“Miss Defoe,” he said, “I need five dollars more, badly. Will you——?”
“Wait!” she answered, and after a pause, in a lower voice, “At the same corner—at five.”
IV
The poor idiot had made up his mind to throw himself on Minnie’s mercy, to confide in her, and he did.
“I can’t stand it!” he told her. “It’s too much—it’s breaking her heart. And it’s—too much for me. Sensible or not, it doesn’t matter. You’re a woman, you ought to understand. I—I beg you to help us. To—have pity. I ... I’m not much good at talking—but if you knew how I—care for Frankie, and what she is to me.... We—it’s not right, by Jove! It’s not right for us to be separated. I’m no good without her. I need her. If I have her with me, I’m sure I can amount to something. But not alone. I’m no good without her,” he repeated.
In the twilight he couldn’t see her face, but her voice, when she replied, was not unsympathetic.
“I’ll see,” she said, “I’ll think.”
“No!” he answered, with unusual decision, “Please decide now. I can’t wait. I can’t stand another night. If you’ll lend me five dollars more, I’ll go to her to-morrow morning.”
“I haven’t got it now. I don’t get my week’s salary until to-morrow.”
“And you’ll let me have it then?”