“Ma’am?”
“Child, never say that. ‘Ma’am’ is vulgar and belongs to servants. Gentlefolks use the person’s name instead. You should have said, ‘Miss Armacost?’ or ‘Miss Lucy?’”
“Miss Lucy?”
“That’s right. You are quick-witted. That’s in your favor. I asked about your people; who they are and where they live.”
“I don’t know as I’ve got any. There’s Molly—she’s about the nicest one I know. Of course, there’s Mother Molloy, up alley, where I stay sometimes, with the other kids. That’s when I have the cash to pay up. Mother don’t take in nobody for nothing, Mother don’t. Can’t blame her, neither. It’s business. And once when I fell and got scared of the hospital she was real good to me. She made me tea and done up my head and treated me real square. When I got well I gave her something. Course I wanted to buy her a shirt waist, but they hadn’t any big enough, so I bought her a ring with a red stone. The ring was too small, but she could put it away for a keepsake. She’s dreadful fat, Mother Molloy is. She gets real good stuff to eat, ’cause the kids she keeps regular are on the best streets; and the ‘coons’ that live in the big houses save a lot for them. One of the boys works your kitchen, I believe. And—there’s Mary.”
Miss Armacost rose and led the way to the basement. She was very much perplexed. Not that she wavered in her decision to take in this homeless boy and provide for his welfare, but because he did not at all fit in with her previous ideas of what such a child should be. He was neither humble nor bold, and now that he had forgotten his shyness was keen and business-like. He neither complained of his poverty nor was ashamed of it; and his manner as he walked toward the table and drew out a chair for Miss Armacost was as gallant as possible.
“That’s the checker!” he said to himself. “That’s the way I’ve seen the gentlemen do in the hotel dining-rooms when I’ve been peeking through, or the waiters, I mean. The gentlemen would have done it, if the waiters hadn’t been there, and it goes. Some day, when I own the papers I sell now, I’ll know just how to act. Ma’am—I mean, Miss Armacost? Did you speak?”
“I—Yes, I did. I thought that as you had had a nap since—since you had made your toilet, it would be as well to make yourself fresh before meat. There’s a bowl and water in that closet; and towels.”
“Well, I declare!” thought the watchful Mary. “If that don’t beat all! ’Stead of ordering the little chap to wash himself, or even me to do it for him, she’s treating him same’s if he was a Livingston or Satterlee, himself. And—he’s doing it! My land! he’s doing it.”