“Why, yes, of course. I stopped at the office on the way down here.”
“And you sent—a money order?”
“Yes. He said he would rather have that than a check.”
“I don’t doubt it! You don’t seem to have—delayed any.”
“Of course I didn’t delay! Why, Maggie, he said he had to have it at once. He was going to be turned out—turned out into the streets! Think of those seven little children in the streets! Wait, indeed! Why, Maggie, what can you be thinking of?”
“I’m thinking you’ve been the easy victim of a professional beggar, Flora,” retorted Miss Maggie, with some spirit, handing back the letter and the picture.
“Why, Maggie, I never knew you to be so—so unkind,” charged Miss Flora, her eyes tearful. “He can’t be a professional beggar. He said he wasn’t—that he never begged before in his life.”
Miss Maggie, with a despairing gesture, averted her face.
Miss Flora turned to Mr. Smith.
“Mr. Smith, you—you don’t think so, do you?” she pleaded.