"Deary," she said, "nor more can I."
The two women exploded into laughter, loud and prolonged.
"Well," said Miss Joy at last, and she was still laughing, "it's a sporting proposition.... When do we start?"
"Ye must have warm clothes first."
"I have no money, Martha."
"Do ye remember a house ye took one winter, while your poor father was tearin' out the innerds of his own?"
"On Park Avenue and—"
"The same," said Martha. "The northwest corner. Ye were my tenants that winter.... Yes, deary, I am a rich old woman. And, between you and me, your poor father wanted that house the worst way, and me agents stuck him good and plenty. There's a balance comin' to ye, Miss Joy. 'Tis what they call conscience money, and 'twill buy ye warm clothes, and maybe a bit jool to go at your throat."
"Martha—Martha, what makes you so good to me?"
"Have ye not said ye never believed that me Poor Boy did what they said he did?"