“I know, dear, and I’m not sure yet. But you see we can’t do a thing till we really get acquainted with her. She may be simply silly, and not know any better. She may not have any mother, or something; and perhaps we could help her, and then, if we get acquainted with her, we would perhaps be able to make Carey see somehow. Or else we might help her to be—different.”
“Oh-h! But how could we get acquainted with her?”
“Well, I don’t know. We’d have to think that up. Do you know her name?”
“Yes, it’s Clytie Amabel Dodd. They call her Clytie, and it makes me sick the way they say it. She—she smokes cigarettes, Nellie!”
“She does!” exclaimed Cornelia. “Are you sure, dear? How do you know?”
“Well, Hazel Applegate says she saw her on the street smoking with a lot of boys.”
There was a long pause, and the little girl almost thought her sister was asleep; then Cornelia asked, “Do you know where she lives?”
“No, but I guess Harry does. He gets around a lot delivering groceries, you know. Anyway, if he doesn’t, he can find out.”
“Well, I’ll have to think about it some more—and—pray, too.”
“Nellie.”