suddenly lowering his voice, said:
“Turnoppsis, Carrottsis, Ca-babbages,” then paused and picked up the bottle to take a drink. “If the child goes home now,” he thought, “Phil gets no reward; no,” and he set the bottle down on the table with a bang, without taking the premeditated drink.
“No, Ma sees a Daize a beez a da safe. Ma sees no a da harm come a Daize.”