“I never!” she said again. “Just suppose he waked up all alone in the dark, and couldn’t get out! Don’t you know where he lives?”
“Of course I know, but he wouldn’t thank any one for sending him home in this state. He’s the only son of wealthy and respectable parents,” the other answered, in a flippant tone that was obnoxious to Madeline. “It would bring their gray—or dyed—hair to the grave in one swoop. This fellow, my dear girl, is young Benny Bradley!”
“I don’t care who he is, he’d ought to be took care of. He’s got to be!” Madeline said sternly.
“Not by me,” returned the other. He rose, and looked at Madeline with a smile. “It’s time for me to clear out.”
“You can’t!” the girl protested.
“I shall,” said the man. “I make you a present of Benny Bradley.”
He was actually going, but she caught him by the sleeve.
“Oh!” she cried. “You ought to be ashamed! What ever can I do?”
“I don’t know. Why not call the police?” said he.
He unclasped her fingers, and, raising his hat gallantly, went out.