“An’ she’ll want two days’ work done in one, an’ no more pay. An’ they don’t mind about your lost day! How’s a woman to live with a great raft of young ones to support, I’d like to know? An’ it’s hard times we hear about a’ready. Goodness knows what I’ll do. An’ you lazy trollop! you haven’t your dishes washed yet! An’ only two babies! Yer’ not worth yer salt!”
“Mamie has cried all the time—”
“Shet yer head! Not a word of impidence out of you, or I’ll crack yer skull! An’ I know—yer’ve been foolin’ over that wretched little brat in there! I’m a fool fer not sindin’ her up to th’ Island hospital. Fine work they’d have with her! She’d get nussed.”
Dil uttered a cry of terror.
Her mother caught her by the shoulder, and banged her head sharp against the wall, until no telescope was needed for her to see stars, even in the day time. They swirled around like balls of fire, and Dil staggered to a chair, looking so ghastly that her mother was startled.
Both babies set up a howl.
“Drat the brats!” she cried, shaking her fist at them. “If there can’t be more than two, you’ll march off to a shop, Dilsey Quinn; an’ if you don’t earn your bread, you won’t get it, that’s all! As fer you, ye little weasened-face, broken-backed thing, cumberin’ the ground—”
Bess seemed to shrink into nothing. Mrs. Quinn had taken her glass of gin too early in the day. What would have happened next—but a rap on the door averted it.
“O Mrs. Quinn!” cried Mrs. Malone, “I saw ye comin’ back, an’ have ye no work the day?”
“My folks went off. If I’d known last night”—Mrs. Quinn picked up one baby to hush it.