"Flat iron," replied the waif, succinctly. "I had the poker. She 'got' me first. I didn't dare go back, and I thought I'd die that first night."
"Oh, oh!" sobbed Grace. "Out in the cold, too!"
"Yes'm," Inez said, eating and drinking eagerly. "But a nice feller in a drug store—a night clerk, I guess youse call him—took me in after one o'clock, an' give me something to eat, and fixed up me head."
"What a kind man!" exclaimed Bess.
"So you see, Inez, there are some kind folks in the world," said Nan, smiling at the waif. "Some kind ones beside us."
"Yep," the child admitted. "But not rich folks like youse."
"Goodness, child!" gasped Grace. "We're not rich."
Inez stared at her with a mouthful poised upon her knife. "Cracky!" she ejaculated. "What do youse call it? Furs, and fine dresses, and nothin' ter do but sport around—Hi! if youse girls from Washington Park ain't rich, what d'ye call it?"
Nan was looking serious again. "I guess the child is right," she said, with a little sigh. "We are rich. Compared with what she has, we're as rich as old King Midas."
"For goodness' sake!" cried Bess. "I hope not—at least, not in ears."