A small boy in grotesque man-trousers, reefed and rolled, intruded himself and his baby-charge in her way. Gloria gazed down into the boy's face with a sort of fascination. He was so small, yet had such a protecting way with the baby.
“What is your name, little man?” she asked. “Dinney. What's the name o' youse?”
Gloria ignored the question.
“Is this your little brother?” gently.
“Well, I guess!” said the boy.
“Can he walk?” more gently still.
“Yep, o' course—I mean when his legs gets stronger he'll walk, won't youse, Hunkie? De doctor-woman says as wot he needs is plenty o' milk. Wid its coat on—Hunkie ain't never had none wid its coat on till de doctor-woman come.”
“Its coat on?” murmured Gloria. Then by an inspiration she knew that the boy meant cream—milk with the cream on. A sob rose unannounced in Gloria's throat as she looked again at the mite in the cart who would walk when his legs were stronger.
“Who is the doctor-woman?” she asked; but as she asked the question she knew the answer and said, “Is she the District Nurse?”
“Yes, she is. She's good to my mother, and Hunkie's the baby. Rosy does nice things, too. She showed Rosy how to be nice. Me mother's got de consumption.” The boy spoke as though discreetly proud of the fact.